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"Oh, I don't know; the Imperial is a sort
of a nice place. It has private rooms, like all of these places. The
cooking is simply out of sight. I think there is a bar connected with
it." Then he went on to talk indifferently about the kindergarten,
though his pulse was beating fast, and his nerves were strung taut. By
and by Ida said:
"I didn't know there was a bar at the Imperial. I thought it was just
some kind of an oyster joint. Why, I heard of a very nice girl, a swell
girl, going in there."
"Oh, yes," said Vandover, "they do. I say, Ida," he went on, "what's the
matter with going down _there_?"
"The _Imperial_?" exclaimed Ida. "Well, I guess _not_!"
"Why, it's all right, if I'm with you," retorted Vandover, "but if you
don't like it we can go anywhere else."
"Well, I guess we _will_ go anywhere else," returned Ida, and for the
time the subject was dropped.
They took a Sutter Street car and got off at Grant Avenue, having
decided to go to Marchand's.
"That's the Imperial down there, isn't it?" asked Ida as they reached
the sidewalk.


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