d their organs naturally attacked the
California Senator who defied both President and party; they asserted
that Broderick was an ignorant boor, whose speeches were written for him
by a journalist named Wilkes. But they did not explain how Broderick
more than held his own in extemporaneous debate with the nation's
seasoned orators. Many of these would have taken advantage of his
inexperience, for he was the second youngest Senator in Congress. But he
revealed a natural and disconcerting skill at verbal riposte which made
him respected, if not feared by his opponents. One day, being harried by
administration Senators, he struck back with a savagery which, for the
moment, silenced them.

The San Francisco papers--for that matter, all the journals of the
nation--printed Broderick's words conspicuously. And, as they held with
North or South, with Abolition or with Slavery, they praised or
censured him.

"I hope, in mercy to the boasted intelligence of this age, the
historian, when writing the history of these times, will ascribe the
attempt of the President to enforce the Lecompton resolution upon an
unwilling people to the fading intellect, the petulant passion and the
trembling dotage of an old man on the verge of the grave."

"Buchanan will be furious," said Benito. "They say he's an old beau who
wears a toupee and knee-breeches. All Washington that dares to do so
will be laughing at him, especially the ladies."

Benito returned from the office one foggy June evening with a copy of
The Bulletin that contained a speech by Broderick. It was dusk and Alice
had lighted the lamp to read the Washington dispatch as she always did
with eager interest, when there came a light, almost stealthy knock at
the door. Benito, rather startled, opened it. There stood a Chinese
youth of about 18, wrapped in a huge disguising cloak. He bowed low
several times, then held forth a letter addressed in brush-fashioned,
India-ink letters to "B. Windham Esquire."

Curiously he opened it and read:

"The hand of the 'avenger' has smitten. I have not long to live. Will
you, in your honorable kindness, protect my nephew, Po Lun? He will make
a good and faithful servant, requiting kindness with zeal. May the Lord
of Heaven bless you."

"WONG LEE."

Excitedly and with many gestures Po Lun described the killing of his
uncle by a Hip Yee "hatchetman." But even in his dying hour Wong Lee had
found means to protect a kinsman. Po Lun wept as he tol