"Well, even earthquakes have their uses," Adrian smiled. "Here comes Francisco. I'll have him see Maguire and arrange it so that we can sit together at the show."
"Who is the lanky fellow with him?" asked Benito. "Looks as if he would appreciate a joke."
"Oh, that's his friend, Sam Clemens," Adrian answered. "An improvident cuss but good company. He writes for the Carson Appeal under the name of Mark Twain."
Benito, that afternoon, was closeted with Harpending and Ralston in the Bank of California. The financier, who was backing the Montgomery street venture, regarded Harpending a trifle quizzically. "Once," he said, "you tried to be a pirate, Asbury.... Oh, no offense," he laid a soothing hand upon the other's knee. "But tonight I need a desperate man such as you. Another like Benito. We're going to raid the Mint."
"What?" cried Windham, startled.
"You'll need steadier nerves than that for our enterprise." Ralston passed his cigar case to the two men, saw them puffing equably ere he continued. "You know how tight the money situation has become because President Grant declines to let us exchange our gold bars for coin. With eight tons of gold in our vault we almost had a run this afternoon.... Now, that's ridiculous." His fist smote the table. "Grant doesn't know the ropes.... But that's no reason why Hell should break loose tomorrow morning."
"What are you going to do?" Benito asked.
"Use my common sense--and save the banks," said Ralston shortly. "You two must meet me here this evening. Soon as it's dark. You'll have a hard night's work. My friend Dore will be there also. Can you suggest anyone else--absolutely to be trusted, who will ask no questions?"
"My son," Benito answered; "Robert likes work. He wants to be a postal-carrier."