They had decided¹ against retracing² their steps over the ground already traveled, and took the train to San Francisco. They had been warned by Mark Hall of the enervation³ of the south, and were bound north for their blanket climate. Their intention was to cross the Bay to Sausalito and wander up through the coast counties. Here, Hall had told them, they would find the true home of the redwood. But Billy, in the smoking car for a cigarette, seated himself beside a man who was destined⁴ to deflect⁵ them from their course. He was a keen-faced, dark-eyed man, undoubtedly⁶ a Jew; and Billy, remembering Saxon's admonition always to ask questions, watched his opportunity and started a conversation. It took but a little while to learn that Gunston was a commission merchant, and to realize that the content of his talk was too valuable for Saxon to lose. Promptly⁷, when he saw that the other's cigar was finished, Billy invited him into the next car to meet Saxon. Billy would have been incapable⁸ of such an act prior to his sojourn⁹ in Carmel. That much at least he had acquired of social facility.

 

“He's just ben tellin' me about the potato kings, and I wanted him to tell you,” Billy explained to Saxon after the introduction. “Go on and tell her, Mr. Gunston, about that fan tan sucker that made nineteen thousan' last year in celery an' asparagus.”

 

“I was just telling your husband about the way the Chinese make things go up the San Joaquin river. It would be worth your while to go up there and look around. It's the good season now—too early for mosquitoes. You can get off the train at Black Diamond or Antioch and travel around among the big farming islands on the steamers and launches. The fares are cheap, and you'll find some of those big gasoline boats, like the Duchess and Princess, more like big steamboats.”

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