I called out Pinkerton and told him.  “Nares!” he cried, as soon as I had come to the name.  “I would jump at the chance of a man that had had Nares’s trousers on!  Why, Loudon, he’s the smartest deep-water mate out of San Francisco, and draws his dividends regular in service and out.”  This hearty indorsation clinched the proposal; Johnson agreed to produce Nares before six the following morning; and Black Tom, being called into the consultation, promised us four smart hands for the same hour, and even (what appeared to all of us excessive) promised them sober.

The streets were fully lighted when we left Black Tom’s:  street after street sparkling with gas or electricity, line after line of distant luminaries climbing the steep sides of hills towards the overvaulting darkness; and on the other hand, where the waters of the bay invisibly trembled, a hundred riding lanterns marked the position of a hundred ships.  The sea-fog flew high in heaven; and at the level of man’s life and business it was clear and chill.  By silent consent, we paid the hack off, and proceeded arm in arm towards the Poodle Dog for dinner.

At one of the first hoardings, I was aware of a bill-sticker at work:  it was a late hour for this employment, and I checked Pinkerton until the sheet should be unfolded.  This is what I read:—­

     TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.

     OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE

     WRECKED BRIG FLYING SCUD

     APPLYING,

     PERSONALLY OR BY LETTER,

     AT THE OFFICE OF JAMES PINKERTON, MONTANA
     BLOCK,

     BEFORE NOON TO-MORROW, TUESDAY, 12TH,

     WILL RECEIVE

     TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.

“This is your idea, Pinkerton!” I cried.

“Yes.  They’ve lost no time; I’ll say that for them—­not like the Fraud,” said he.  “But mind you, Loudon, that’s not half of it.  The cream of the idea’s here:  we know our man’s sick; well, a copy of that has been mailed to every hospital, every doctor, and every drug-store in San Francisco.”

Of course, from the nature of our business, Pinkerton could do a thing of the kind at a figure extremely reduced; for all that, I was appalled at the extravagance, and said so.

“What matter a few dollars now?” he replied sadly.  “It’s in three months that the pull comes, Loudon.”

We walked on again in silence, not without a shiver.  Even at the Poodle Dog, we took our food with small appetite and less speech; and it was not until he was warmed with a third glass of champagne that Pinkerton cleared his throat and looked upon me with a deprecating eye.

“Loudon,” said he, “there was a subject you didn’t wish to be referred to.  I only want to do so indirectly.  It wasn’t”—­he faltered—­“it wasn’t because you were dissatisfied with me?” he concluded, with a quaver.

“Pinkerton!” cried I.