Agnes Westbury had listened all the early part of the evening to her husband's enthusiastic plans. Good fortune expanded him in every direction. It was true that quicksilver had been discovered at Alameda, also that the new process of separating gold was a great saving. Working mines had been most extravagant and wasteful. Some of the old ones had been deserted that no doubt would pay again. He had taken options for the London Company, he had two or three for himself. Luck had surely come his way. Now they must leave as soon as possible.
Had she enjoyed herself? Had the landlady been satisfactory? Had she gone about and seen much, made any pleasant friends? San Francisco was a strange and wonderful place. It had risen up in a night, as it were. It was in the line of the Eastern trade, it would be the great mart of the world. What was Congress thinking about not to establish a through route, but depend on this miserable overland accommodation for the crowds who would come! Its very wildness and sublimity outdid Europe. Some day it would be a worldwide attraction for tourists. Such mountains, such a range of climate, such a profusion of everything, such a seacoast line.
David Westbury was pacing up and down the apartment with a light, springy step. He had been in his youth a tall and rather lanky down-easter. Now he had filled out, was fine and robust, with a good clear skin. In those days his nose had been too large, his mouth wide, with rather loose lips. Now the rest of his face had rounded out, his lips had grown firm-set, decisive, and his mustache was trimmed in the latest style. Just at the corners of his mouth his beard had begun to whiten a little, his lightish hair had turned darker. Prosperity had made a man of him. He had grown sharp, far-sighted, but he had an amiability that was more than pleasing—attractive. He had learned to use his own phrase, "not to buck against the world." Where he had been rather credulous and lax in early life, he had become wary and shrewd, and did not hesitate if he could turn the best of the deal his way.
"Yes, she had enjoyed herself very much. Mrs. Folsom and her son had been most attentive, there had been some star players at the theatres and a noted singer or two. She had met some nice people, there was a good deal of crudeness and display, but on the whole it was very fair for a new place. And some odd, quaint individuals, some really refined women from Boston, and such a charming young girl that she coveted; she wished she had her for a daughter."
"That's a queer wish; too, I thought you were not fond of children."
"Well, I am not generally. I'd like them full-grown, and attractive," laughing.
"I wouldn't mind a fine, upright, sober, honorable son that one could trust in all things, but they are scarce."
"David, what will you do with your money?"
"Well,"—he laughed a little. "Let me see—endow a hospital perhaps, or build a college. But we must have all the pleasure we desire."
She gave a little sigh.