Port O' Gold

  Frank had finished high school; was a cub reporter on The Bulletin.Pickering was dead; his widow and her brother, R.A. Crothers, had takenover the evening paper; John D. Spreckels, sugar nabob, nowcontrolled the Call.

  Newspaper policies were somewhat uncertain in these days of economicunrest. Strike succeeded strike, and with each there came a greater showof violence. Lines were more sharply drawn. Labor and capital organizedfor self-protection and offense.

  "I hear that Governor Gage is coming down to settle the teamsters'strike," said Francisco to his son as they lunched together one sultryOctober day in 1901. "I can't understand why he's delayed until now."

  "Probably wanted to keep out of it as long as possible," respondedFrank. "There are strong political forces on each side ... but the storygoes that Colonel 'Montezuma' Burns is jealous of Ruef's overtures toworkingmen. So he's ordered the Governor to make a grandstand play."

  "Perhaps I shall find me a man--big, strong,impressive--with a mind easily led.... Then I shall train him to be aleader. I shall furnish the brain."]

  Stanley looked at his son in astonishment. He was not yet nineteen andhe talked like a veteran of forty. Francisco wondered if these were hisown deductions or mere parroted gossip of the office.

  Later that afternoon he met Robert and told him of Frank's comment.Robert thought the situation over ere he answered.

  "The employing class is fearful," he said. "They've controlled things solong they don't know what may happen if they lose the reins. It's plainthat Phelan can't be re-elected. And it's true that if the labor meneffect a real organization they may name the next Mayor. Rather adisturbing situation."

  "Have you heard any talk about a man named Schmitz? A labor candidate?"

  "Yes, I think I have. The chap's a fiddler in a theater orchestra. Big,fine looking. But I can't imagine that he has the brains to make awinning fight."

  "Big! Fine looking! Hm!" repeated Stanley.

  "Meaning--what?" asked Robert.

  "Nothing much.... I just remembered something Ruef was telling me." Hewalked on thoughtfully. "Might be a story there for the boy's paper," hecogitated.

  Ruef's offices were at the corner of Kearney and California streets.Thither, with some half-formed mission in his mind, Francisco took hisway. A saturnine man took him up in a little box-like elevator, pointingout a door inscribed:

  A. RUEF, Att'y-at-Law.

  The reception-room was filled. Half a dozen men and two women sat inchairs which lined the walls. A businesslike young man inquiredFrancisco's errand. "You'll have to wait your turn," he said. "I can'tgo in there now ... he's in conference with Mr. Schmitz."

  Francisco decided not to wait. After all, he had learned what he camefor.

  Abe Ruef had borrowed a "presence."

  CHAPTER LXXV

  A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE

  Stanley was to learn much more of Eugene Schmitz. It was in fact thefollowing day that he met Ruef and the violinist at Zinkand's. Schmitzwas a man of imposing presence. He stood over six feet high; his curlycoal-black hair and pointed beard, his dark, luminous eyes and a certaindash in his manner, gave him a glamor of old-world romance. In a red capand ermine-trimmed robe, he might have been Richelieu, defying thethrone. Or, otherwise clad, the Porthos of Dumas' "Three Musketeers."

  Francisco could not help reflecting that Ruef had borrowed a very finepresence indeed.

  Ruef asked Francisco to his table. He talked a great deal aboutpolitics. Schmitz listened open-eyed; Stanley more astutely. All at onceRuef leaned toward Francisco.

  "What do you think of Mr. Schmitz--as a candidate for Mayor?" he asked.

  "I think," Francisco answered meaningly, "that you have chosen well."They rose, shook hands. To Francisco's surprise Schmitz left them. "Ihave a matinee this afternoon," he said. Ruef walked down Market streetwith Stanley.

  "He's leader of the Columbia orchestra.... I met him through my dealingswith the Musicians' Union." Impulsively he grasped Francisco's arm."Isn't he a wonder? I'll clean up the town with him. Watch me!"

  "And, are you certain you can manage this chap?"

  Ruef laughed a quiet little laugh of deep content. "Oh, Gene isabsolutely plastic. Just a handsome musician. And of good, plain people.His father was a German band leader; his mother is Irish--MargaretHogan. That will help. And he is a Native Son."

