Port O' Gold Part 58

His father was a German band leader; his mother is Irish--Margaret Hogan. That will help. And he is a Native Son."

Ruef babbled on. He had a great plan for combining all political factions--an altruistic dream of economic brotherhood. Francisco listened somewhat skeptically. He was not certain of the man's sincerity, but he admired Ruef. Of his executive ability there could be no doubt.

Yet there was something vaguely wrong about the wondrous fitness of Ruef's plan. Mary G.o.dwin Sh.e.l.ley's tale of "Frankenstein" came to Francisco's mind.

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

"Do you think I ought to, Jeanne?" asked her husband whimsically. He glanced at his son. "This younger generation is a trifle--er--vehement for 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, by all means. I'll run up to Maizie's for the evening. She's making a dress for 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 as conductor. Francisco's wanderings in search of 'local color' had included some nocturnal quests. However, he kept this to himself and let Frank do the guiding.

They went, first, to a large circular building called the Olympia, at Eddy and Mason streets. It was the heart of what was called the Tenderloin, a gay and hectic region frequented by half-world folk, but not unknown to travelers nor to members of society, Slumming parties were both fas.h.i.+onable and frequent. Two girls were capering and carolling behind the footlights.

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

They visited the Thalia, a bas.e.m.e.nt "dive" of lower order, and returned to the comparative respectability of the Oberon beer hall on O'Farrell street, 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 the conclusion of a long program of crude and often ribald "turns." When "off-stage" the performers, mostly girls, drank with the audience in a tier of curtained boxes which lined the sides of the auditorium. At intervals the curtains parted for a moment and faces peered down. A drunken sailor in a forward box was tossing silver coins to a dancer.

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

"Looks like Harry Bear's carriage," Frank commented. "You know the young society 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'll make good copy."

"It'll make a scandal, you mean," returned Francisco rather crisply.

"You can't print the women's names."

"Bos.h.!.+" the younger man retorted pertly. "Everyone's doing this sort of thing now. Come along, dad. See the fun." He caught his father's arm and they re-entered, taking the stairs, this time, to the boxes above. From one came a man's laughing banter. "That's he," Frank whispered, Hastily he drew his half reluctant father into a vacant box. A waiter brought them 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. Their voices filtered plainly through the thin part.i.tion. He was urging her to drink and she was protesting. Finally she screamed. Stanley and his son sprang simultaneously to the rescue. They found a young man in an evening suit trying to kiss a very pretty girl.

His ears were red where she had boxed them and as he turned a rather foolish face surprisedly toward the intruders, a scratch showed livid on one cheek. The girl's hair streamed disheveled by the struggle. She caught 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 pa.s.sed from the box together. The befuddled swain, after a dazed interval, attempted to follow, but Francisco 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, but did not find him. Evidently he had gone with the lady. Francisco smiled.

It was quite an adventure. Thoughtfully he gazed at the banners flung across Market street:

"VOTE FOR EUGENE SCHMITZ,

"The Workingman's Friend."

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

CHAPTER LXXVI

POLITICS AND ROMANCE

Ruef swept the field with his handsome fiddler. All "South of Market street" rallied to his support. The old line parties brought their trusty, well-oiled election machinery into play, but it availed them little.

Robert and Francisco met one day soon after the election. "Everyone is laughing at our fiddler Mayor," said the former. "He's like a king without a court; for all the other offices were carried by Republicans and Democrats."

Francisco smoked a moment thoughtfully. "Union Labor traded minor offices for Mayoralty votes, I understand. Meanwhile Ruef is building his 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 shy just yet. But feels his dignity. Oh, mightily!" He laughed. "Little Abe will 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 fatuous egotism, either. A sort of suave, unshakable trust in himself. Abe Ruef's the cleverest politician San Francisco's known in many years--perhaps since Broderick. He makes such men as Burns and Buckley look like tyros--"

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

"No," Francisco answered. "I've looked into that. Chris, himself, had no connection with it. Once he threatened me ... but I've since learned what 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 the truth." Francisco, too, seemed ill at ease. "It was so long ago ... it's all forgotten."

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

Once a week Frank donned his evening clothes and was driven to a certain splendid home on Pacific Heights. Bertha Larned met him always with a smile--and a different gown. Each successive one seemed more splendid, becoming, costly. And ever the lady seemed more sweet as their intimacy grew. Once when Frank had stammered an enthusiastic appreciation of her latest gown--a wondrous thing of silk and lace that seemed to match the changing fires in her eyes--she said suddenly: "What a fright I must have looked that evening--in the Midway! And what you must have thought of 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 and your--and that splendid fire in your eyes. The beauty of you struck me like a whip. You seemed an angel--after all the sordid sights I'd seen. And--"

"Go on--please;" her eyes were s.h.i.+ning.

"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 do that."