co
shopped. Where men with top hats, walking sticks and lavender silk
waistcoats ogled the feminine fashion parade.

As he passed the Baldwin Hotel with its broadside of bow-windows, Robert
became aware of some disturbance. A large dray drawn by four horses,
plumed and flower garlanded, was wending a triumphal course up Market
street. A man stood in the center of it waving his hat--a stocky fellow
in soiled trousers and an old gray sweater. Shouts of welcome hailed him
as the dray rolled on; most of them came from the opposite or
southern side.

"It's Dennis Kearney," said a man near Robert. "He and his gang were
released from custody today.... Now we'll have more trouble."

Robert followed the dray expectantly. But Kearney made no overt
demonstration. He seemed much subdued by his fortnight in jail.

The swift California dusk was falling. The afternoon was gone. And
Robert, realizing that it was past the dinner hour at his home, decided
to find his evening meal at a restaurant. One of these, with a display
of shell-fish grouped about a miniature fountain in its window,
confronted him ere long and he entered a rococo interior of mirrored
walls. What caught his fancy more than the ornate furnishings, however,
was a very pretty girl sitting within a cashier's cage of iron
grill-work.

It happened that she was smiling as he glanced her way. She had golden
hair with a hint of red in it, a dainty oval face, like his mother's;
eyes that were friendly and eager with youth. Robert smiled back at her
involuntarily.

The smile still lingered as a man came forward to adjust his score. A
keen, dynamic-looking man of middle years and an imposing presence.
Robert watched him just a little envious of his assured manner as he
threw down a gold-piece. While the fair cashier was making change he
grinned at her. "How's my little girl tonight?" Reaching through the
aperture, he chucked her suddenly beneath the chin. Tears of
mortification sprang into her eyes. Impulsively Robert stepped forward,
crowding the other aside none too gently.

"I beg your pardon," he was breathless, half astounded by his own
temerity. "But--can I be of any--ah--service?"

"Puppy!" stormed the elder man and stalked out haughtily. The girl's
eyes encountered Robert's, shining, grateful for an instant. Then they
fell. Her face grew grave. "You shouldn't have ... really.... That was
Isaac J. Kalloch."

"Oh, the preacher that's running for Mayor," Robert'