s father; "he talked of nothing but
lynching railroad magnates and destroying their property. He wants to
blow up the Pacific Mail docks and burn the steamers ... to drop
dynamite from balloons on Chinatown."

Young Stanley joined them, smiling, and dropped into a chair. "Whew!" he
exclaimed, "it's been a busy day down at the office. Have you heard that
Dennis Kearney's been arrested?"

CHAPTER LXVIII

THE WOMAN REPORTER

Francisco stayed for tea and chatted of events. Yes, Dennis Kearney was
in jail and making a great hullabaloo about it. He and five of his
lieutenants had been arrested after an enthusiastic meeting on the
Barbary Coast.

"And what's the Workingmen's Trade and Labor Union doing?" Robert asked.

"Oh, muttering and threatening as usual," Francisco laughed. "They'll
not do anything--with the memory of Coleman's 1500 pick-handles fresh in
their minds...."

"Well, I'm glad those murderous ruffians are behind the bars," said
Alice. But Francisco took her up. "That's rather hard on them, Aunt
Alice," he retorted. "They're only a social reaction of the times ...
when railroad millionaires have our Legislature by the throat and land
barons refuse to divide their great holdings and give the small farmer a
chance.... Kearney, aside from his rant of violence, which he doesn't
mean, is advocating much-needed reforms.... I was talking with Henry
George today...."

"He's the new city gas and water inspector, isn't he?" asked Benito.
"They tell me he's writing a book."

"Yes, 'Progress and Poverty.' George believes the single tax will cure
all social wrongs. But Jean...." He hesitated, flushing.

"Jean?" His aunt was quick to sense a mystery. "Who is Jean?"

"Oh, she's the new woman reporter," said Francisco hastily. He rose,
"Well, I'll be going now."

His aunt looked after him in silent speculation. "So!" she spoke half
to herself. "Jean's the woman reporter." And for some occult reason
she smiled.

* * * * *

Robert saw them together some days later, talking very earnestly as they
walked through "Pauper Alley." Such was the title bestowed upon
Leidesdorff street between California and Pine streets, where the
"mudhens"--those bedraggled, wretched women speculators who still waited
hungrily for scanty crumbs from Fortune's table--chatted with
broken-down and shabby men in endless reminiscent gabble of great
fortunes they had "almost won."

"Miss Norwall's going