San Francisco was ablaze with decorations, vibrant with enthusiasm.  Men, women, children, turned out to do the Vigilantes honor.  A float symbolic of Fort Gunnybags was wildly cheered.

Benito Windham, Adrian Stanley and their families stood at the window of an office which had “B.  Windham, Attorney and Counselor,” inscribed upon its door.  Benito had but recently passed his law examination and Alice was accordingly proud.

Broderick, who stood near her with an arm about young Robert, looked out at the pageant.

“They have been my enemies,” he said, “but I take off my hat to your Committee.  They have done a wondrous work, Benito lad.”

CHAPTER LI

SENATOR BRODERICK

Swept clear of its lesser rascals, San Francisco still, ostensibly, was ruled by Freelon, Scannell, Byrne and other officials of the former city government, who had defied the people’s invitation to resign.  They did little more than mark time, however.  Jury-packing was at an end for the Committee had posted publicly the names of men unfit to judge their fellows, and the courts had wisely failed to place them on venires.

“Wait till November,” was the watchword.  And San Francisco waited.  A committee of twenty-one was appointed at a mass meeting shortly before the city election.  By this body were selected candidates for all municipal offices.  Their ticket was the most diversified, perhaps, that ever was presented to a city’s voters, for it included northern and southern men, Republicans, Democrats, Know-Nothings, Jews, Catholics and Protestants.  Yet there was an extraordinary basic homogeneity about them.  All were honest and respected business men, pledged to serve the city faithfully and selflessly.  Former Marshal Doane of Vigilante fame was chosen as chief of police.

* * * * *

Broderick was the Windhams’ guest at their new home on Powell street overlooking the bay when Benito’s clerk brought them news of the election.

“Every reform candidate wins by a landslide,” cried the youth enthusiastically.  “I cast my first vote today, Mr. Windham,” he said proudly, “and I’m glad to know that the ballot-box had no false bottom.”  He turned to Broderick.  “Your men fared mighty well too, sir, considering—­” He paused and reddened, but the politician clapped him, laughing, on the shoulder.  “That’s right, my boy.  Be honest,” he declared.

“It means you’ll be our Senator next year,” the lad said staunchly, holding out his hand.  “They’re all saying so down town.  Allow me to congratulate you, sir.”

The keen, half-smiling eyes of Broderick took stock of Herbert Waters.  Tall, shy and awkward, with a countenance fresh, unmarked, but eager and alert with clean ideals.

“Thank you, son,” he pressed the lad’s hand vigorously.  “Perhaps ... if I should get to Washington, there’ll be a place for you.  You’ll like it, wouldn’t you?  To see a little of the world?”