Horace Fletcher had nothing on me when it came to soda crackers.
I liked saloons.

Especially I liked the San Francisco saloons.

They had the most delicious dainties for the taking--strange breads and crackers, cheeses, sausages, sardines--wonderful foods that I never saw on our meagre home-table.

And once, I remember, a barkeeper mixed me a sweet temperance drink of syrup and soda-water.

My father did not pay for it.
It was the barkeeper's treat, and he became my ideal of a good, kind man.
I dreamed day-dreams of him for years.