The City That Was | Page 8

gymnasium measurements show that the girls are a little more than two
inches taller than their sisters of Vassar and Michigan.
The greatest beauty-show on the continent was the Saturday afternoon
matinee parade in San Francisco. Women in so-called "society" took no
part in this function. It belonged to the middle class, but the "upper
classes" have no monopoly of beauty anywhere in the world. It had
grown to be independent of the matinees. From two o'clock to half-past
five, a solid procession of Dianas, Hebes and Junos passed and
repassed along the five blocks between Market and Powell and Sutter
and Kearney - the "line" of San Francisco slang. Along the open-front
cigar stores, characteristic of the town, gilded youth of the cocktail
route gathered in knots to watch them. There was something Latin in
the spirit of this ceremony - it resembled church parade in Buenos
Ayres. Latin, too, were the gay costumes of the women, who dressed
brightly in accord with the city and the climate. This gaiety of costume

was the first thing which the Eastern woman noticed - and disapproved.
Give her a year, and she, too, would be caught by the infection of
daring dress.
In this parade of tall, deep bosomed, gleaming women, one caught the
type and longed, sometimes for the sight of a more ethereal beauty - for
the suggestion of soul within which belongs to a New England woman
on whom a hard soil has bestowed a grudged beauty - for the mobility,
the fire, which belongs to the Frenchwoman. The second generation of
France was in this crowd, it is true; but climate and exercise had grown
above their spiritual charm a cover of brilliant flesh. It was the beauty
of Greece.
With such a people, life was always gay. If the fairly Parisian gaiety did
not display itself on the streets, except in the matinee parade, it was
because the winds made open-air cafes disagreeable at all seasons of
the year. The life careless went on indoors or in the hundreds of pretty
estates - "ranches" the Californians called them - which fringe the city.
San Francisco was famous for its restaurants and cafes. Probably they
were lacking at the top; probably the very best, for people who do not
care how they spend their money, was not to be had. But they gave the
best fare on earth, for the price, at a dollar, seventy-five cents, a half a
dollar, or even fifteen cents.
If one should tell exactly what could be had at Coppa's for fifty cents or
at the Fashion for, say thirty-five, no New Yorker who has not been
there would believe it. The San Francisco French dinner and the San
Francisco free lunch were as the Public Library to Boston or the stock
yards to Chicago. A number of causes contributed to this. The country
all about produced everything that a cook needs and that in abundance -
the bay was an almost untapped fishing pound, the fruit farms came up
to the very edge of the town, and the surrounding country produced in
abundance fine meats, game, all cereals and all vegetables.
But the chefs who came from France in the early days and stayed
because they liked this land of plenty were the head and front of it.
They passed on their art to other Frenchmen or to the clever Chinese.
Most of the French chefs at the biggest restaurants were born in Canton,
China. Later the Italians, learning of this country where good food is
appreciated, came and brought their own style. Householders always
dined out one or two nights of the week, and boarding houses were

scarce, for the unattached preferred the restaurants.
The eating was usually better than the surroundings. Meals that were
marvels were served in tumbledown little hotels. Most famous of all the
restaurants was the Poodle Dog. There have been no less than four
establishments of this name, beginning with a frame shanty where, in
the early days, a prince of French cooks used to exchange ragouts for
gold dust. Each succeeding restaurant of the name has moved further
downtown; and the recent Poodle Dog stands - stands or stood; one
mixes his tenses queerly in writing of this city which is and yet is no
more - on the edge of the Tenderloin in a modern five story building.
And it typified a certain spirit that there was in San Francisco.
For on the ground floor was a public restaurant where there was served
the best dollar dinner on earth. At least, if not the best it ranked with
the best, and the others were in San, Francisco. There, especially on
Sunday night, almost everyone went to vary the monotony of home
cooking. Everyone who was