“Lord!  What a tangle,” Frank ruminated.  “How will they straighten it out?”

“Remove the Mayor—­if they can convict him of felony.”

“Suppose they do.  What then?”

“The prosecution forces can then use their power over the boodlers—­force them to appoint a Mayor who’s to Langdon’s liking.  Afterward they’ll force the Supervisors to resign and the new Mayor will put decent people in their stead.”

“Justice!” apostrophized Frank, “thy name is Red Tape!”

Heney alone was to enter the lists against Delmas and Coogan in the trial of Louis Glass.  The charge was bribing Supervisor Boxton to vote against the Home telephone franchise.

Frank had seen Glass at the Press Club, apparently a sound and honest citizen.  A little doubt crept into Frank’s mind.  If men like that could stoop to the bribing of Supervisors, what was American civilization coming to?

He looked in at the Ruef trial to see if anything had happened.  For the past two months there had been nothing but technical squabbles, interminable hitches and delays.

Ruef was conferring with his attorneys.  All at once he stepped forward, holding a paper in his hand.  Tears were streaming down his face.  He began to read in sobbing, broken accents.

The crowd was so thick that Frank could not get close enough to hear Ruef’s words.  It seemed a confession or condonation.  Scattered fragments reached Frank’s ears.  Then the judge’s question, clearly heard, “What is your plea?”

“Guilty!” Ruef returned.

* * * * *

Ruef’s confession served to widen the breach between Class and Mass.  He implicated many corporation heads and social leaders in a sorry tangle of wrongdoing.  Other situations added fuel to the flame of economic war.  The strike of the telephone girls had popular support, a sympathy much strengthened by the charges of bribery pending against telephone officials.

[Illustration:  All at once he stepped forward....  Tears were streaming down his face.  Then the judge’s question, clearly heard, “What is your plea?” “Guilty!” Ruef returned.]

Ten thousand ironworkers were on strike at a time when their service was imperative, for San Francisco was rebuilding feverishly.  Capital made telling use of this to bolster its impaired position in the public mind.  While “pot called kettle black,” the city suffered.  The visitation of some strange disease, which certain physicians hastened to classify as bubonic plague, very nearly brought the untold evils of a quarantine.  A famous sanitarian from the East decided it was due to rats.  He came and slew his hundred-thousands of the rodents.  Meanwhile the malady had ceased.  But there were other troubles.

Fire had destroyed the deeds and titles stored in the Recorder’s office, as well as other records.  Great confusion came with property transfer and business contracts.  But, worst of all, perhaps, was the street car strike.