He drank off his toast. Glasses were raised all over the room. Men sprang upon their chairs, put one foot on the table and drank Fancy Gray's health. Then the crowd yelled again.
In the confusion Mrs. Maxwell leaned to Clytie. "I don't know, my dear, whether I'll dare to chaperon you here again!" She herself was as excited as any one there.
Frankie Dean's thin lips curled in a sneer. "Oh, they call this Bohemia, don't they! Did you ever see anything so cheap and vulgar in your life? I feel positively dirty!"
Cayley watched for Clytie's answer. It came with a jet of fervor. "Why," she exclaimed, "don't you see it's real? It's real! It isn't the way we care to do things, but they're all alive and human—every one of them!"
"Bah! It's all a pose. They're pretending they're devilish."
"I don't care!" Clytie's eyes fired. "Even so, there's a live person in each of them—they're just as real as we are. I never understood it before. Look under the surface of it—there's blood there!"
"It's San Francisco!" said Cayley, "that explains everything. Oh, this town!" He sat down shaking his head.
The old patron bustled excitedly through the room.
"Take-a de foot off de table! Take-a de foot off de table!" he protested. "You spoil the table clot'—you break-a de dishes! I don't like dat! Get down, you! Get down!"
CHAPTER VI