The barkeeper cast his eye professionally over the barroom.  “I think you said treats for the crowd; call it twenty dollars to make even change.”

Clarence’s heart sank.  He had heard already of the exaggeration of California prices.  Twenty dollars!  It was half his fortune.  Nevertheless, with an heroic effort, he controlled himself, and with slightly nervous fingers counted out the money.  It struck him, however, as curious, not to say ungentlemanly, that the bystanders craned their necks over his shoulder to look at the contents of his purse, although some slight explanation was offered by the tall man.

“The Commodore’s purse, gentlemen, is really a singular one.  Permit me,” he said, taking it from Clarence’s hand with great politeness.  “It is one of the new pattern, you observe, quite worthy of inspection.”  He handed it to a man behind him, who in turn handed it to another, while a chorus of “suthin quite new,” “the latest style,” followed it in its passage round the room, and indicated to Clarence its whereabouts.  It was presently handed back to the barkeeper, who had begged also to inspect it, and who, with an air of scrupulous ceremony insisted upon placing it himself in Clarence’s side pocket, as if it were an important part of his function.  The driver here called “all aboard.”  The passengers hurriedly reseated themselves, and the episode abruptly ended.  For, to Clarence’s surprise, these attentive friends of a moment ago at once became interested in the views of a new passenger concerning the local politics of San Francisco, and he found himself utterly forgotten.  The bonnetless woman had changed her position, and her head was no longer visible.  The disillusion and depression that overcame him suddenly were as complete as his previous expectations and hopefulness had been extravagant.  For the first time his utter unimportance in the world and his inadequacy to this new life around him came upon him crushingly.

The heat and jolting of the stage caused him to fall into a slight slumber and when he awoke he found his two neighbors had just got out at a wayside station.  They had evidently not cared to waken him to say “Good-by.”  From the conversation of the other passengers he learned that the tall man was a well-known gambler, and the one who looked like a farmer was a ship captain who had become a wealthy merchant.  Clarence thought he understood now why the latter had asked him if he came off a voyage, and that the nickname of “Commodore” given to him, Clarence, was some joke intended for the captain’s understanding.  He missed them, for he wanted to talk to them about his relative at Sacramento, whom he was now so soon to see.  At last, between sleeping and waking, the end of his journey was unexpectedly reached.  It was dark, but, being “steamer night,” the shops and business places were still open, and Mr. Peyton had arranged that the stage-driver should deliver Clarence at the address of his relative in “J Street,”—­an address which Clarence had luckily remembered.  But the boy was somewhat discomfited to find that it was a large office or banking-house.  He, however, descended from the stage, and with his small pack in his hand entered the building as the stage drove off, and, addressing one of the busy clerks, asked for “Mr. Jackson Brant.”