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“Thar was an awful row,” he went on. “I ran out on the taffrail, and there a dozen yards away was that purty creature, that peart gal, and–I–“

“You jumped for her,” I said, hastily.

“No!” he said gravely. “I let the other man do the jumping. I sorter looked on.”

I stared at him in astonishment.

“No,” he went on, seriously. “He was the man who jumped–that was just then his ‘put’–his line of business. You see, if I had waltzed over the side of that ship, and cavoorted in, and flummuxed round and finally flopped to the bottom, that other man would have jumped nateral-like and saved her; and ez he was going to marry her anyway, I don’t exactly see where I’D hev been represented in the transaction. But don’t you see, ef, after he’d jumped and hadn’t got her, he’d gone down himself, I’d hev had the next best chance, and the advantage of heving him outer the way. You see, you don’t understand me–I don’t think you did in Californy.”

“Then he did save her?”

“Of course. Don’t you see she was all right. If he’d missed her, I’d have chipped in. Thar warn’t no sense in my doing his duty onless he failed.”

Somehow the story got out. The Man from Solano as a butt became more popular than ever, and of course received invitations to burlesque receptions, and naturally met a great many people whom otherwise he would not have seen. It was observed also that his seven hundred dollars were steadily growing, and that he seemed to be getting on in his business. Certain California stocks which I had seen quietly interred in the old days in the tombs of their fathers were magically revived; and I remember, as one who has seen a ghost, to have been shocked as I looked over the quotations one morning to have seen the ghostly face of the “Dead Beat Beach Mining Co.,” rouged and plastered, looking out from the columns of the morning paper. At last a few people began to respect, or suspect, the Man from Solano. At last, suspicion culminated with this incident:–

He had long expressed a wish to belong to a certain “fash’n’ble” club, and with a view of burlesque he was invited to visit the club, where a series of ridiculous entertainments were given him, winding up with a card party. As I passed the steps of the club-house early next morning, I overheard two or three members talking excitedly,–

“He cleaned everybody out.” “Why, he must have raked in nigh on $40,000.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The Man from Solano.”

As I turned away, one of the gentlemen, a victim, noted for his sporting propensities, followed me, and laying his hand on my shoulders, asked:–

“Tell me fairly now. What business did your friend follow in California?”

“He was a shepherd.”

“A what?”

“A shepherd. Tended his flocks on the honey-scented hills of Solano.”

“Well, all I can say is, d–n your California pastorals!”