gas-light is plaguey dear, when it's goin' full
blast day and night. Besides, I must cut the entrance-door down to the
ground, for this tree-mendous flight o' stairs'll be the ruin o' the
business. It's only a week since a man was shot by a comrade here in
the cabin, an' as they rushed out after him, two customers fell down the
stair and broke their arms. And I calc'late the gentlemen that's
overtaken by liquor every night won't stand it much longer. There isn't
a single man that quits this house after 12 p.m. but goes down that
flight head-foremost. If you don't sanction that change, I guess I'll
have to get 'em padded, and spread feather-beds at the foot. Now,
cap'n, if you agrees to this right off, I'll give the sum named."

Captain Bunting's astonishment had now reached that point at which
extremes are supposed to meet, and a reaction began to take place.

"How much did you propose?" he inquired, taking out a pencil and an old
letter, as if he were about to make notes, at the same time knitting his
brows, and endeavouring to look intensely sagacious.

"One thousand dollars a month," answered the Yankee; "I railly can't
stand more."

"Let me see," muttered the captain slowly, in an under tone, while he
pressed his forehead with his fore-finger; "one thousand dollars--200
pounds sterling--hum, equal to about 2400 pounds a year. Well," he
added, raising his voice, "I don't mind if I do. I suppose, Tom, it's
not _much_ below the thing, as rents go!"

"It's a fair offer," said Tom, carelessly; "we might, perhaps, get a
higher, but Major Whitlaw is in possession, and is, besides, a good
tenant."

"Then I'll conclude the bargain--pray get pen, ink, and paper."

While the major turned for a moment to procure writing materials, the
captain looked at Tom and winked expressively. Then, a document was
drawn up, signed, and witnessed, and then the captain, politely
declining a brandy-smash, or any other smash whatever, left the _Roving
Bess_ Tavern with his friends, and with 200 pounds--the first month's
rent--in his pocket.

It is needless to remark, that his comrades congratulated him heartily,
and that the worthy captain walked along the streets of San Francisco
chuckling.

In a few minutes, Tom Collins stopped before a row of immense
warehouses. There was one gap in the row, a space of several yards
square, that might have held two good-sized houses. Four wooden posts
stood at the corners of the plot,