Stone, amiably. "Man was in a hurry. Can't
you see his wife waiting for him? Never knew a Californian to put on
airs in my life." By this time his optimism was complete. "Only women
imagine such things. There are as many poor as rich in San Francisco
society. Only some of us are too poor, and Bohemia is better anyway.
Well, let's hit the pike. This room is too hot for my head."

XXI

The Poodle Dog, a high new ugly building, stood on the corner of Eddy
and Mason Streets in the very centre of the Tenderloin, or "all night
district." For two or three blocks on every side there was a blaze of
light, electric signs, illuminated windows, sudden flashes from swinging
doors. There was much movement, life, laughter, carriages in the street
driving from restaurant to theatre. And all beyond, east and west, south
and north, was a city as dark and quiet as the grave. The hill tops were
picked out with a few lights, but one could barely see them from this
region that never slept. Nor could one see Chinatown and Barbary coast,
nor other sections more picturesque than creditable, where the cheaper
gas blazed late, and not even a policeman was sure of his morrow if he
ventured too far. But here was the sound of music and decorous laughter,
the clang of street-cars and the constant rattle of carriages: the
restaurants were beginning to empty; there would be an hour or two of
comparative quiet, and then another crowd would fill the streets, the
restaurants, even the saloons; a crowd that rarely saw daylight mixing
amiably with respectable but undomestic citizens that could afford to
sleep late.

At present the scene was brilliant. "The San Franciscan loves the
outside life as much as the Londoner," said Isabel to Gwynne, as they
stood a moment almost blinded by the lower signs. "In many ways you
will find them not unlike--especially as regards fads. Wait until you
have been really initiated into intellectual Bohemia--the clever young
newspaper men and budding authors. I already hate the names of Ibsen,
Shaw, Wilde, Symons, Maeterlinck, and Gorky. I am only waiting for them
to discover Max Klinger and Manet--"

"Klinger?" asked Stone. "Where have I heard that name?"

"He is the great unconscious humorist of modern art, also a great
etcher," said Isabel, dryly. "Have you ever heard of the
_Secessionists_?"

"Of course," replied Stone, huffily. "You imagine that because you have
been to Europe--"

"Well, _have_ you ever h