A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE
Stanley was to learn much more of Eugene Schmitz. It was in fact the
following day that he met Ruef and the violinist at Zinkand's. Schmitz
was a man of imposing presence. He stood over six feet high; his curly
coal-black hair and pointed beard, his dark, luminous eyes and a certain
dash in his manner, gave him a glamor of old-world romance. In a red cap
and ermine-trimmed robe, he might have been Richelieu, defying the
throne. Or, otherwise clad, the Porthos of Dumas' "Three Musketeers."
Francisco could not help reflecting that Ruef had borrowed a very fine
presence indeed.
Ruef asked Francisco to his table. He talked a great deal about
politics. Schmitz listened open-eyed; Stanley more astutely. All at once
Ruef leaned toward Francisco.
"What do you think of Mr. Schmitz--as a candidate for Mayor?" he asked.
"I think," Francisco answered meaningly, "that you have chosen well."
They rose, shook hands. To Francisco's surprise Schmitz left them. "I
have a matinee this afternoon," he said. Ruef walked down Market street
with Stanley.
"He's leader of the Columbia orchestra.... I met him through my dealings
with the Musicians' Union." Impulsively he grasped Francisco's arm.
"Isn't he a wonder? I'll clean up the town with him. Watch me!"
"And, are you certain you can manage this chap?"
Ruef laughed a quiet little laugh of deep content. "Oh, Gene is
absolutely plastic. Just a handsome musician. And of good, plain people.
His father was a German band leader; his mother is Irish--Margaret
Hogan. That will help. And he is a Native Son."
Ruef babbled on. He had a great plan for combining all political
factions--an altruistic dream of economic brotherhood. Francisco
listened somewhat skeptically. He was not certain of the man's
sincerity, but he admired Ruef. Of his executive ability there could
be no doubt.
Yet there was something vaguely wrong about the wondrous fitness of
Ruef's plan. Mary Godwin Shelley's tale of "Frankenstein" came to
Francisco's mind.
* * * * *
That evening Frank said to his father, with a wink at Jeanne, "Want to
go slumming with me tonight, father? I'm going to do my first signed
story: 'The Night-Life of This Town'."
"Do you think I ought to, Jeanne?" asked her husband whimsically. He
glanced at his son. "This younger generation is a trifle--er--vehement
for old fogies like me."
Jeanne came over and sat on the arm of his chair. "Nonsense," she said,
"you are just as young as ever, Francisco.... Yes, go with the boy, by
all means. I'll run up to Maizie's for the evening. She's making a dress
for Alice's birthday party. She will be sixteen next month."
* * * * *
Francisco and his son went gaily forth to see their city after dark.
Truth to tell, the father knew more of it than the lad, who acted as
conductor. Francisco's wanderings in search of 'local color' had
included some nocturnal quests. However, he kept this to himself and let
Frank do the guiding.
They went, first, to a large circular building called the Olympia, at
Eddy and Mason streets. It was the heart of what was called the
Tenderloin, a gay and hectic region frequented by half-world folk, but
not unknown to travelers nor to members of society, Slumming parties
were both fashionable and frequent. Two girls were capering and
carolling behind the footlights.
"They are Darlton and Boice," explained young Stanley. "The one with the
perpetual smile is a great favorite. She's Boice. She's got a daughter
old as I, they say."
They visited the Thalia, a basement "dive" of lower order, and returned
to the comparative respectability of the Oberon beer hall on O'Farrell
street, where a plump orchestra of German females played sprightly airs;
thence back to Market street and the Midway. "Little Egypt," tiny,
graceful, sensually pretty, performed a "danse du ventre," at the
conclusion of a long program of crude and often ribald "turns." When
"off-stage" the performers, mostly girls, drank with the audience in a
tier of curtained boxes which lined the sides of the auditorium. At
intervals the curtains parted for a moment and faces peered down. A
drunken sailor in a forward box was tossing silver coins to a dancer.
They made their exit, Francisco frankly weary and the young reporter
bored by the unrelieved crudity of it all. A smart equipage, with
champing horses, stood before the entrance. They paused to glance at it.
"Looks like Harry Bear's carriage," Frank commented. "You know the young
society blood who's had so many larks." He turned back. "Wait a minute,
father, I'm going in. If Bear has a party upstairs in those boxes it'll
make good copy."
"It'll make a scandal, you mean," returned Francisco rather crisply.
"You can't print the women's names."
"Bosh!" the younger man retorted pertly. "Everyone's doing this sort of
thing now. Come along, dad. See the fun." He caught his father's arm and
they re-entered, taking the stairs, this time, to the boxes above. From
one came a man's laughing banter. "That's he," Frank whispered, Hastily
he drew his half reluctant father into a vacant box. A waiter brought
them beer, collected half a dollar and inquired if they wanted
"Company." Francisco shook his head.
The man in the adjoining box was drunk, the girl was frightened. Their
voices filtered plainly through the thin partition. He was urging her to
drink and she was protesting. Finally she screamed. Stanley and his son
sprang simultaneously to the rescue. They found a young man in an
evening suit trying to kiss a very pretty girl.
His ears were red where she had boxed them and as he turned a rather
foolish face surprisedly toward the intruders, a scratch showed livid on
one cheek. The girl's hair streamed disheveled by the struggle. She
caught up, hastily, a handsome opera cloak to cover her torn corsage.
"Please," she said, "get me out of here quickly.... I'll pay you well."
Then she flushed as young Stanley stiffened. "I ... I beg your pardon."
He offered her his arm and they passed from the box together. The
befuddled swain, after a dazed interval, attempted to follow, but
Francisco flung him back. He heard the carriage door shut with a snap,
the clatter of iron-shod hoofs. Then he went out to look for Frank, but
did not find him. Evidently he had gone with the lady. Francisco smiled.
It was quite an adventure. Thoughtfully he gazed at the banners flung
across Market street:
"VOTE FOR EUGENE SCHMITZ,
"The Workingman's Friend."
That was Abraham Ruef's adventure. He wondered how each of them would
end.