Port O' Gold Part 57

At Market and Fourth streets stood a large and rather nondescript gray structure built by Flood, the Comstock millionaire. It had served for varied purposes, but now it housed the Palais Royal, an immense saloon and gambling rendezvous. In the ma.s.sive, barn-like room, tile-floored and picture-ornamented, were close to a hundred tables where men of all descriptions drank, played cards and talked. Farther to the rear were private compartments, from which came the incessant click of poker chips.

Francisco and Robert sometimes lunched at the Palais Royal. The former liked its color and the vital energy he always found there. Robert "sat in" now and then at poker. He had a little of his father's love for Chance, but a restraining sanity left him little the loser in the long run. Robert had three children, the eldest a girl of twelve. Pet.i.te and dainty Maizie had become a plump and bustling mother-hen.

It was in the Palais Royal that Francisco met Abraham Ruef, a dapper and engaging gentleman of excellent address, greatly interested in politics.

He was a graduate of the State University, where he had specialized in political economy.

Francisco liked him, and they often sat for long discussions of the local situation after lunching at the Palais Royal. Ruef, in a small way, was a rival of Colonel Dan Burns, the Republican boss. Burns, they said, was jealous of Ruef's reform activites.

"If one could get the laboring cla.s.s together," Ruef told Stanley, "one could wield a mighty power. Some day, perhaps, I shall do it. The laborer is a giant, unconscious of his strength. He submits to Capital's oppression, unwitting of his own capacity to rule. For years we've had nothing but strikes, which have only strengthened employers."

"Yes, they're always broken," said Francisco.

"The strike is futile. Organization--political unity; that's the thing."

"A labor party, eh?" Francisco spoke, a trifle dubiously.

"Yes, but not the usual kind. It must be done right." His eyes shone.

"Ah, I can see it all so plainly. If I could make it clear to others--"

"Why don't you try?" asked Stanley.

But Ruef shook his head. "I lack the 'presence.' Do you know what I mean? No matter how smart I may be, they see in me only a small man. So they think I have small ideas. That is human nature. And they say, 'He's a Jew.' Which is another drawback."

He was silent a moment. "I have thought it all out.... I must borrow the 'presence.'"

"What do you mean?" Francisco was startled.

"We shall see," Ruef responded. "Perhaps I shall find me a man--big, strong, impressive--with a mind easily led.... Then I shall train him to be a leader. I shall furnish the brain."

"What a curious thought!" said Francisco. Ruef, smiling, shook his head.

"It is not new at all," he said. "If you read political history you will soon discover that."

Francisco worked at his novel. Word came of Alice Windham's death in Ma.s.sachusetts. Robert urged his father to return to San Francisco, but Benito sought forgetfulness in European travel.

Frank had finished high school; was a cub reporter on The Bulletin.

Pickering was dead; his widow and her brother, R.A. Crothers, had taken over the evening paper; John D. Spreckels, sugar nabob, now controlled the Call.

Newspaper policies were somewhat uncertain in these days of economic unrest. Strike succeeded strike, and with each there came a greater show of violence. Lines were more sharply drawn. Labor and capital organized for 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 sultry October day in 1901. "I can't understand why he's delayed until now."

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

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Perhaps I shall find me a man--big, strong, impressive--with a mind easily led.... Then I shall train him to be a leader. I shall furnish the brain."]

Stanley looked at his son in astonishment. He was not yet nineteen and he talked like a veteran of forty. Francisco wondered if these were his own 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 cla.s.s is fearful," he said. "They've controlled things so long they don't know what may happen if they lose the reins. It's plain that Phelan can't be re-elected. And it's true that if the labor men effect a real organization they may name the next Mayor. Rather a disturbing 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 a winning fight."

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

"Meaning--what?" asked Robert.

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

Ruef's offices were at the corner of Kearney and California streets.

Thither, with some half-formed mission in his mind, Francisco took his way. A saturnine man took him up in a little box-like elevator, pointing out a door inscribed:

A. RUEF, Att'y-at-Law.

The reception-room was filled. Half a dozen men and two women sat in chairs which lined the walls. A businesslike young man inquired Francisco's errand. "You'll have to wait your turn," he said. "I can't go in there now ... he's in conference with Mr. Schmitz."

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

Abe Ruef had borrowed a "presence."

CHAPTER LXXV

A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE

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

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

Ruef asked Francisco to his table. He talked a great deal about politics. Schmitz listened open-eyed; Stanley more astutely. All at once Ruef 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. "I have a matinee this afternoon," he said. Ruef walked down Market street with Stanley.

"He's leader of the Columbia orchestra.... I met him through my dealings with 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 is absolutely plastic. Just a handsome musician. And of good, plain people.