The junior partner’s face reddened as he turned to his shelves ostensibly for consultation.  Conscious of his inexperience, the homely praise of even this ignorant man was not ungrateful.  He felt, too, that his treatment of the Frenchwoman, though successful, might not be considered remunerative from a business point of view by his partner.  He accordingly acted upon the suggestion of the stranger and put up two or three specifics for dyspepsia.  They were received with grateful alacrity and the casual display of considerable gold in the stranger’s pocket in the process of payment.  He was evidently a successful miner.

After bestowing the bottles carefully about his person, he again leaned confidentially towards Kane.  “I reckon of course you know this high-toned lady, being in the way of seein’ that kind o’ folks.  I suppose you won’t mind telling me, ez a stranger.  But” (he added hastily, with a deprecatory wave of his hand), “perhaps ye would.”

Mr. Kane, in fact, had hesitated.  He knew vaguely and by report that Madame le Blanc was the proprietress of a famous restaurant, over which she had rooms where private gambling was carried on to a great extent.  It was also alleged that she was protected by a famous gambler and a somewhat notorious bully.  Mr. Kane’s caution suggested that he had no right to expose the reputation of his chance customer.  He was silent.

The stranger’s face became intensely sympathetic and apologetic.  “I see!—­not another word, pard!  It ain’t the square thing to be givin’ her away, and I oughtn’t to hev asked.  Well—­so long!  I reckon I’ll jest drift back to the hotel.  I ain’t been in San Francisker mor’ ’n three hours, and I calkilate, pard, that I’ve jest seen about ez square a sample of high-toned life as fellers ez haz bin here a year.  Well, hastermanyanner—­ez the Greasers say.  I’ll be droppin’ in to-morrow.  My name’s Reuben Allen o’ Mariposa.  I know yours; it’s on the sign, and it ain’t Sparlow.”

He cast another lingering glance around the shop, as if loath to leave it, and then slowly sauntered out of the door, pausing in the street a moment, in the glare of the red light, before he faded into darkness.  Without knowing exactly why, Kane had an instinct that the stranger knew no one in San Francisco, and after leaving the shop was going into utter silence and obscurity.

A few moments later Dr. Sparlow returned to relieve his wearied partner.  A pushing, active man, he listened impatiently to Kane’s account of his youthful practice with Madame le Blanc, without, however, dwelling much on his methods.  “You ought to have charged her more,” the elder said decisively.  “She’d have paid it.  She only came here because she was ashamed to go to a big shop in Montgomery Street—­and she won’t come again.”

“But she wants you to see her to-morrow,” urged Kane, “and I told her you would!”

“You say it was only a superficial cut?” queried the doctor, “and you closed it?  Umph! what can she want to see me for?” He paid more attention, however, to the case of the stranger, Allen.  “When he comes here again, manage to let me see him.”  Mr. Kane promised, yet for some indefinable reason he went home that night not quite as well satisfied with himself.