up stage from Stockton this afternoon?" said
Carden, looking up.

"Yes, as far as Ten-mile Station--rode the rest of the way here."

"Did you notice a queer little old-fashioned kid--about so high--like a
runaway school-boy?"

"Did I? By G--d, sir, he treated me to drinks."

Carden jumped from his chair. "Then he wasn't lying!"

"No! We let him do it; but we made it good for the little chap
afterwards. Hello! What's up?"

But Mr. Carden was already in the outer office beside the clerk who had
admitted Clarence.

"You remember that boy Brant who was here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where did he go?"

"Don't know, sir."

"Go and find him somewhere and somehow. Go to all the hotels,
restaurants, and gin-mills near here, and hunt him up. Take some one
with you, if you can't do it alone. Bring him back here, quick!"

It was nearly midnight when the clerk fruitlessly returned. It was the
fierce high noon of "steamer nights"; light flashed brilliantly from
shops, counting-houses, drinking-saloons, and gambling-hells. The
streets were yet full of eager, hurrying feet--swift of fortune,
ambition, pleasure, or crime. But from among these deeper harsher
footfalls the echo of the homeless boy's light, innocent tread seemed to
have died out forever.

CHAPTER VIII

When Clarence was once more in the busy street before the bank, it
seemed clear to his boyish mind that, being now cast adrift upon the
world and responsible to no one, there was no reason why he should not
at once proceed to the nearest gold mines! The idea of returning to
Mr. Peyton and Susy, as a disowned and abandoned outcast, was not to
be thought of. He would purchase some kind of an outfit, such as he had
seen the miners carry, and start off as soon as he had got his supper.
But although one of his most delightful anticipations had been the
unfettered freedom of ordering a meal at a restaurant, on entering the
first one he found himself the object of so much curiosity, partly
from his size and partly from his dress, which the unfortunate boy was
beginning to suspect was really preposterous, and he turned away with a
stammered excuse, and did not try another. Further on he found a baker's
shop, where he refreshed himself with some gingerbread and lemon soda.
At an adjacent grocery he purchased some herrings, smoked beef, and
biscuits, as future provisions for his "pack" or kit. Then began his
real quest for an outfit. In an hour he had secured--ostens