ow! Who's going to stamp and tear round, eh?"

Jeff sank back on his chair.

"I said thar was a woman," continued Bill; "thar allus is one! Let a man
be hell-bent or heaven-bent, somewhere in his track is a woman's feet.
I don't say anythin' agin this gal, ez a gal. The best of 'em, Jeff, is
only guide-posts to p'int a fellow on his right road, and only a fool or
a drunken man holds on to 'em or leans agin em. Allowin' this gal is all
you think she is, how far is your guide-post goin' with ye, eh? Is she
goin' to leave her father and mother for ye? Is she goin' to give up
herself and her easy ways and her sicknesses for ye? Is she willin' to
take ye for a perpetooal landlord the rest of her life? And if she is,
Jeff, are ye the man to let her? Are ye willin' to run on her errants,
to fetch her dinners ez ye do? Thar ez men ez does it; not yer in
Californy, but over in the States thar's fellows is willing to take that
situation. I've heard," continued Bill, in a low, mysterious voice,
as of one describing the habits of the Anthropophagi--"I've heard o'
fellows ez call themselves men, sellin' of themselves to rich women
in that way. I've heard o' rich gals buyin' of men for their shape;
sometimes--but thet's in furrin' kintries--for their pedigree! I've
heard o' fellows bein' in that business, and callin' themselves men
instead o' hosses! Ye ain't that kind o' man, Jeff. 'Tain't in yer
blood. Yer father was a fool about women, and in course they ruined him,
as they allus do the best men. It's on'y the fools and sneaks ez a woman
ever makes anythin' out of. When ye hear of a man a woman hez made,
ye hears of a nincompoop. And when they does produce 'em in the way
o' nater, they ain't responsible for 'em, and sez they're the image o'
their fathers! Ye ain't a man ez is goin' to trust yer fate to a woman!"

"No," said Jeff darkly.

"I reckoned not," said Bill, putting his hands in his pockets again. "Ye
might if ye was one o' them kind o' fellows as kem up from 'Frisco with
her to Sacramento. One o' them kind o' fellows ez could sling poetry and
French and Latin to her--one of HER kind--but ye ain't! No, sir!"

Unwise William of Yuba! In any other breast but Jeff's that random shot
would have awakened the irregular auxiliary of love--jealousy! But Jeff,
being at once proud and humble, had neither vanity nor conceit, without
which jealousy is impossible. Yet he winced a little, for he had
feeling, and then said earnestly: