"Never," says Hardin, reaching for his hat and cane. "The Judge died during the war. I believe his boy died in Paris. He has never turned up. New Orleans is gone to the devil. They are all dead."
"By the way, Judge, excuse me." Woods dashes off a check for Hardin. "I want to retain you if the 'Shooting Star' people fool with my working the 'Golden Chariot;' I feel safe in your hands."
Even Hardin can afford to pocket Joe's check. It is a prize. Golden bait, Joseph.
Woods says "Good-bye," floridly, to his legal friend. He takes a coupe at the door. "Cute old devil, Hardin; I'll run him down yet," chuckles the miner. Joe is soon on his way to the Pacific Mail Steamship office.
Several gray-headed officials greet the popular capitalist.
He broaches his business. "I want to see your passenger lists for 1865." He has notes of Vimont's in his hand. While the underlings bring out dusty old folios, Joe distributes his pet cigars. He is always welcome.
Looking over the ancient records he finds on a trip of the Golden Gate, the following entries:
Madame de Santos,
Miss Isabel Valois,
Marie Berard and child.
He calls the bookkeeper. "Can you tell about these people?"
The man of ink scans the entry. He ponders and says: