“But there’s always a final reckoning ... like the Vigilance Committee,” said Francisco, slowly.  “Somehow, I feel that there’s a shakeup coming.”

“A moral earthquake, eh?” laughed Jeanne.  “I wouldn’t want to have a real one, with all of our new skyscrapers.”

* * * * *

After dinner Stanley and his son strolled downtown together.  Exercise and diet had been recommended, Francisco was acquiring embonpoint.  Frank was enthusiastic over the new motor carriages called automobiles.

Robert had one of them—­the gasoline type—­with a chauffeur, as the French called the drivers of such machines.  Bertha Larned had an “electric coupe,” very handsome and costly, with plate-glass windows on three sides.  She drove it herself.  Frank sometimes encountered it downtown, looking like a moving glass cage, with the two women in it.  Mrs. Larned, the aunt, always had a slightly worried expression, and Bertha, as she steered the thing through a tangle of horse-drawn traffic, wore a singularly determined look.

There were cable cars on most of the streets; a few electric lines which ran much more swiftly.  But people deemed the latter dangerous.  There was much popular sentiment against electrizing Market street.  The United Railways, which had succeeded the old Market Street Railway Company, was in disfavor.  There were rumors of illicit bargains with the Supervisors for the granting of proposed new franchises.  Young Partridge made much of this.  He warned the public that it was about to be “betrayed.”  But his prophetic eloquence availed him little.  Schmitz and all the Union Labor candidates won by a great majority.

* * * * *

Frank sought Aleta at the Dusty Doughnut some months later.  He was very tired, for the past few days had brought a multitude of tasks.  He had counted on Aleta’s smile.  It seldom failed to cheer him, to restore the normal balance of his mind.  But, though she came, the smile was absent.  There was a faint ghost of it now and again; a harried look about the eyes.  Frank thought there was a mistiness which hinted recent tears.

He laid a hand sympathetically on hers.  “What is it, little girl?”

She would not tell him.  Her mother was ill.  But the trouble did not lie there.  Frank was sure.  She had borne that burden long and uncomplainingly.  Aleta had an ingenue part now at the Alcazar.  Only once or twice a week did she keep the tacit tryst at the little nocturnal cafe.  Frank saw her at the Techau, at Zinkand’s, the St. Germain, with the kind of men that make love to actresses.  She knew all about the stock market and politics, for some of Ruef’s new Supervisors were among her swains.  Once or twice, as the jargon of the journals has it, she had “tipped off” a story to Frank.

She said at last, “I’ll tell you something ... but you mustn’t print it:  This new city government is running wild....  They’re scheming to hold up the town.  They’ve made a list of all the corporations—­the United Railways, the telephone company....  Everyone that wants a favor of the city must pay high.  The man who told me this said that his share will total $30,000.  Ruef and Schmitz will probably be millionaires.”