After luncheon Mr. B. made him a present of a cheque--rather in excess
of the sum which Hamar had all along intended to have, and could not
have refrained from demanding much longer.
In the afternoon all the San Francisco specials were full of the
incident, and Hamar, seeing his name placarded for the first time, was
so overcome that he spent the rest of the evening in the hotel
deliberating how he could best turn his sudden notoriety to account.
At ten o'clock Kelson came in, looking somewhat fatigued, but,
nevertheless, pleased. He, too, had had adventures, and he detailed
them with so much elaboration that the other two had frequently to
tell him to "dry up."
"I began the morning," he commenced, "by accosting a very fashionably
dressed lady coming out of Bushwell's Store in Commercial Street.
Divination at once told me she was the popular widow of J.K. Bater,
the Biscuit King of Nob Hill, and that she was carrying in her big
seal-skin muff a gold hatpin mounted with an emerald butterfly, a
silver-backed hair brush, a blue enamelled scent bottle, and a
porcelain jar, all of which she had slyly 'nicked,' when no one was
looking.
"I stepped up to her, and politely raising my hat said, 'Good morning,
Mrs. Bater. I've a message for you.'
"'I don't know you,' she said eyeing me very doubtfully, 'who are
you?'
"'Forgotten!' I said tragically, 'and I had flattered myself it would
be otherwise.
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