Gradually the throng disbanded. Everywhere one heard expressions of sorrow for Ralston; doubt of the story that he had destroyed his life. As a matter of fact a coroner's jury found that death resulted from cerebral attack. An insurance company waived its suicide exemption clause and paid his widow $50,000.
The Bank of California was reopened. Ralston, buried with the pomp and splendor of a sorrowing multitude, was presently forgotten. Few new troubles came upon the land. Overspeculation in the Comstock lode brought economic unrest.
Thousands were unemployed in San Francisco. Agitators rallied them at public meetings into furious and morbid groups. From the Eastern States came telegraphic news of strikes and violence. Adrian returned one evening, tired and harassed.
"I don't know what's got into the working people," he said to Inez.
"Oh, they'll get over that," pronounced Francisco, with the sweeping confidence of youth. "These intervals of discontent are periodical--like epidemics of diseases."
Adrian glanced at the treatise on Political Economy in his son's hand. "And what would you suggest, my boy?" he asked with a faint smile.
"Leave them alone," said Francisco. "It goes through a regular form. They have agitators who talk of Bloodsucking Plutocrats, Rights of the People and all that. But it generally ends in mere words."
"The Paris Commune didn't end in mere words," reminded Adrian.
"Oh, that!" Francisco was a trifle nonplussed. "Well, of course--"
"There have been serious riots in Eastern States."