Each succeeding restaurant of the name has moved further downtown;
and the recent Poodle Dog stands - stands or stood; one mixes his tenses
queerly in writing of this city which is and yet is no more - on the
edge of the Tenderloin in a modern five story building. And it typified
a certain spirit that there was in San Francisco.
For on the ground floor was a public restaurant where there was served
the best dollar dinner on earth. At least, if not the best it ranked
with the best, and the others were in San, Francisco. There, especially
on Sunday night, almost everyone went to vary the monotony of home
cooking. Everyone who was anyone in the town could be seen there off and
on. It was perfectly respectable. A man might take his wife and daughter
to the Poodle Dog.
On the second floor there were private dining rooms, and to dine there,
with one or more of the opposite sex, was risque but not especially
terrible. But the third floor - and the fourth floor - and the fifth!
The elevator man of the Poodle Dog, who had held the job for many years
and who never spoke unless spoken to, wore diamonds and was a heavy
investor in real estate.
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