The San Francisco papers—­for that matter, all the journals of the nation—­printed Broderick’s words conspicuously.  And, as they held with North or South, with Abolition or with Slavery, they praised or censured him.

“I hope, in mercy to the boasted intelligence of this age, the historian, when writing the history of these times, will ascribe the attempt of the President to enforce the Lecompton resolution upon an unwilling people to the fading intellect, the petulant passion and the trembling dotage of an old man on the verge of the grave.”

“Buchanan will be furious,” said Benito.  “They say he’s an old beau who wears a toupee and knee-breeches.  All Washington that dares to do so will be laughing at him, especially the ladies.”

Benito returned from the office one foggy June evening with a copy of The Bulletin that contained a speech by Broderick.  It was dusk and Alice had lighted the lamp to read the Washington dispatch as she always did with eager interest, when there came a light, almost stealthy knock at the door.  Benito, rather startled, opened it.  There stood a Chinese youth of about 18, wrapped in a huge disguising cloak.  He bowed low several times, then held forth a letter addressed in brush-fashioned, India-ink letters to “B.  Windham Esquire.”

Curiously he opened it and read: 

“The hand of the ‘avenger’ has smitten.  I have not long to live.  Will you, in your honorable kindness, protect my nephew, Po Lun?  He will make a good and faithful servant, requiting kindness with zeal.  May the Lord of Heaven bless you.”

“WONG LEE.”

Excitedly and with many gestures Po Lun described the killing of his uncle by a Hip Yee “hatchetman.”  But even in his dying hour Wong Lee had found means to protect a kinsman.  Po Lun wept as he told of Wong Lee’s goodness.  Suddenly he knelt and touched his forehead three times to the floor at Alice’s feet.  “Missee, please, you let me stay?” he pleaded.  “Po Lun plenty work.  Washee, cookee, clean-em house.”  His glance strayed toward the cradle.  “Takem care you’ li’l boy.”

Benito glanced at Alice questioningly.  “Would you—­trust him?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said impulsively.  “He has a good face ... and we need a servant.”  She beckoned to Po Lun.  “Come, I will show you the kitchen and a place to sleep.”

* * * * *

Broderick came back from Washington and entered actively into the State campaign.  He found its politics a hodge-podge of unsettled, bitter policies.  The Republicans made overtures to him; they sought a coalition with the Anti-Lecompton Democrats as opposed to Chivalry or Solid South Democracy.

Benito and Alice saw little of Broderick.  He was here, there, everywhere, making impassioned, often violent speeches.  Most of them were printed in the daily papers.

“They’ll be duelling soon,” said Windham anxiously, as he read of Broderick’s accusations of “The Lime Point Swindle,” “The Mail-carrying Conspiracy,” his reference to Gwin and Latham as “two great criminals,” to the former, “dripping with corruption.”