"Is that all right?" he says cheerfully, nudging Armand in the ribs. "Cash on delivery, you know. I want another by and by. I'll pick out a picture I want copied. I'm going to build me a bachelor ranch on Nob Hill: Ophir Villa." He grins over some pet "deal" in his favorite Comstock. Dulcet memories. For Colonel Joe Woods is a man of "the Golden Days of the Pacific." He too has "arrived." The boy murmurs his thanks. "Now look here, I've got to run over to the Cafe Anglais, and see some men from the West. You give me your house number. I'll come in and see the padre to-morrow evening. "Stay; you had better come and fetch me. Take dinner with me to-morrow, and we'll drive down in a hack." The Colonel slips his pistol in its pocket, winks, takes a pull at the cocktail of the American, old Kentucky's silver stream, and grasps his gold-headed club. He is ready now to meet friend or foe. Joy in his heart, good humor on his face, jingling a few "twenties," which he carries from habit, he grasps a handful of cigars, and pushes the happy boy out of the open door. "Oh! never mind that; I've got a French fellow sleeping around here somewhere," he cries, as Armand signals the sanctum is unlocked. "He always turns up if any one but HIMSELF tries to steal anything. He's got a patent on that," laughs the "Croesus of the American River." Armand paints no stroke the next day. He confers with PŠre Fran‡ois. He is paralyzed when the cashier of the "Credit Lyonnais" hands him five crisp one-thousand-franc notes. Colonel Joe Woods' check is of international potency. It is not, then, a mere dream. When the jovial Colonel is introduced to the family circle he is at home in ten minutes. His good nature carries off easily his halting French. He falls into sudden friendship with the young soldier-sculptor. He compliments Madame Josephine. He pleases the modest Louise, and is at home at once with Padre Francisco. After a friendly chat, he says resolutely: "Now, padre, you and I want to have a talk over our young friend here. Let us go up to his room a little." Seated in the boy's studio, Woods shows the practical sense which carried him to the front in the struggle for wealth. "I tell you what I'll do," he says. "I'm going out to the coast in a month or so. I'll look this up a little. If I want our young friend here, I'll send you a cable, and you can start him out to me. My banker will rig him out in good style. Just as well he comes under another name. See? Padre, you take a ride with me to-morrow. We will talk it all over." The Californian's questions and sagacity charm the padre. He is now smoking one of those blessed "Imperiales." An innocent pleasure. They rise to join the circle below. A thought animates the priest. Yes, he will confer with the clear-headed man and tell him of the child below, whose pathway is unguarded by a parent's love.