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. He was much more concerned the next morning when, after relieving the doctor for his regular morning visits, he was startled an hour later by the abrupt return of that gentleman. His face was marked by some excitement and anxiety, which nevertheless struggled with that sense of the ludicrous which Californians in those days imported into most situations of perplexity or catastrophe. Putting his hands deeply into his trousers pockets, he confronted his youthful partner behind the counter. “How much did you charge that French-woman?” he said gravely. “Twenty-five cents,” said Kane timidly. “Well, I'd give it back and add two hundred and fifty dollars if she had never entered the shop.” “What's the matter?” “Her head will be--and a mass of it, in a day, I reckon! Why, man, you put enough plaster on it to clothe and paper the dome of the Capitol! You drew her scalp together so that she couldn't shut her eyes without climbing up the bed-post! You mowed her hair off so that she'll have to wear a wig for the next two years--and handed it to her in a beau-ti-ful sealed package! They talk of suing me and killing you out of hand.”