Or if you'll name your day, I've got a pair of 2.35 Blue Grass horses that'll spin you out to the Cliff House to dinner and back.

I've had Governor Fiske, and Senator Doolan, and that big English capitalist who was here last year, and they--well, sir,--they were PLEASED! Or if you'd like to see the town--if this is your first visit--I'm a hand to show you." Nothing could exceed Mr.Hathaway's sympathetic acceptance of their courtesies, nor was there the least affectation in it.

Thoroughly enjoying his fellowmen, even in their foibles, they found him irresistibly attractive.

"I lived here seven years ago," he said, smiling, to the last speaker.
"When the water came up to Montgomery Street," interposed Mr.Shear, in a hoarse but admiring aside.
"When Mr.Hammersley was mayor," continued Hathaway.
"Had an official position--private secretary--afore he was twenty," explained Shear, in perfectly audible confidence.
"Since then the city has made great strides, leaping full-grown, sir, in a single night," said Captain Stidger, hastily ascending the rostrum again with a mixed metaphor, to the apparent concern of a party of handsomely dressed young ladies who had recently entered the parlor.
"Stretching from South Park to Black Point, and running back to the Mission Dolores and the Presidio, we are building up a metropolis, sir, worthy to be placed beside the Golden Gate that opens to the broad Pacific and the shores of far Cathay! When the Pacific Railroad is built we shall be the natural terminus of the Pathway of Nations!" Mr.Hathaway's face betrayed no consciousness that he had heard something like this eight years before, and that much of it had come true, as he again sympathetically responded.

Neither was his attention attracted by a singular similarity which the attitude of the group of ladies on the other side of the parlor bore to that of his own party.
They were clustered around one of their own number--a striking-looking girl--who was apparently receiving their mingled flatteries and caresses with a youthful yet critical sympathy, which, singularly enough, was not unlike his own.