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The work was going on. Much of Sutro's time was spent in Virginia City, superintending the work on his tunnel. But he fell into the habit of finding Benito whenever he came to town dragging him from home with awkward but sincere apologies to Alice. "You will lend me your husband, Hein?" he would say. "I like to tell him of my fancies, for he understands ... the others laugh at me."
San Francisco's mercantile community equaled the best, the stores and shops were as beautiful as anywhere in the world and proportionately as well patronized. Theatres, music halls, restaurants, hotel bars and the like were ablaze with lights at night, and patronized by a gay throng. Sutro's bath, near the Cliff House, was a species of entertainment unequaled anywhere.
Certainly, the subject is worthy of consideration, and some day we hope to handle it almost adequately. The remarks, however, concern the ideas of general finance exhibited by authors. Mr Sutro's drama The Perfect Lover set us thinking. No doubt the title does not suggest money, nor, indeed, does it give an idea of the real subject of the drama.
Alfred Sutro's play The Builder of Bridges, Dorothy Faringay, in her devotion to her forger brother, has conceived the rather disgraceful scheme of making one of his official superiors fall in love with her, in order to induce him to become practically an accomplice in her brother's crime. She succeeds beyond her hopes.
The truth is, however, that she has really come to love Thursfield passionately, and has broken her engagement with the other, for whom she never truly cared. So the author tells us, and so we are willing enough to believe if he can devise any adequate method of making Thursfield believe it. Mr. Sutro's handling of the difficulty seems to me fairly, but not conspicuously, successful.
Over all is a roof of steel and tinted glass. Nowhere else in America is there so fine a bathing establishment. Besides this there are the lovely gardens of Sutro Heights, developed by Mr. Sutro's money and genius from the barren sand-hills of the San Miguel rancho.
They made the inevitable bridal trip to the Cliff House and spent an afternoon in the grewsome and made-to-order beauties of Sutro's Gardens; they went through Chinatown, the Palace Hotel, the park museum where Hilma resolutely refused to believe in the Egyptian mummy and they drove out in a hired hack to the Presidio and the Golden Gate.
Another part of the gay life of the city was for a private dance to keep going all night in a fashionable residence, and at daylight, instead of everybody going to bed, to jump into automobiles or carriages or take the trolley cars and whizz off to the beach for a dip in the cold salt water pool at Sutro's baths, and then, with ravenous appetites, sit down on the Cliff House balcony to an open-air breakfast while watching the ships sail in and out at the Golden Gate and hearing the seals barking on the rocks.
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