At Market and Fourth streets stood a large and rather nondescript gray structure built by Flood, the Comstock millionaire.  It had served for varied purposes, but now it housed the Palais Royal, an immense saloon and gambling rendezvous.  In the massive, barn-like room, tile-floored and picture-ornamented, were close to a hundred tables where men of all descriptions drank, played cards and talked.  Farther to the rear were private compartments, from which came the incessant click of poker chips.

Francisco and Robert sometimes lunched at the Palais Royal.  The former liked its color and the vital energy he always found there.  Robert “sat in” now and then at poker.  He had a little of his father’s love for Chance, but a restraining sanity left him little the loser in the long run.  Robert had three children, the eldest a girl of twelve.  Petite and dainty Maizie had become a plump and bustling mother-hen.

It was in the Palais Royal that Francisco met Abraham Ruef, a dapper and engaging gentleman of excellent address, greatly interested in politics.  He was a graduate of the State University, where he had specialized in political economy.

Francisco liked him, and they often sat for long discussions of the local situation after lunching at the Palais Royal.  Ruef, in a small way, was a rival of Colonel Dan Burns, the Republican boss.  Burns, they said, was jealous of Ruef’s reform activites.

“If one could get the laboring class together,” Ruef told Stanley, “one could wield a mighty power.  Some day, perhaps, I shall do it.  The laborer is a giant, unconscious of his strength.  He submits to Capital’s oppression, unwitting of his own capacity to rule.  For years we’ve had nothing but strikes, which have only strengthened employers.”

“Yes, they’re always broken,” said Francisco.

“The strike is futile.  Organization—­political unity; that’s the thing.”

“A labor party, eh?” Francisco spoke, a trifle dubiously.

“Yes, but not the usual kind.  It must be done right.”  His eyes shone.  “Ah, I can see it all so plainly.  If I could make it clear to others—­”

“Why don’t you try?” asked Stanley.

But Ruef shook his head.  “I lack the ‘presence.’  Do you know what I mean?  No matter how smart I may be, they see in me only a small man.  So they think I have small ideas.  That is human nature.  And they say, ‘He’s a Jew.’  Which is another drawback.”

He was silent a moment.  “I have thought it all out....  I must borrow the ‘presence.’”

“What do you mean?” Francisco was startled.

“We shall see,” Ruef responded.  “Perhaps I shall find me a man—­big, strong, impressive—­with a mind easily led....  Then I shall train him to be a leader.  I shall furnish the brain.”

“What a curious thought!” said Francisco.  Ruef, smiling, shook his head.  “It is not new at all,” he said.  “If you read political history you will soon discover that.”