rial foes. "It's a nasty mess," Francisco said
disgustedly.

"Broderick used to tell my father that politics had always been a
rascal's paradise because decent men wouldn't run for office--nor vote
half of the time.... I'm going to write an article about it for The
Overland. And Pixley of the Argonaut has given me a chance to do some
stories. I shall be an author pretty soon--like Harte and Clemens."

"Or a poet like this Cincinnatus Heinie Miller, whom one hears about.
Fancy such a name. I should think he'd change it."

"He has already," laughed Francisco. "Calls himself Joaquin--after
Marietta, the bandit. Joaquin Miller--rather catchy, isn't it? And he's
written some really fine lines. Showed me one the other day that's
called 'Columbus.' It's majestic. I tell you that fellow will be
famous one day."

"Pooh!" scoffed Robert; "he's a poseur--ought to be an actor, with his
long hair and boots and sash.... How is the fair Jeanne?"

Francisco's face clouded. "I want her to leave newspaper work and try
literature," he said, "but Jeanne's afraid to cut loose. She's earning
her living ... and she's alone in the world. No one to fall back on,
you know."

"But she'd make more money at real writing, wouldn't she?" asked Robert.
"Ever since Harte wrote that thing about 'The Luck of Roaring Camp,'
which the lady proofreader said was indecent, he's had offers from the
Eastern magazines. John Carmony's paying him $5,000 a year to edit the
Overland and $100 for each poem or story he writes."

"Ah, yes, but Bret Harte is a genius."

"Maybe Jeanne's another," Robert ventured.

Francisco laughed ruefully. "I've told her that ... but she says no....
'I'm just a woman,' she insists, 'and not a very bright one at that.'
She has all kinds of faith in me, but little in herself." He made an
impatient gesture. "What can a fellow do?"

Robert looked at him a moment thoughtfully. "Why not--marry Jeanne?"

Dull red crept into Francisco's cheeks. Then he laughed.
"Well--er--probably she wouldn't have me."

"There's only one way to find out," his cousin persisted. "She's alone
... and you're soon going to be. When do your folks start on their
'second honeymoon,' as they call it?"

"Oh, that trip around the world--why, in a month or two. As soon as
father closes out his business."

"You could have the house then--you and Jeanne."

"Say!" exclaimed Francisco suddenly, "you're such a Jim Dandy to manage
love affairs! Why don't you