“And he’ll get it, too,” Aleta told Frank as they dined together.  “It’s arranged, I understand, for quarter of a million dollars.”

Frank pondered.  “What’ll Langdon say to that?”

William H. Langdon was the district attorney, a former superintendent of schools, whom Ruef had put on his Union Labor ticket to give it tone.  But Langdon had refused to “take program.”  He had even raided the “protected” gamblers, ignoring Ruef’s hot insinuations of “ingratitude.”

“Oh, Ruef’s too smart for Langdon,” said Aleta.  “Every Sunday night he, Schmitz and Big Jim Gallagher hold a caucus.  Gallagher is Ruef’s representative on the Board.  They figure out what will occur at Monday’s session of the Supervisors.  It’s all cut and dried.”

“It can’t last long,” Frank mused.  “They’re getting too much money.  Those fellows who used to earn from $75 to $100 a month are spending five times that amount.  Schmitz is building a palace.  He rides around in his automobile with a liveried chauffeur.  He’s going to Europe they say.”

The girl glanced up at him half furtively.  “Perhaps I’ll go to Europe, too.”

“What?” Frank eyed her startled.  “Not with—­”

“Yes, my friend, the Supervisor.”  Her tone was defiant.  “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Don’t—­Aleta.”

“But, why not?”

He was silent.  But his eyes were on her, pleadingly.

“Would you care, Frank?  Would you care—­at all?”

“You know I would,” he spoke half angrily.  The girl traced patterns with her fork upon the table cloth.

[Illustration:  “I am going South,” Francisco told his son.  “I cannot bear this.”]

CHAPTER LXXXII

AT BAY

On May 21, the United Railway Company received a franchise to electrize any of its street-car routes, “where grades permitted.”

At once ensued a public uproar.  From the press, the pulpit and the rostrum issued fiery accusations that the city was betrayed.  In the midst of it Mayor Schmitz departed for Europe.

Frank met Ruef at the Ferry, where the former had gone to see Aleta off on a road tour with her company.  The little boss was twisting his moustache and muttering to himself.

“So His Honor’s off on a lark,” said the newsman, meaningly.

Ruef glared at him, but made no answer.

Afterward Frank heard that they had quarreled.  Ruef, he learned, had charged the mayor with ingratitude; had threatened, pleaded, warned—­without success.

Schmitz had gone; his was the dogged determination which easily-led men sometimes manifest at unexpected moments.  One heard of him through the press dispatches, staying at the best hotels of European capitals, making speeches when he had a chance.  He was like a boy on a holiday.  But at home Ruef sensed the stirring of an outraged mass and trembled.  He could no longer control his minions.  And, worst of all, he could not manage Langdon.  “Big Jim” Gallagher, now the acting mayor, was docile to a fault, however.  He would have put his hand into the fire for this clever little man, whom he admired so immensely.  Once they discussed the ousting of Langdon.