a bottle of "Dago red," for fifty cents. You gave the waiter a tip of
fifteen cents or "two bits" as you felt liberal, and he was satisfied.
If you were especially pleased you gave the darkeys ten cents, not
because you enjoyed the music, but just "because."

The one merit of Sanguinetti's before the fire was the fact that all the
regular customers were unaffected and natural. They came from the
factories, canneries, shops, and drays, and after a week of
heart-breaking work this was their one relaxation and they enjoyed it to
the full. Many people from the residential part of the city, and many
visitors at the hotels, went there as a part of slumming trips, but the
real sentiment was expressed by the young girl when she sang out "Is
everybody happy?"

Sanguinetti still has his restaurant, and there is still to be found the
perspiring darkeys, playing and singing their impossible music, and a
crowd still congregates there, but it is not the old crowd for this,
like all things else in San Francisco, has changed, and instead of the
old-time assemblage of young men and women whose lack of convention came
from their natural environment, there is now a crowd of young and old
people who patronize it because they have heard it is "so Bohemian."

Thrifty hotel guides take tourists there and tell them it is "the only
real Bohemian restaurant in San Francisco," and when the outlanders see
the antics of the people and listen to the ribald jests and bad music of
the darkeys, they go back to their hotels and tell with bated breath of
one of the most wonderful things they have ever seen, and it is one of
the wonderful things of their limited experience.

Among the pre-fire restaurants of note were several Italian places which