s tone was abashed.
"But I don't care," he added, "I'm glad I did."

Once again the girl's eyes met his, shyly. "So am I," she whispered.

CHAPTER LXIX

A NEW GENERATION

Isaac S. Kalloch was the labor candidate for mayor. People said he was
the greatest pulpit orator in San Francisco since Starr King. His Sunday
sermons at the Metropolitan Temple were crowded; as a campaign orator he
drew great throngs.

Robert's dislike for the man was mitigated by a queer involuntary
gratitude. Without that bit of paternal familiarity, which had goaded
the young lawyer to impulsive protective championship, he and Maizie
Carter, the little golden-haired cashier, might have found the road to
comradeship much longer.

For comrades they had become almost at once. At least so they fondly
fancied. Robert's mother wondered why he missed so many meals from home.
The rococo restaurant gained a steady customer. And the host of
cavaliers who lingered in the hope of seeing Maizie home each evening
diminished to one. He was often invited into the vine-clad cottage at
the top of Powell street hill. Sometimes he sat with Maizie on a
haircloth sofa and looked at Mrs. Carter's autograph album. It contained
some great names that were now no longer written. James Lick, David
Broderick, Colonel E.D. Baker and the still lamented Ralston, of whom
Maizie's mother never tired of talking. He, it seems, was wont to give
her tips on mining stocks. Acting on them, she had once amassed $10,000.

"But I lost it all after the poor, dear man passed away," she would say,
with a tear in her eye. "Once that fellow Mills--I hate his fishy
eyes!--looked straight at me and said, 'See the poor old mud-hen'!"

She began to weep softly. Maizie sprang to comfort her, stroking the
stringy gray hair with tender, youthful fingers. "Mother quit the market
after that. She hasn't been near Pauper Alley for a year ... not since
I've been working at the Mineral Cafe. And we've three hundred dollars
in the bank."

"Ah, yes," said the mother, fondly. "Maizie's a brave girl and a thrifty
one. We're comfortable--and independent, even though the rich grind down
the poor." Her eyes lighted. "Wait till Kalloch is elected ... then
we'll see better times, I'll warrant."

Robert was too courteous to express his doubts.

Later he discussed the situation with Francisco. His paper had printed
an "expose" of Kalloch, who struck back with bitter personal
denunciation of his edito