ere could
be no doubt.

Yet there was something vaguely wrong about the wondrous fitness of
Ruef's plan. Mary Godwin Shelley's tale of "Frankenstein" came to
Francisco's mind.

* * * * *

That evening Frank said to his father, with a wink at Jeanne, "Want to
go slumming with me tonight, father? I'm going to do my first signed
story: 'The Night-Life of This Town'."

"Do you think I ought to, Jeanne?" asked her husband whimsically. He
glanced at his son. "This younger generation is a trifle--er--vehement
for old fogies like me."

Jeanne came over and sat on the arm of his chair. "Nonsense," she said,
"you are just as young as ever, Francisco.... Yes, go with the boy, by
all means. I'll run up to Maizie's for the evening. She's making a dress
for Alice's birthday party. She will be sixteen next month."

* * * * *

Francisco and his son went gaily forth to see their city after dark.
Truth to tell, the father knew more of it than the lad, who acted as
conductor. Francisco's wanderings in search of 'local color' had
included some nocturnal quests. However, he kept this to himself and let
Frank do the guiding.

They went, first, to a large circular building called the Olympia, at
Eddy and Mason streets. It was the heart of what was called the
Tenderloin, a gay and hectic region frequented by half-world folk, but
not unknown to travelers nor to members of society, Slumming parties
were both fashionable and frequent. Two girls were capering and
carolling behind the footlights.

"They are Darlton and Boice," explained young Stanley. "The one with the
perpetual smile is a great favorite. She's Boice. She's got a daughter
old as I, they say."

They visited the Thalia, a basement "dive" of lower order, and returned
to the comparative respectability of the Oberon beer hall on O'Farrell
street, where a plump orchestra of German females played sprightly airs;
thence back to Market street and the Midway. "Little Egypt," tiny,
graceful, sensually pretty, performed a "danse du ventre," at the
conclusion of a long program of crude and often ribald "turns." When
"off-stage" the performers, mostly girls, drank with the audience in a
tier of curtained boxes which lined the sides of the auditorium. At
intervals the curtains parted for a moment and faces peered down. A
drunken sailor in a forward box was tossing silver coins to a dancer.

They made their exit, Francisc