"Mr. Jaggers is not here any longer," smartly replies his pert successor, to whom the fall of Jaggers was a veritable bonanza.
"What's the matter with him?" says Woods. "I wanted him to do a job of copying for me."
The incumbent airily indicates the pantomime of conveying the too frequent Bourbon to his lips.
"Oh, I see! The old thing," calmly says Woods. "Fired out for drinking."
The youth nods. "He is around Montgomery Street. You 'most always will catch him around the 'old corner' saloon."
Joseph Woods is familiar with that resort of bibulous lawyers. He wanders out aimlessly.
While Barney McFadden, the barkeeper, surveys Colonel Joseph swallowing his extra cocktail, he admires himself in the mirror. He dusts off his diamond pin with a silk handkerchief.
"Jaggers! Oh, yes; know him well. In back room playing pedro. Want him?"
Woods bows. The laconic Ganymede drags Jaggers away from his ten-cent game.
Impelled by a telegraphic wink, Barney deftly duplicates the favorite tipple of the Californian. The Golden State has been sustained in its growth, by myriads of cocktails. It is the State coat of arms.