  Ruef babbled on. He had a great plan for combining all politicalfactions--an altruistic dream of economic brotherhood. Franciscolistened somewhat skeptically. He was not certain of the man'ssincerity, but he admired Ruef. Of his executive ability there couldbe no doubt.

  Yet there was something vaguely wrong about the wondrous fitness ofRuef's plan. Mary Godwin Shelley's tale of "Frankenstein" came toFrancisco's mind.

  * * * * *

  That evening Frank said to his father, with a wink at Jeanne, "Want togo slumming with me tonight, father? I'm going to do my first signedstory: 'The Night-Life of This Town'."

  "Do you think I ought to, Jeanne?" asked her husband whimsically. Heglanced at his son. "This younger generation is a trifle--er--vehementfor old fogies like me."

  Jeanne came over and sat on the arm of his chair. "Nonsense," she said,"you are just as young as ever, Francisco.... Yes, go with the boy, byall means. I'll run up to Maizie's for the evening. She's making a dressfor Alice's birthday party. She will be sixteen next month."

  * * * * *

  Francisco and his son went gaily forth to see their city after dark.Truth to tell, the father knew more of it than the lad, who acted asconductor. Francisco's wanderings in search of 'local color' hadincluded some nocturnal quests. However, he kept this to himself and letFrank do the guiding.

  They went, first, to a large circular building called the Olympia, atEddy and Mason streets. It was the heart of what was called theTenderloin, a gay and hectic region frequented by half-world folk, butnot unknown to travelers nor to members of society, Slumming partieswere both fashionable and frequent. Two girls were capering andcarolling behind the footlights.

  "They are Darlton and Boice," explained young Stanley. "The one with theperpetual smile is a great favorite. She's Boice. She's got a daughterold as I, they say."

  They visited the Thalia, a basement "dive" of lower order, and returnedto the comparative respectability of the Oberon beer hall on O'Farrellstreet, where a plump orchestra of German females played sprightly airs;thence back to Market street and the Midway. "Little Egypt," tiny,graceful, sensually pretty, performed a "danse du ventre," at theconclusion of a long program of crude and often ribald "turns." When"off-stage" the performers, mostly girls, drank with the audience in atier of curtained boxes which lined the sides of the auditorium. Atintervals the curtains parted for a moment and faces peered down. Adrunken sailor in a forward box was tossing silver coins to a dancer.

  They made their exit, Francisco frankly weary and the young reporterbored by the unrelieved crudity of it all. A smart equipage, withchamping horses, stood before the entrance. They paused to glance at it.

  "Looks like Harry Bear's carriage," Frank commented. "You know the youngsociety blood who's had so many larks." He turned back. "Wait a minute,father, I'm going in. If Bear has a party upstairs in those boxes it'llmake good copy."

  "It'll make a scandal, you mean," returned Francisco rather crisply."You can't print the women's names."

  "Bosh!" the younger man retorted pertly. "Everyone's doing this sort ofthing now. Come along, dad. See the fun." He caught his father's arm andthey re-entered, taking the stairs, this time, to the boxes above. Fromone came a man's laughing banter. "That's he," Frank whispered, Hastilyhe drew his half reluctant father into a vacant box. A waiter broughtthem beer, collected half a dollar and inquired if they wanted"Company." Francisco shook his head.

  The man in the adjoining box was drunk, the girl was frightened. Theirvoices filtered plainly through the thin partition. He was urging her todrink and she was protesting. Finally
she screamed. Stanley and his sonsprang simultaneously to the rescue. They found a young man in anevening suit trying to kiss a very pretty girl.

  His ears were red where she had boxed them and as he turned a ratherfoolish face surprisedly toward the intruders, a scratch showed livid onone cheek. The girl's hair streamed disheveled by the struggle. Shecaught up, hastily, a handsome opera cloak to cover her torn corsage.

  "Please," she said, "get me out of here quickly.... I'll pay you well."Then she flushed as young Stanley stiffened. "I ... I beg your pardon."

