The Chinese nodded. "You get well now plitty soon," he said soothingly and, with the empty cup, stole softly out. After a time Alice came, rejoiced to find him awake. The boy, on his way to school, poked a bright morning face in at the door and called out, "Hello, dad! Better, ain't you?"
"Yes, Robert," said Benito. When the boy had gone he turned to Alice. "How long have I been ill?"
"Less than a fortnight--though it seems an age." She took his hand and cried a little. But they were happy tears. He stroked her hair with a hand that seemed strangely heavy.
Three weeks later, hollow-eyed, a little shaky, but eager to be back at work, Benito returned to his office. A press of work engaged him through the morning hours. But at noon, he wandered out into the bright June sunshine, walking about and greeting old friends. At the Russ House Cafe, where he lunched, William Ralston greeted him cordially.
"How is the war going?" Windham asked. "I've been laid up for a month--rather out of the running."
"Well, they're devilish hard fighters, those Confederates. And Lee's a master strategist.... But we've the money, Windham. That's what counts. The Union owes a lot to California and Nevada."
"Nevada!" with the word came sudden recollection. "That reminds me, Ralston.... How are stocks?"
But the banker, with a muttered excuse hastened off.
Benito finished his coffee, smoked a cigarette and made his way again into the street.