in no blaze of glory did burning daylight descend upon san francisco. not only had he been forgotten, but the klondike along with him. the world was interested in other things, and the alaskan adventure, like the spanish war, was an old story. many things had happened since then. exciting things were happening every day, and the sensation-space of newspapers was limited. the effect of being ignored, however, was an exhilaration. big man as he had been in the arctic game, it merely showed how much bigger was this new game, when a man worth eleven millions, and with a history such as his, passed unnoticed.

he settled down in st. francis hotel, was interviewed by the cub-reporters on the hotel-run, and received brief paragraphs of notice for twenty-four hours. he grinned to himself, and began to look around and get acquainted with the new order of beings and things. he was very awkward and very self-possessed. in addition to the stiffening afforded his backbone by the conscious ownership of eleven millions, he possessed an enormous certitude.

nothing abashed him, nor was he appalled by the display and culture and power around him. it was another kind of wilderness, that was all; and it was for him to learn the ways of it, the signs and trails and water-holes where good hunting lay, and the bad stretches of field and flood to be avoided. as usual, he fought shy of the women. he was still too badly scared to come to close quarters with the dazzling and resplendent creatures his own millions made accessible.

they looked and longed, but he so concealed his timidity that he had all the seeming of moving boldly among them. nor was it his wealth alone that attracted them. he was too much a man, and too much an unusual type of man. young yet, barely thirty-six, eminently handsome, magnificently strong, almost bursting with a splendid virility, his free trail-stride, never learned on pavements, and his black eyes, hinting of great spaces and unwearied with the close perspective of the city dwellers, drew many a curious and wayward feminine glance. he saw, grinned knowingly to himself, and faced them as so many dangers, with a cool demeanor that was a far greater personal achievement than had they been famine, frost, or flood.

he had come down to the states to play the man's game, not the woman's game; and the men he had not yet learned. they struck him as soft—soft physically; yet he divined them hard in their dealings, but hard under an exterior of supple softness. it struck him that there was something cat-like about them. he met them in the clubs, and wondered how real was the good-fellowship they displayed and how quickly they would unsheathe their claws and gouge and rend. "that's the proposition," he repeated to himself; "what will they-all do when the play is close and down to brass tacks?" he felt unwarrantably suspicious of them. "they're sure slick," was his secret judgment; and from bits of gossip dropped now and again he felt his judgment well buttressed. on the other hand, they radiated an atmosphere of manliness and the fair play that goes with manliness. they might gouge and rend in a fight—which was no more than natural; but he felt, somehow, that they would gouge and rend according to rule. this was the impression he got of them—a generalization tempered by knowledge that there was bound to be a certain percentage of scoundrels among them.

several months passed in san francisco during which time he studied the game and its rules, and prepared himself to take a hand. he even took private instruction in english, and succeeded in eliminating his worst faults, though in moments of excitement he was prone to lapse into "you-all," "knowed," "sure," and similar solecisms. he learned to eat and dress and generally comport himself after the manner of civilized man; but through it all he remained himself, not unduly reverential nor considerative, and never hesitating to stride rough-shod over any soft-faced convention if it got in his way and the provocation were great enough. also, and unlike the average run of weaker men coming from back countries and far places, he failed to reverence the particular tin gods worshipped variously by the civilized tribes of men. he had seen totems before, and knew them for what they were.

tiring of being merely an onlooker, he ran up to nevada, where the new gold-mining boom was fairly started—"just to try a flutter," as he phrased it to himself. the flutter on the tonopah stock exchange lasted just ten days, during which time his smashing, wild-bull game played ducks and drakes with the more stereotyped gamblers, and at the end of which time, having gambled floridel into his fist, he let go for a net profit of half a million. whereupon, smacking his lips, he departed for san francisco and the st. francis hotel. it tasted good, and his hunger for the game became more acute.

and once more the papers sensationalized him. burning daylight was a big-letter headline again. interviewers flocked about him.

old files of magazines and newspapers were searched through, and the romantic and historic elam harnish, adventurer of the frost, king of the klondike, and father of the sourdoughs, strode upon the breakfast table of a million homes along with the toast and breakfast foods. even before his elected time, he was forcibly launched into the game. financiers and promoters, and all the flotsam and jetsam of the sea of speculation surged upon the shores of his eleven millions. in self-defence he was compelled to open offices. he had made them sit up and take notice, and now, willy-nilly, they were dealing him hands and clamoring for him to play. well, play he would; he'd show 'em; even despite the elated prophesies made of how swiftly he would be trimmed—prophesies coupled with descriptions of the bucolic game he would play and of his wild and woolly appearance.

he dabbled in little things at first—"stalling for time," as he explained it to holdsworthy, a friend he had made at the alta-pacific club. daylight himself was a member of the club, and holdsworthy had proposed him. and it was well that daylight played closely at first, for he was astounded by the multitudes of sharks—"ground-sharks," he called them—that flocked about him.

he saw through their schemes readily enough, and even marveled that such numbers of them could find sufficient prey to keep them going. their rascality and general dubiousness was so transparent that he could not understand how any one could be taken in by them.

and then he found that there were sharks and sharks. holdsworthy treated him more like a brother than a mere fellow-clubman, watching over him, advising him, and introducing him to the magnates of the local financial world. holdsworthy's family lived in a delightful bungalow near menlo park, and here daylight spent a number of weekends, seeing a fineness and kindness of home life of which he had never dreamed. holdsworthy was an enthusiast over flowers, and a half lunatic over raising prize poultry; and these engrossing madnesses were a source of perpetual joy to daylight, who looked on in tolerant good humor. such amiable weaknesses tokened the healthfulness of the man, and drew daylight closer to him. a prosperous, successful business man without great ambition, was daylight's estimate of him—a man too easily satisfied with the small stakes of the game ever to launch out in big play.

