o Sugar Refinery, the Grand
Hotel, a dry dock at Hunter's Point, the California Theater, a
reclamation scheme at Sherman Island, the San Joaquin Valley irrigating
system, the Rincon Hill cut, the extension of Montgomery street ..." he
checked them off on his fingers, pausing finally for lack of breath.

"You've forgotten the Palace Hotel," said Alice smiling.

"No," Benito said, "I hadn't got that far. But the Palace is typical.
Ralston wants San Francisco to have the best of everything the world can
give. He's mad about this town. It's wife and child to him. Why it's
almost his God!"

Alice looked into his eyes. "You're fearful for your prince! You Monte
Cristo!"

"Yes," he said, "I'm frankly worried. Something's got to drop.... It's
too--too splendid."

* * * * *

As he went down Market street toward Montgomery, Benito paused to
observe the new Palace Hotel. Hundreds of bricklayers, carpenters and
other workmen were raising it with astonishing speed. Hod-carriers raced
up swaying ladders, steam-winches puffed and snorted; great vats of lime
and mortar blockaded the street. It was to have a great inner court upon
which seven galleries would look down. Ralston boasted he would make it
a hotel for travelers to talk of round the world. And no one in San
Francisco doubted it.

Benito, eyes upraised to view the labors of a bustling human hive,
almost collided with two gentlemen, who were strolling westward, arm in
arm. He apologized. They roared endearing curses at him and insisted
that he join them in a drink.

They were J.C. Flood and W.S. O'Brien, former saloon proprietors now
reputed multi-millionaires.

Early in the seventies they had joined forces with Jim Mackey, a
blaster, at Virginia City and a mining man named J.G. Fair. Between them
they bought up the supposedly depleted Consolidated Virginia Mine,
paying from $4 to $9 each for its 10,700 shares. Mining experts smiled
good naturedly, forgot the matter. Then the world was brought upstanding
by the news of a bonanza hitherto unrivaled.

Con. Virginia had gained a value of $150,000,000.

After he had sipped the French champagne, on which Flood insisted and
which Windham disliked, the latter spoke of Ralston and his trouble with
the editors. "Some of the newspapers would have us think he's playing
recklessly, with other people's money," he said with irritation.

'"Well, well, and maybe he is, me b'y," returned O'Brien. "D