The first acquaintance I encountered, after my arrival at the place, was Farrell—the Californian gold-digger—whom I had last seen in San Francisco.
As a matter of course, we stepped into the nearest hotel, to have a glass together.
“I suppose,” said Farrell, as soon as we were seated—“you have no objection to listen to the conclusion of that little romance—the second chapter of which I made you acquainted with in San Francisco?”
“Not the slightest,” I answered. “Although I felt sorry for what had happened to you, I confess I was very much amused at what you told me. But the most interesting part of the romance—as you call it—had not transpired. I shall be very glad to hear more of it.”
“Well,” proceeded Farrell, “you shall. As I told you they would, Foster and my wife came out to California; and, as I expected, to San Francisco. However, they had come ashore so very secretly and quietly, that I did not succeed in finding them, until they had been about ten days in the city.
“Foster took a house in Sacramento Street, furnished it with the money I had sent home to maintain my faithless wife; and laid in a stock of liquors. He intended to commence business in the grog-selling line; and was about opening the establishment, when I found them out.
“As soon as I did so, I went straight to the house—prepared for some sport.
“Foster and my wife were out shopping, and, no doubt, spending what remained of my money. The new tavern was in charge of a young man, whom they had engaged as a barkeeper.
“I immediately took possession of the whole concern—the house, and everything in it.
“I then discharged the barkeeper from their employment; and, the instant after, engaged him in my own service.