This is my town. This is where I belong. The history of our family, my boy, is woven into the story of San Francisco. By the way-what I wanted to see you about. Er-I want to ask a favor."

He stopped. I said nothing. A favor of me! One had to admire his nerve.

"It is nothing much," he went on. "Only-I'm giving a little dinner party tonight. A birthday party, as a matter of fact. I'd like to have you come. One of my guests will be my partner in the mine. We can talk over that little matter of business."

"Hardly the time or the place," I suggested.

This was like him. A gay party-plenty to eat and drink-and my affair hastily disposed of amid the general conviviality. I was not to be trapped like that.

"Well, perhaps not," he admitted. "We won't talk business, then. Just a gay little party-to brighten up the old house-to get things going in a friendly way again. Eh, Carlotta?"

"Oh, of course," said Carlotta Drew wearily.

"You'll come?" the old man insisted. I have often wondered since why he was so eager. He had wronged me, he knew, but he was that type of man who wishes to be on friendly terms with his victim. A plentiful type.

"I'm sure Miss Mary Will wishes you to accept," he added.

"She hasn't said so," I said.

"It's not my birthday," said Mary Will, "nor my party."

"Not your birthday," cackled old Drew. "I should say not. But your party, I hope. Everybody's party. What do you say, my boy?"

Mary Will's indifference had maddened me, and nothing could keep me from that party now.

"I'll be delighted to come," I said firmly. It was to Drew I spoke, but my gaze was on Mary Will's scornful profile.

"That's fine!" cried the old man. He peered out the window. "Where are we? Ah, yes-Post and Grant-there's a shop near here." He ordered his chauffeur to stop. "I'll be only a minute," he said as the car drew up to the curb. "Must have candles-candles for my party." And he hopped out. We stood there in the fog with the Wagnerian symphony fierce about us.