deserted suburban streets. It was on one of these corners that something
else, quite as indistinct and malevolent, leaped upon him with an oath,
a presented pistol, and a demand for money. But it was met by a will of
iron and a grip of steel. The assailant and assailed rolled together on
the ground. But the next moment the old man was erect; one hand grasping
the captured pistol, the other clutching at arm's length the throat of a
figure, surly, youthful, and savage.

"Young man," said Mr. Thompson, setting his thin lips together, "what
might be your name?"

"Thompson!"

The old man's hand slid from the throat to the arm of his prisoner,
without relaxing its firmness.

"Char-les Thompson, come with me," he said, presently, and marched his
captive to the hotel. What took place there has not transpired, but it
was known the next morning that Mr. Thompson had found his son.


It is proper to add to the above improbable story, that there was
nothing in the young man's appearance or manners to justify it. Grave,
reticent, and handsome, devoted to his newly found parent, he assumed
the emoluments and responsibilities of his new condition with a certain
serious ease that more nearly approached that which San Francisco
society lacked, and--rejected. Some chose to despise this quality as a
tendency to "psalm-singing"; others saw in it the inherited qualities
of the parent, and were ready to prophesy for the son the same hard
old age. But all agreed that it was not inconsistent with the habits of