speculation, Young Dick warned. Dads just been lucky Ive heard him say that times have changed and a fellow cant take the chances everybody used to take.
From which, and from much which has already passed, it might erroneously be inferred that Young Dick was a mean and money-grubbing soul. On the contrary, he was at that instant entertaining secret thoughts and plans so utterly regardless and disdainful of his twenty millions as to place him on a par with a drunken sailor sowing the beach with a three years pay-day.
I am only a boy, Young Dick went on. But you dont know me very well yet. Well get better acquainted by and by, and, again thanking you
He paused, bowed briefly and grandly as lords in Nob Hill palaces early learn to bow, and, by the quality of the pause, signified that the audience was over. Nor did the impact of dismissal miss his guardians. They, who had been co-lords with his father, withdrew confused and perplexed. Messrs. Davidson and Slocum were on the point of resolving their perplexity into wrath, as they went down the great stone stairway to the waiting carriage, but Mr. Crockett, the testy and snappish, muttered ecstatically: The son of a gun! The little son of a gun!
The carriage carried them down to the old Pacific Union Club, where, for another hour, they gravely discussed the future of Young Dick Forrest and pledged themselves anew to the faith reposed in them by Lucky Richard Forrest. And down the hill, on foot, where grass grew on the paved streets too steep for horse-traffic, Young Dick hurried. As the height of land was left behind, almost immediately the palaces and spacious grounds of the nabobs gave way to the mean streets and wooden warrens of the working people. The San Francisco of 1887 as incontinently intermingled its slums and mansions as did the old cities of Europe. Nob Hill arose, like any medieval castle, from the mess and ruck of common life that denned and laired at its base.
Young Dick came to pause alongside a corner grocery, the second story of which was rented to Timothy Hagan Senior, who, by virtue of being a policeman with a wage of a hundred dollars a month, rented this high place to dwell above his fellows who supported families on no more than forty and fifty dollars a month.
In vain Young Dick whistled up through the unscreened, open windows. Tim Hagan Junior was not at home. But Young Dick wasted little wind in the whistling. He was debating on possible adjacent places where Tim Hagan might be, when Tim himself appeared around the corner, bearing a lidless lard-can that foamed with steam beer. He grunted greeting, and Young Dick grunted with equal roughness, just as if, a brief space before, he had not, in most lordly fashion, terminated an audience with three of the richest merchant-kings of an imperial city. Nor did his possession of twenty increasing millions hint the slightest betrayal in his voice or mitigate in the slightest the gruffness of his grunt.
Aint seen yeh since yer old man died, Tim Hagan commented.
Well, youre seein me now, aint you? was Young Dicks retort. Say, Tim, I come to see you on business.
Wait till I rush the beer to the old man, said Tim, inspecting the state of the foam in the lard-can with an experienced eye. Hell roar his head off if it comes in flat.
Oh, you can shake it up, Young Dick assured him. Only want to see you a minute. Im hitting the road tonight. Want to come along?
Tims small, blue Irish eyes flashed with interest.
Where to? he queried.
Dont know. Want to come? If you do, we can talk it over after we start? You know the ropes. What dye say?
The old manll beat the stuffin outa me, Tim demurred.
Hes done that before, an you dont seem to be much missing, Young Dick callously rejoined. Say the word, an well meet at the Ferry Building at nine to-night. What dye say? Ill be there.
Supposin I dont show up? Tim asked.
Ill be on my way just the same. Young Dick turned as if to depart, paused casually, and said over his shoulder, Better come along.
Tim shook up the beer as he answered with equal casualness, Aw right. Ill be there.
After parting from Tim Hagan Young Dick spent a busy hour or so looking up one, Marcovich, a Slavonian schoolmate whose father ran a chop-house in which was reputed to be served the finest twenty-cent meal in the city. Young Marcovich owed Young Dick two dollars, and Young Dick
accepted the payment of a dollar and forty cents as full quittance of the debt.
Also, with shyness and perturbation, Young Dick wandered down Montgomery Street and vacillated among the many pawnshops that graced that thoroughfare. At last, diving desperately into one, he managed to exchange for eight dollars and a ticket his gold watch that he knew was worth fifty at the very least.