imes I think," he added, whimsically,
"that Maizie is partly Chinese."

The girl flushed. Jeanne made haste to change the subject. "How is your
friend, Dennis Kearney?" she asked Francisco.

"Oh, he's left the agitator business ... he's a grain broker now. But
Dennis started something. Capital is a little more willing to listen to
labor. And Chinese immigration will be restricted, perhaps stopped
altogether. The Geary Exclusion Act is before Congress now, and more or
less certain to pass."

"He's a strange fellow," said Jeanne, reminiscently. "I wonder if he
still hates everyone who disagrees with him. Loring Pickering was one of
his pet enemies."

"Oh, Dennis is forgiving, like all Irishmen," said Robert. Impulsively
he laid a hand on Maizie's.

"Maizie is part Irish, too," he added, meaningly. The girl smiled at him
star-eyed. For she understood.

CHAPTER LXXI

THE BLIND BOSS

Francisco met the erstwhile agitator on the street one day. He had made
his peace with many former foes, including Pickering."

"Politics is a rotten game, me b'y," he said, by way of explanation.
"And I've a family, two little girruls at home. I want thim to remimber
their father as something besides a blatherskite phin they grow up. So
I'm in a rispictible business again.... There's a new boss now, bad cess
to him! Chris Buckley.

"Him your Chinese friends call 'The Blind White Devil?' Yes, I've heard
of Chris."

"He keeps a saloon wid a gossoon name o' Fallon, on Bush street.... Go
up and see him, Misther Stanley.... He's a fair-speakin' felly I'm
told.... Ask him," Dennis whispered, nudging the writer's ribs with his
elbow, "ask him how his gambling place in Platt's Hall is coming on?"

* * * * *

Several days later Francisco entered the unpretentious establishment of
Christopher Buckley. He found it more like an office than a drinking
place; people sat about, apparently waiting their turn for an interview
with Buckley.

A small man, soft of tread and with a searching glance, asked Stanley's
business and, learning that the young man was a writer for the press,
blinked rapidly a few times; then he scuttled off, returning ere long
with the information that Buckley would "see Mr. Stanley." Soon he found
himself facing a pleasant-looking man of medium height, a moustache,
wiry hair tinged with gray, a vailed expression of the eyes, which
indicated some abnormality of vision, but did not revea