on one such week-end visit, holdsworthy let him in on a good thing, a good little thing, a brickyard at glen ellen. daylight listened closely to the other's description of the situation. it was a most reasonable venture, and daylight's one objection was that it was so small a matter and so far out of his line; and he went into it only as a matter of friendship, holdsworthy explaining that he was himself already in a bit, and that while it was a good thing, he would be compelled to make sacrifices in other directions in order to develop it. daylight advanced the capital, fifty thousand dollars, and, as he laughingly explained afterward, "i was stung, all right, but it wasn't holdsworthy that did it half as much as those blamed chickens and fruit-trees of his."

it was a good lesson, however, for he learned that there were few faiths in the business world, and that even the simple, homely faith of breaking bread and eating salt counted for little in the face of a worthless brickyard and fifty thousand dollars in cash.

but the sharks and sharks of various orders and degrees, he concluded, were on the surface. deep down, he divined, were the integrities and the stabilities. these big captains of industry and masters of finance, he decided, were the men to work with. by the very nature of their huge deals and enterprises they had to play fair. no room there for little sharpers' tricks and bunco games. it was to be expected that little men should salt gold-mines with a shotgun and work off worthless brick-yards on their friends, but in high finance such methods were not worth while. there the men were engaged in developing the country, organizing its railroads, opening up its mines, making accessible its vast natural resources. their play was bound to be big and stable. "they sure can't afford tin-horn tactics," was his summing up.

so it was that he resolved to leave the little men, the holdsworthys, alone; and, while he met them in good-fellowship, he chummed with none, and formed no deep friendships. he did not dislike the little men, the men of the alta-pacific, for instance. he merely did not elect to choose them for partners in the big game in which he intended to play. what that big game was, even he did not know. he was waiting to find it. and in the meantime he played small hands, investing in several arid-lands reclamation projects and keeping his eyes open for the big chance when it should come along.

and then he met john dowsett, the great john dowsett. the whole thing was fortuitous. this cannot be doubted, as daylight himself knew, it was by the merest chance, when in los angeles, that he heard the tuna were running strong at santa catalina, and went over to the island instead of returning directly to san francisco as he had planned. there he met john dowsett, resting off for several days in the middle of a flying western trip. dowsett had of course heard of the spectacular klondike king and his rumored thirty millions, and he certainly found himself interested by the man in the acquaintance that was formed. somewhere along in this acquaintanceship the idea must have popped into his brain. but he did not broach it, preferring to mature it carefully. so he talked in large general ways, and did his best to be agreeable and win daylight's friendship.

it was the first big magnate daylight had met face to face, and he was pleased and charmed. there was such a kindly humanness about the man, such a genial democraticness, that daylight found it hard to realize that this was the john dowsett, president of a string of banks, insurance manipulator, reputed ally of the lieutenants of standard oil, and known ally of the guggenhammers.

nor did his looks belie his reputation and his manner.

physically, he guaranteed all that daylight knew of him. despite his sixty years and snow-white hair, his hand-shake was firmly hearty, and he showed no signs of decrepitude, walking with a quick, snappy step, making all movements definitely and decisively. his skin was a healthy pink, and his thin, clean lips knew the way to writhe heartily over a joke. he had honest blue eyes of palest blue; they looked out at one keenly and frankly from under shaggy gray brows. his mind showed itself disciplined and orderly, and its workings struck daylight as having all the certitude of a steel trap. he was a man who knew and who never decorated his knowledge with foolish frills of sentiment or emotion. that he was accustomed to command was patent, and every word and gesture tingled with power. combined with this was his sympathy and tact, and daylight could note easily enough all the earmarks that distinguished him from a little man of the holdsworthy caliber. daylight knew also his history, the prime old american stock from which he had descended, his own war record, the john dowsett before him who had been one of the banking buttresses of the cause of the union, the commodore dowsett of the war of 1812 the general dowsett of revolutionary fame, and that first far dowsett, owner of lands and slaves in early new england.

"he's sure the real thing," he told one of his fellow-clubmen afterwards, in the smoking-room of the alta-pacific. "i tell you, gallon, he was a genuine surprise to me. i knew the big ones had to be like that, but i had to see him to really know it. he's one of the fellows that does things. you can see it sticking out all over him. he's one in a thousand, that's straight, a man to tie to. there's no limit to any game he plays, and you can stack on it that he plays right up to the handle. i bet he can lose or win half a dozen million without batting an eye."

gallon puffed at his cigar, and at the conclusion of the panegyric regarded the other curiously; but daylight, ordering cocktails, failed to note this curious stare.

"going in with him on some deal, i suppose," gallon remarked.

"nope, not the slightest idea. here's kindness. i was just explaining that i'd come to understand how these big fellows do big things. why, d'ye know, he gave me such a feeling that he knew everything, that i was plumb ashamed of myself."

"i guess i could give him cards and spades when it comes to driving a dog-team, though," daylight observed, after a meditative pause. "and i really believe i could put him on to a few wrinkles in poker and placer mining, and maybe in paddling a birch canoe. and maybe i stand a better chance to learn the game he's been playing all his life than he would stand of learning the game i played up north."