The San Francisco call., 1910-11-06

berry's gray talon. Married? Well
WELL my dears!"
Pretty near" laughed Sylvia.
Miss Cranberry trembled with de-
light; 1t had come then-the romance
with which always she had known she
would be concerned. She was a little
shrill voiced spinster, living in the mem
ories of the hfties, when she had known
the makers of California-the bonanza
kings and the builders of the Southern
Pacihc-Sharon, Fair, Huntington
Flood, O'Brien, Mackay, Stanford, Rails
ton--the great names Of the Comstocki
in some of these families she had been
a governess on the intimate relations
of a friend; she knew fnnumerable
stories of the early money kings in the
mad San Fra sncisco days; she had seen
Casey and Cora hanged by the vigil
lantes; she had seen the opening of the
Palace, and knew of the day its genius
jumped from Meiggs wharf into the
bay; she knew by the sureness OF
household gossip all the tales OF in
credible extravaganza, of barbaric i'm
agination that had gathered about the
argonautic millionaires' families. And
she had seen the curious fatality over
take them, their seed perished for the
most part; their great, monstrously
ugly palaces on Mob hill closed de-
serted, mournful relics of the wonder
age Of the golden state, Of the most
fantastic era in the history Of the re-
public. The great names, the turbulent
families, were now traditions. The
little old woman had seen their glory
rise and faH and she lived on alone in
beggary, unknown, forgotten--to chant
like the chorus Of an Aeschylean trag-
edy, on the Inevitable hand of fate laid
against the mighty and the proud.
For forty years she had retreated be-
- e17< had f3NHTr ~
1t back from noisome lodgings with her
falling strength, while 1t grew to be a
monster, harsh, sordid. unrequiting-
the days OF gold, of youth Of prodigal
friendship, were done. One wondered
how the life spark stayed in such a
withered, weary little body, performing G
prodigies of labor, sweeping her frayed
carpets. scrubbing the halls with
swashes OF dirty water, cleaning the
windows, making the beds. On Sunday
mornings she was an elegant person in
a black cap and silk dress. queerly cut,
going to Trinity with her book OF pray
ers: on week days she was the excit-
able little shrew, with heart pro-
digiously kind, toiling for her dodgers,
who were impecunious clerks, itinerant
mechanics. peddlers. broken drift of the
streets, who paid when they could and
were trusted when they could not The
drunken, the improvident, the foolish
the sick, the lame. the despondent. all
were hers; she nursed and protected
and defended them, denouncing the
police IL they touched one of her worth
less proteges; clothing the naked, for
Fiving the unchaste and drunken, toll
ing inordinately meanwhile to pay the
landlord, the grocer and the interest on
her mortgaged furniture-this was her
nfe's tribute to the city. and In requital
1t would some day at the nhorsue draw
a sheet over her bones.
Tho old woman was all aglow as
John Arnold told of his love affair.
all little cries and smiles and won-
ders. She kissed the girls rosy cheek;
she was hungry for something apart
the murky halls. She loved clothes,
the lightness OF youth She must
know all about 1t; they must stay to
breakfast; yes, she would run to the
corner for hot rolls, and to Uno' Pops
for bacon. And while she was hustling
about with astonishing agility, a step
sounded on the stairs leading from the
attic then a tap. tap, topping cane
on the wainscot
Miss Cranberry flashed startled
look on Arnold.
You know, don't you?-it was In the
morning papers, cablegram from Ma
Mia? Hush. the captains coming
The papers? Manila? I've seen moth
ing
"Iarry's dead. He struck an officer
and was dishonorab1y discharged; and
then he was killed In a quarrel at some