"Perhaps," said Clarence, brightening, "you will join too?"

"I shall be proud on this occasion, sir."

"I think," said the tall man, still as ceremoniously unbending as
before, "that there can be but one toast here, gentlemen. I give you the
health of the Commodore. May his shadow never be less."

The health was drunk solemnly. Clarence felt his cheeks tingle and
in his excitement drank his own health with the others. Yet he was
disappointed that there was not more joviality; he wondered if men
always drank together so stiffly. And it occurred to him that it would
be expensive. Nevertheless, he had his purse all ready ostentatiously
in his hand; in fact, the paying for it out of his own money was not
the least manly and independent pleasure he had promised himself. "How
much?" he asked, with an affectation of carelessness.

The barkeeper cast his eye professionally over the barroom. "I think you
said treats for the crowd; call it twenty dollars to make even change."

Clarence's heart sank. He had heard already of the exaggeration
of California prices. Twenty dollars! It was half his fortune.
Nevertheless, with an heroic effort, he controlled himself, and with
slightly nervous fingers counted out the money. It struck him, however,
as curious, not to say ungentlemanly, that the bystanders craned their
necks over his shoulder to look at the contents of his purse, although
some slight explanation was offered by the tall man.

"The Commodore's purse, gentlemen, is really a singular one. Permit me,"