His ears were red where she had boxed them and as he turned a rather foolish face surprisedly toward the intruders, a scratch showed livid on one cheek.  The girl’s hair streamed disheveled by the struggle.  She caught up, hastily, a handsome opera cloak to cover her torn corsage.

“Please,” she said, “get me out of here quickly....  I’ll pay you well.”  Then she flushed as young Stanley stiffened.  “I ...  I beg your pardon.”

He offered her his arm and they passed from the box together.  The befuddled swain, after a dazed interval, attempted to follow, but Francisco flung him back.  He heard the carriage door shut with a snap, the clatter of iron-shod hoofs.  Then he went out to look for Frank, but did not find him.  Evidently he had gone with the lady.  Francisco smiled.  It was quite an adventure.  Thoughtfully he gazed at the banners flung across Market street: 

     “VOTE FOR EUGENE SCHMITZ,

     “The Workingman’s Friend.”

That was Abraham Ruef’s adventure.  He wondered how each of them would end.

CHAPTER LXXVI

POLITICS AND ROMANCE

Ruef swept the field with his handsome fiddler.  All “South of Market street” rallied to his support.  The old line parties brought their trusty, well-oiled election machinery into play, but it availed them little.

Robert and Francisco met one day soon after the election.  “Everyone is laughing at our fiddler Mayor,” said the former.  “He’s like a king without a court; for all the other offices were carried by Republicans and Democrats.”

Francisco smoked a moment thoughtfully.  “Union Labor traded minor offices for Mayoralty votes, I understand.  Meanwhile Ruef is building his machine.  He has convinced the labor people that he knows the game.  They’ve given him carte blanche.”

“And how does the big fellow take it?”

“I was talking with him yesterday,” Francisco answered.  “Schmitz is shy just yet.  But feels his dignity.  Oh, mightily!” He laughed.  “Little Abe will have his hands full with big ’Gene, I’m thinking.”

“But Ruef’s not daunted by the prospect.”

“Heavens, no.  The man has infinite self-confidence.  And it’s no fatuous egotism, either.  A sort of suave, unshakable trust in himself.  Abe Ruef’s the cleverest politician San Francisco’s known in many years—­perhaps since Broderick.  He makes such men as Burns and Buckley look like tyros—­”

Robert looked up quickly.  “By the way, I’ve often wondered whether Buckley wasn’t guilty of your disappearance.  He meant you no good.”

“No,” Francisco answered.  “I’ve looked into that.  Chris, himself, had no connection with it.  Once he threatened me ... but I’ve since learned what he meant....  Just a little blackmail which concerned a woman.  But—­” he hesitated.

Robert moved uneasily.  “But—­what?”

“Oh, well, it didn’t work.  The girl he planned to use told him the truth.”  Francisco, too, seemed ill at ease.  “It was so long ago ... it’s all forgotten.”