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Updated: June 23, 2025
To be sure, he glanced through the morning journal as usual; repaired to the Greek chop-house with the dingy green walls, the smoked ceiling, the glass partition that separated the guests from a kitchen lined with shining copper pans, where a cook in a white paper cap wafted himself about in clouds of vapor, lit by occasional flashes of light and ever curling flames, like a soul expiating its sins in a prescribed but savory purgatory.
"Well, one morning, I came into Virginia about breakfast time, and with the rest of the crew, went up to the old California Chop-house for breakfast. This same chop-house was a building about good-enough for a stable, these days; but it had a reputation then for steaks.
The other led the way through the streets and down obscure alleys till they came to a chop-house. Here one could have the doubtful pleasure of seeing one's chop in its various stages of evolution. Mr Waller ordered lunch with the care of one to whom lunch is no slight matter. Few workers in the City do regard lunch as a trivial affair. It is the keynote of their day.
Once or twice, obscurely, allusively, he made a beginning once sitting down at a man's side in a basement chop-house, another day approaching a lounger on an east-side wharf. But in both cases the premonition of failure checked him on the brink of avowal.
The tide would be at its lowest ebb at nine thirty-one and the commodore figured that his fortune would be lying well exposed on the Berkeley tide flats. He engaged a diver and a small gasoline launch, and after an early breakfast in a chop-house on the Embarcadero they started for the wreck.
Hung Wapu passed through the store to the chop-house, where several dozen Chinese were squatting on the ground dining on unmentionable Chinese delicacies, which consisted of anything and everything soft enough to be chewed.
Oh, well, I don't blame you. There's nothing in this world that can so harrow up one's soul as impotent wrath. I've heard of people bursting with it. I've had experiences in the art of irritation before this case. There was a fellow once hired my cab for an hour. Drove him all about London, and then he stopped in at a chop-house, leaving me outside.
His fancy was already wandering, and began to mingle up the present scene with the crater of Vesuvius, the French opera, the Coliseum at Rome, Dolly's chop-house in London, and all the farrago of noted places with which the brain of a traveller is crammed in a word, he was just falling asleep. Suddenly he was aroused by the sound of foot-steps that appeared to be slowly pacing along the corridor.
It's the chop-house game now, with a new deal all around, but they're onto it so a pal of mine tells me." Again Felix ruminated. "Women ever come here?" "Oh, yes, up to ten o'clock or so telephone operators, shop-girls that kind. Two of 'em are over there now; they work in Cryder's store Christmas and New Year's, and they get taken on extra." "Any others?" "You mean fancies?"
Mine Host on the Avenue A Gentleman of Brussels Poulard's Some Old New York Hotels High Prices of 1836 The American The Metropolitan Holt's The Brevoort and the Steamship Captains Delmonico's Famous Menus The Glory of the Fifth Avenue The Logerot A Bohemian Chop-house The Great Mince Pie Contest About Madison Square Lost Youth.
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