It ranked with the best and the others were
in San Francisco. Here, especially on Sunday night, almost everybody
went to vary the monotony of home cooking. Every one who was any one in
the town could be seen there off and on. It was perfectly respectable. A
man might take his wife and daughter there.
On the second floor there were private dining rooms, and to dine there,
with one or more of the opposite sex, was risque but not especially
terrible. But the third floor--and the fourth floor--and the fifth! The
elevator man of the Poodle Dog, who had held the job for many years and
never spoke unless spoken to, wore diamonds and was a heavy investor in
real estate.
There were others as famous in their way--Zinkaud's, where, at one time,
every one went after the theatre, and Tate's, which has lately bitten
into that trade; the Palace Grill, much like the grills of Eastern
hotels, except for the price; Delmonico's, which ran the Poodle Dog neck
and neck in its own line, and many others, humbler, but great at the
price.
THE BOHEMIAN CLUB.
To the visitor who came to see the city and who put himself in the hands
of one of its well-to-do citizens for the purpose, the few days that
followed were apt to be a whirl of mirth and sight-seeing, made up of
breakfasts, luncheons, dinners, drives, little trips across the bay,
dashes down the peninsula to the polo and country clubs, hours spent
in Bohemia, trips around the world among all the races of the habitable
globe, all of whom had their colonies in this most cosmopolitan of
American cities.
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