keep in the
background; but to appear on Kearney Street with a girl who wore a hat
like that and who would not put on her gloves--ah, no, it was out of the
question.

Ida was talking away endlessly about a kindergarten in which she had
substituted the last week.

She told him about the funny little nigger girl, and about the games and
songs and how they played birds and hopped around and cried, "Twit,
twit," and the game of the butterflies visiting the flowers. She even
sang part of a song about the waves.

"Every little wave had its night-cap on;
Its white-cap, night-cap, white-cap on."

"It's more _fun_ than enough," she said.

"Say, Ida," interrupted Vandover at length, "I'm pretty hungry. Can't we
go somewhere and eat something? I'd like a Welsh rabbit."

"All right," she answered. "Where do you want to go?"

"Well," replied Vandover, running over in his mind the places he might
reach by unfrequented streets. "There's Marchand's or Tortoni's or the
Poodle Dog."

"Suits _me_," she answered, "any one you like. Say, Van," she added,
"weren't you boys at the Imperial the other night? What kind of a place
is that?"

On the instant Vandover wondered what she could mean. Was it possible
that Ida would go to a place like that with him?

"The Imperial?" he answered. "Oh, I don't know; the Imperial is a sort
of a nice place. It has private rooms, like all of these places. The
cooking is simply out of sight. I think there is a bar connected with
it." Then he went on to talk indifferently about the kindergarten,
though his pulse was beating fast, and his nerves were strung taut. By
and by Ida said:

"I didn't know there was a bar at the Imperial. I thought it was just
some kind of an oyster joint. Why, I heard of a very nice girl, a swell
girl, going in there."

"Oh, yes," said Vandover, "they do. I say, Ida," he went on, "what's the
matter with going down _there_?"

"The _Imperial_?" exclaimed Ida. "Well, I guess _not_!"

"Why, it's all right, if I'm with you," retorted Vandover, "but if you
don't like it we can go anywhere else."

"Well, I guess we _will_ go anywhere else," returned Ida, and for the
time the subject was dropped.

They took a Sutter Street car and got off at Grant Avenue, having
decided to go to Marchand's.

"That's the Imperial down there, isn't it?" asked Ida as they reached
the sidewalk. Vandover made a last attempt:

"I say, Ida, come on, let's go there. It's all right if I