Port O' Gold Part 59

"What? Fight for you?"

Bertha nodded.

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

Frank had formed the habit of sitting at a small table somewhat isolated from the others where now and then he wrote an article or editorial.

Hitherto it had unvaryingly been at his disposal, for the hour of Frank's reflection was not a busy one. Therefore he was just a mite annoyed to find his table tenanted by a woman. Perhaps his irritation was apparent; or, perchance, Aleta had a knack for reading faces, for she 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 be comfortable.... Let's share it, then," she smiled; "tonight, at least."

They did. Frank found her very like her mother--the smiling one of Darlton and Boice, Olympia entertainers of past years. One couldn't call her pretty, when her face was in repose. But that was seldom, so it didn't matter. Her smile was like a spring, a fountain of perennial good nature. And her eyes were trusting, like a child's. Frank often wondered how she had maintained that look of eager innocence amid the life she 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 the department stores and the Woman's Exchange.

"Every morning she teaches me grammar," said Aleta. "Mother's never wanted me to talk slang like the other girls. She says if you're careless with your English you get careless of your principles. Mother's got a lot of quaint ideas like that."

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

Bertha twitted Frank upon his absent-mindedness one evening as he dined with her. By an effort he shook off his vagary of the other girl. He loved Bertha. But, for some unfathomed cause, she held him off. Never had 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. He reminded Frank of a rustic, sitting at a banquet board and watching his neighbors before daring to pick up a fork or spoon. But Ruef went on building his fences. Union Labor was now a force to deal with. And Ruef was Union Labor.

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

Robert was astonished for no reason was a.s.signed and all requests for explanation 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," he sighed. "But--well, it's worth the price."

CHAPTER LXXVII

ALETA'S PROBLEM

By the end of Schmitz' second term the Democrats and Republicans were thoroughly alarmed. They saw a workingmen's control of city government loom large and imminent, with all its threat of overturned political tradition.

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

"If Ruef succeeds a third time," Frank said to his father, "he'll control the town. He'll elect a full Board of Supervisors ... that is freely prophesied if Union Labor wins. You ought to see his list of candidates--waffle bakers, laundry wagon drivers--h.o.r.n.y-fisted sons of toil 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 a real one, with all of our new skysc.r.a.pers."

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

Robert had one of them--the gasoline type--with a _chauffeur_, as the French called the drivers of such machines. Bertha Larned had an "electric coupe," very handsome and costly, with plate-gla.s.s windows on three sides. She drove it herself. Frank sometimes encountered it downtown, looking like a moving gla.s.s cage, with the two women in it.

Mrs. Larned, the aunt, always had a slightly worried expression, and Bertha, as she steered the thing through a tangle of horse-drawn traffic, wore a singularly determined look.

There were cable cars on most of the streets; a few electric lines which ran much more swiftly. But people deemed the latter dangerous. There was much popular sentiment against electrizing Market street. The United Railways, which had succeeded the old Market Street Railway Company, was in disfavor. There were rumors of illicit bargains with the Supervisors for the granting of proposed new franchises. Young Partridge made much of this. He warned the public that it was about to be "betrayed." But his prophetic eloquence availed him little. Schmitz and all the Union Labor candidates won by a great majority.

Frank sought Aleta at the Dusty Doughnut some months later. He was very tired, for the past few days had brought a mult.i.tude of tasks. He had counted on Aleta's smile. It seldom failed to cheer him, to restore the normal balance of his mind. But, though she came, the smile was absent.

There was a faint ghost of it now and again; a harried look about the eyes. Frank thought there was a mistiness which hinted recent tears.

He laid a hand sympathetically on hers. "What is it, little girl?"

She would not tell him. Her mother was ill. But the trouble did not lie there. Frank was sure. She had borne that burden long and uncomplainingly. Aleta had an ingenue part now at the Alcazar. Only once or twice a week did she keep the tacit tryst at the little nocturnal cafe. Frank saw her at the Techau, at Zinkand's, the St. Germain, with the kind of men that make love to actresses. She knew all about the stock market and politics, for some of Ruef's new Supervisors were among her swains. Once or twice, as the jargon of the journals has it, she had "tipped off" a story to Frank.

She said at last, "I'll tell you something ... but you mustn't print it: This new city government is running wild.... They're scheming to hold up the town. They've made a list of all the corporations--the United Railways, the telephone company.... Everyone that wants a favor of the city must pay high. The man who told me this said that his share will total $30,000. Ruef and Schmitz will probably be millionaires."

"But how's it to be done? They're being watched, you know. They've lots of enemies. Bribery would land them in the penitentiary."

The girl leaned forward. "Ah, this isn't ordinary bribery. Anyone that wants a franchise or a license hires Ruef as his attorney. They say he gets as high at $10,000 for a retaining fee ... and they expect to clean the street car company out of a quarter million."

Prank stared. "Why--in G.o.d's name!--did he tell you this?"

"He loves me." There was something like defiance in her answer. "He wants me to accompany him to Europe--when he gets the coin. He says it won't be long."

"So"--Frank was a little nonplussed--"he wants you to marry him?"

"No," the girl's face reddened. "No, I can't ... he's got a wife."

For a moment there was silence. Then. "What did you tell the--hound, Aleta?"

"He's not a hound," she said evenly. "The wife won't care. She runs with other men...." Her eyes would not meet Frank's. "I--haven't answered."

"But--your mother!"