There was more noise of wreckage and destruction.  Broken chairs, tables, typecases, bits of machinery hurtled into the street.  Benito grasped the arm of a man who was hurrying by.  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

The other turned a flushed and angry mien toward him.  “God Almighty!  Haven’t you heard?  President Lincoln was shot last night ... by a brother of Ed Booth, the actor....  They say he’s dying.”  He picked up a stone and hurled it at an upper window of the Press.

“We’ll show these traitor-dogs a thing or two,” he called.  “Come on, boys, let’s wreck the place!”

CHAPTER LXI

DESPERATE FINANCE

The publishers of the Democratic Press had their lesson.  In a city draped with black for a beloved President, they swept up the glass of their shattered windows, picked up what remained of scattered type, reassembled machinery and furniture—­and experienced a change of heart.  Presently The Examiner burgeoned from that stricken journalistic root.

Francisco was now a member of the Alta staff, the aggressive but short-lived American Flag, having ceased publication several years after the war.  Adrian admitted to Benito that the boy had justified his bent for journalistic work.

“The young rascal’s articles are attracting attention.  He even signs some of them; now and then they print one of his verses—­generally a satire on local events.  And he gets passes to all of the theaters.  Inez and I are going to ‘Camille’ tonight.”

“So are Alice and myself, by a coincidence.”  Benito lighted a cigar and puffed a moment; then he added, “Do you know what that boy of mine proposes to do?”

“No,” said Adrian.  “Become an actor—­or a politician?”

“Well, it’s almost as bad....  He wants to be a letter carrier....  The new free delivery routes will be established soon, you know.”

“Yes, the town’s growing,” commented Stanley.  “Well, you’d better let young Robert have his way.  He’s almost as big as you....  How is ‘Montgomery Straight’ progressing?”

“Fairly well,” returned Benito.  “Latham and Parrott are fighting us as we expected.  But Harpending’s acquired Selim Woodworth’s lot on Market street, just where Montgomery will cut through.”  He laughed.  “Selim wanted half a million for it....  He’d have got it in a day or two because we had to have the property.  But along comes an earthquake and literally shakes $350,000 out of Woodworth’s pockets.  Frightened him so badly that he sold for $150,000 and was glad to get it.”

“Well, even earthquakes have their uses,” Adrian smiled.  “Here comes Francisco.  I’ll have him see Maguire and arrange it so that we can sit together at the show.”

“Who is the lanky fellow with him?” asked Benito.  “Looks as if he would appreciate a joke.”

“Oh, that’s his friend, Sam Clemens,” Adrian answered.  “An improvident cuss but good company.  He writes for the Carson Appeal under the name of Mark Twain.”