  He offered her his arm and they passed from the box together. Thebefuddled swain, after a dazed interval, attempted to follow, butFrancisco flung him back. He heard the carriage door shut with a snap,the clatter of iron-shod hoofs. Then he went out to look for Frank, butdid not find him. Evidently he had gone with the lady. Francisco smiled.It was quite an adventure. Thoughtfully he gazed at the banners flungacross Market street:

  "VOTE FOR EUGENE SCHMITZ,

  "The Workingman's Friend."

  That was Abraham Ruef's adventure. He wondered how each of them wouldend.

  CHAPTER LXXVI

  POLITICS AND ROMANCE

  Ruef swept the field with his handsome fiddler. All "South of Marketstreet" rallied to his support. The old line parties brought theirtrusty, well-oiled election machinery into play, but it availedthem little.

  Robert and Francisco met one day soon after the election. "Everyone islaughing at our fiddler Mayor," said the former. "He's like a kingwithout a court; for all the other offices were carried by Republicansand Democrats."

  Francisco smoked a moment thoughtfully. "Union Labor traded minoroffices for Mayoralty votes, I understand. Meanwhile Ruef is buildinghis machine. He has convinced the labor people that he knows the game.They've given him carte blanche."

  "And how does the big fellow take it?"

  "I was talking with him yesterday," Francisco answered. "Schmitz is shyjust yet. But feels his dignity. Oh, mightily!" He laughed. "Little Abewill have his hands full with big 'Gene, I'm thinking."

  "But Ruef's not daunted by the prospect."

  "Heavens, no. The man has infinite self-confidence. And it's no fatuousegotism, either. A sort of suave, unshakable trust in himself. AbeRuef's the cleverest politician San Francisco's known in manyyears--perhaps since Broderick. He makes such men as Burns and Buckleylook like tyros--"

  Robert looked up quickly. "By the way, I've often wondered whetherBuckley wasn't guilty of your disappearance. He meant you no good."

  "No," Francisco answered. "I've looked into that. Chris, himself, hadno connection with it. Once he threatened me ... but I've since learnedwhat he meant.... Just a little blackmail which concerned a woman.But--" he hesitated.

  Robert moved uneasily. "But--what?"

  "Oh, well, it didn't work. The girl he planned to use told him thetruth." Francisco, too, seemed ill at ease. "It was so long ago ... it'sall forgotten."

  "I trust so," said the other. Rather abruptly he rose. "Must be gettingback to work."

  * * * * *

  Once a week Frank donned his evening clothes and was driven to a certainsplendid home on Pacific Heights. Bertha Larned met him always with asmile--and a different gown. Each successive one seemed more splendid,becoming, costly. And ever the lady seemed more sweet as their intimacygrew. Once when Frank had stammered an enthusiastic appreciation of herlatest gown--a wondrous thing of silk and lace that seemed to match thechanging fires in her eyes--she said suddenly: "What a fright I musthave looked that evening--in the Midway! And what you must have thoughtof me--in such a place!"

  "Do you wish to know just what I thought?" Frank asked her, reddening.

  "Yes." Her eyes, a little shamed, but brave, met his.

  "Well," he said, "you stood there with your hair all streaming andyour--and that splendid fire in your eyes. The beauty of you struck melike a whip. You seemed an angel--after all the sordid sights I'dseen. And--"

  "Go on--please;" her eyes were shining.

  "Then--it's sort of odd--but I wanted to fight for you!"

  She came a little closer.

  "Some day, perhaps," she spoke with sudden gravity, "I may ask you to dothat."

  "What? Fight for you?"

  Bertha nodded.

  * * * * *

  It was after the Olympia had been made over into a larger Tivoli OperaHouse that Frank met Aleta Boice. She was a member of the chorus. Theiracquaintance blossomed from propinquity, for both had a fashion ofsupping on the edge of midnight at a little restaurant, better known byits sobriquet of "Dusty Doughnut," than by its real name, which long agohad been forgotten.

  Frank had formed the habit of sitting at a small table somewhat isolatedfrom the others where now and then he wrote an article or editorial.Hitherto it had unvaryingly been at his disposal, for the hour ofFrank's reflection was not a busy one. Therefore he was just a miteannoyed to find his table tenanted by a woman. Perhaps his irritationwas apparent; or, perchance, Aleta had a knack for reading faces, forshe colored.

  "I--I beg your pardon. Have I got your place?"

  "N-no," protested Frank. "I sit here often ... that's no matter."

  "Well," she said; "don't let me drive you off. I'll not becomfortable.... Let's share it, then," she smiled; "tonight, at least."

  They did. Frank found her very like her mother--the smiling one ofDarlton and Boice, Olympia entertainers of past years. One couldn't callher pretty, when her face was in repose. But that was seldom, so itdidn't matter. Her smile was like a spring, a fountain of perennial goodnature. And her eyes were trusting, like a child's. Frank often wonderedhow she had maintained that look of eager innocence amid the lifeshe lived.

  Frank learned much of her past. She could barely remember the father,who was a circus acrobat and had been killed by a fall from a trapeze.Her mother had retired from the stage; she was doing needlework for thedepartment stores and the Woman's Exchange.

  "Every morning she teaches me grammar," said Aleta. "Mother's neverwanted me to talk slang like the other girls. She says if you'recareless with your English you get careless of your principles. Mother'sgot a lot of quaint ideas like that."

  Again came her rippling laugh. Frank grew to enjoy her; look forward tothe nightly fifteen minutes of companionship. They never met anywhereelse. But when an illness held Aleta absent for a week the DustyDoughnut seemed a lonesome place.

  Bertha twitted Frank upon his absent-mindedness one evening as he dinedwith her. By an effort he shook off his vagary of the other girl. Heloved Bertha. But, for some unfathomed cause, she held him off. Neverhad she let him reach a declaration.

  "We're such marvelous friends!... Can't we always be that--just that?"

  * * * * *

  Things drifted on. Schmitz, as a Mayor, caused but small remark. Hereminded Frank of a rustic, sitting at a banquet board and watching hisneighbors before daring to pick up a fork or spoon. But Ruef went onbuilding his fences. Union Labor was now a force to deal with. And Ruefwas Union Labor.

  One of Robert's clients desired to open a French restaurant, with theusual hotel appurtenances. He made application in the usual manner. Butthe license was denied.

  Robert was astonished for no reason was assigned and all requests forexplanation were evaded.

  A week or so later, Robert met the restaurateur. "Well, I've done it,"said the latter, jovially. "Open Monday, Come around and eat with me."

  "But--how did you manage it?"

  "Oh, I took a tip. I made Ruef my attorney. Big retaining fee," hesighed. "But--well, it's worth the price."

  CHAPTER LXXVII

  ALETA'S PROBLEM

  By the end of Schmitz' second term the Democrats and Republicans werethoroughly alarmed. They saw a workingmen's control of city governmentloom large and imminent, with all its threat of overturned politicaltradition.

  So the old line parties got together. They made
it a campaign ofMorality against imputed Vice. They selected as a fusion standard-bearerGeorge S. Partridge, a young lawyer of unblemished reputation--and ofuntried strength.

  "If Ruef succeeds a third time," Frank said to his father, "he'llcontrol the town. He'll elect a full Board of Supervisors ... that isfreely prophesied if Union Labor wins. You ought to see his list ofcandidates--waffle bakers, laundry wagon drivers--horny-fisted sons oftoil and parasites of politics. Heaven help us if they get in power!"

  "But there's always a final reckoning ... like the Vigilance Committee,"said Francisco, slowly. "Somehow, I feel that there's a shakeup coming."

  "A moral earthquake, eh?" laughed Jeanne. "I wouldn't want to have areal one, with all of our new skyscrapers."

  * * * * *

  After dinner Stanley and his son strolled downtown together. Exerciseand diet had been recommended, Francisco was acquiring embonpoint. Frankwas enthusiastic over the new motor carriages called automobiles.

  Robert had one of them--the gasoline type--with a _chauffeur_, as theFrench called the drivers of such machines. Bertha Larned had an"electric coupe," very handsome and costly, with plate-glass windows onthree sides. She drove it herself. Frank sometimes encountered itdowntown, looking like a moving glass cage, with the two women in it.Mrs. Larned, the aunt, always had a slightly worried expression, andBertha, as she steered the thing through a tangle of horse-drawntraffic, wore a singularly determined look.