vigorous social life"; and so on.

These introductions safely and ceremoniously accomplished, each newcomer
insisted on leading the way to the nearest bar.

"I insist, sir. It is just the hour for my afternoon toddy."

After some murmuring of expostulation, the invitation was invariably
accepted.

There was always a barroom immediately adjacent. Keith was struck by the
number and splendour of these places. Although San Francisco was only three
years removed from the tent stage, and although the freightage from the
centres of civilization was appalling, there was no lack of luxury.
Mahogany bars with brass rails, huge mirrors with gilt frames, pyramids of
delicate crystal, rich hangings, oil paintings of doubtful merit but
indisputable interest, heavy chandeliers of prism glasses, most elaborate
free lunches, and white-clad barkeepers--such matters were common to all.
In addition, certain of the more pretentious boasted special attractions.
Thus, one place supported its ceiling on crystal pillars; another--and this
was crowded--had dashing young women to serve the drinks, though the mixing
was done by men; a third offered one of the new large musical boxes capable
of playing several very noisy tunes; a fourth had imported a marvellous
piece of mechanism: a piece of machinery run by clockwork, exhibiting the
sea in motion, a ship tossing on its bosom; on shore, a water mill in
action, a train of cars passing over a bridge, a deer chase with hounds,
huntsmen, and game, all in pursuit or flight, and the like. The barkeepers
were marvels of dexterity and of especial knowledge. At command they would
deftly and skilfully mix a great variety of drinks--cocktails, sangarees,
juleps, bounces, swizzles, and many others. In mixing these drinks it was