waxed warmer as it got nearer the landing. At last a bet of five dollars was offered that no man had jumped overboard, and a taker was found at once; had the first party offered to bet that a man did jump overboard, number two would have been equally ready to bet the other way. The money was placed in the hands of the bar-keeper, and left there until he should decide who won. Next day it was discovered that A. Marius Chappelle, at one time one of the wealthiest men in San Francisco, impelled by the fear of becoming insane—a fear which was the effect of insanity itself—had loaded himself down with old iron, jumped overboard and gone immediately to the bottom of the bay, never to rise again alive, he having left letters on shore announcing his determination to drown himself. The money was paid over to the winner on this discovery being made known.
A man known as "Little Zeke" applied one day for a position on the police force of San Francisco. His appearance at the police office was the signal for a regular burst of laughter. His face had called up a ludicrous reminiscence of old times. Some years ago an animated contest was going on between Frank Whitney and James Nuttman for the office of Chief Engineer of the Fire Department, and the present applicant for the silver star was an excited and deeply devoted partisan of the latter. Little Zeke was in a saloon where Whitney had his headquarters, late in the evening of election day, pretty well panned out and deeply dejected, but still clinging to the hope of his friend's election, as a drowning kitten will cling to
