of many millions goes up or goes down
and his daughters take to stenography or type-writing. I have heard many
tales of heroism from the lips of girls who counted the principals among
their friends. The crash came; Mamie or Hattie or Sadie gave up their
maid, their carriages and candy, and with a No. 2 Remington and a stout
heart set about earning their daily bread.

"And did I drop her from the list of my friends? No, Sir," said a
scarlet-lipped vision in white lace. "That might happen to me any day."

It may be this sense of possible disaster in the air that makes San
Franciscan society go with so captivating a rush and whirl. Recklessness
is in the air. I can't explain where it comes from, but there it is. The
roaring winds off the Pacific make you drunk to begin with. The
aggressive luxury on all sides helps out the intoxication, and you spin
for ever "down the ringing groves of change" (there is no small change,
by the way, west of the Rockies) as long as money lasts. They make
greatly and they spend lavishly; not only the rich but the artisans, who
pay nearly five pounds for a suit of clothes and for other luxuries in
proportion. The young men rejoice in the days of their youth. They
gamble, yacht, race, enjoy prize-fights and cock-fights--the one openly,
the other in secret--they establish luxurious clubs; they break
themselves over horse-flesh and--other things; and they are instant in
quarrel. At twenty they are experienced in business; embark in vast
enterprises, take partners as experienced as themselves, and go to
pieces with as much splendour as their neighbours. Remember that the men
who stocked California in the Fifties were physically, and as far as
regards certain tough virtues, the pick of the earth. The inept and the
weakly died _en route_ or went under in the days of construction. To
this nucleus were added all the races of the Continent--French, Italian,
German, and, of course, the Jew. The result you shall see in
large-boned, deep-chested, delicate-handed women, and long, elastic,
well-built boys. It needs no little golden badge swinging from his
watch-chain to mark the Native Son of the Golden West--the country-bred
of California. Him I love because he is devoid of fear, carries himself
like a man, and has a heart as big as his boots. I fancy, too, he knows
how to enjoy the blessings of life that his world so abundantly bestows
upon him. At least I heard a little rat of a creature with hock-bottle