some bumpkin.
“I’m not the least bit interested in animals,” Christopher laughed. “It’s just something for the old man to do, you see? We already have the grandest house in San Francisco and all the ice cream we could ever possibly eat. But he is a dear old man, and if it makes him happy to give us an ocelot or aardvark, well, how could I refuse? There’s the aardvark.” Christopher pointed to a curled-up lump of fur in the corner of a cage.
“He likes the hunt too, you see? Not shooting—the old pussy won’t kill a mouse! No, for Father, hunting animals is about writing letters and arranging ships and hiring trappers,” Christopher explained. “He spent a year getting the polar bears, arranging for the Eskimos to catch them and the ship to bring them down. And then, of course, there was having the architects design the cage—you wouldn’t believe how hard it is just to get enough ironworkers for a fence these days! He shipped them up from Mexico City. Look at the pond—it took a dozen coolies a week to dig that, and you know how fast they work!”
“What are coolies?” Aiden asked.
“Chinamen,” Christopher replied. “They’re very good diggers.” They stopped in front of an extravagant enclosure with ornate iron bars and a pool. The mother bear was curled up sleeping between some rocks, the cubs nestled against her. Aiden was glad to see they all looked well.
“And having a zoo is brilliant for the girls,” Christopher went on.
“You mean your sisters?”
“No! Real girls—the kind you court. Of course they’d be coming around anyway, but it is much nicer to have a zoo, for otherwise one would have to sit around in the parlor and always be thinking up conversation.”
“Do you have a girl?” Aiden asked.
“A sweetheart?”
“Yes, I suppose, a girl you especially like.”
“I like them all. They’re all fine.”
“What do you mean, all?”
“Well, all the girls in our set,” Christopher said. “There aren’t that many of them. Thirty-five, I think, maybe forty if you count the ones over twenty. And, well, another fifty if you go down to the picnic girls.”
“Picnic girls?”
“The daughters of merchants or minor officials—the next tier down. The ones we would invite to a picnic or a casual dance but not a ball. You know, an open house, like this, but not a served dinner.”
“But what’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing’s wrong, they just aren’t, you know, in our set,” Christopher explained. “Look, society here is really very movable. I mean, look at yourself—you’re nobody, and here you are, welcome in my home. Most people came here with nothing, after all, my father among them. But the gold rush was seventeen years ago.”
“Is that how your father made his fortune—in gold?”
“No, iron,” Christopher said. “Nails mostly. The city grew so fast, and burned down so often, there was always a need for nails. He started scavenging nails from burned houses, then manufacturing them. He made nails, then factories, then machinery. You’ve heard of the Comstock Lode? In Nevada, 1859?”
“Of course.” It was the biggest silver deposit ever discovered in the United States.
“It was different from the gold rush—a different sort of mining. You needed machinery, and most of all you needed financing. Father provided both. And here we are.” Christopher waved toward the elaborate estate. “But the point is, there is a real society now, not just some lucky gold diggers. There are about a hundred top families, give or take a few who are in scandal or bankruptcy or are just too dull. We have to maintain standards. So picnic girls are just for fun.”
“What if you fell in love with one?”
“Why would I?”
“Maybe she’s beautiful and—nice. I don’t know, maybe it just happens?”
“It isn’t shameful to marry down a bit. But why? I mean, there are forty good ones available, so chances are that at least one will be all right for a
“I’m not the least bit interested in animals,” Christopher laughed. “It’s just something for the old man to do, you see? We already have the grandest house in San Francisco and all the ice cream we could ever possibly eat. But he is a dear old man, and if it makes him happy to give us an ocelot or aardvark, well, how could I refuse? There’s the aardvark.” Christopher pointed to a curled-up lump of fur in the corner of a cage.
“He likes the hunt too, you see? Not shooting—the old pussy won’t kill a mouse! No, for Father, hunting animals is about writing letters and arranging ships and hiring trappers,” Christopher explained. “He spent a year getting the polar bears, arranging for the Eskimos to catch them and the ship to bring them down. And then, of course, there was having the architects design the cage—you wouldn’t believe how hard it is just to get enough ironworkers for a fence these days! He shipped them up from Mexico City. Look at the pond—it took a dozen coolies a week to dig that, and you know how fast they work!”
“What are coolies?” Aiden asked.
“Chinamen,” Christopher replied. “They’re very good diggers.” They stopped in front of an extravagant enclosure with ornate iron bars and a pool. The mother bear was curled up sleeping between some rocks, the cubs nestled against her. Aiden was glad to see they all looked well.
“And having a zoo is brilliant for the girls,” Christopher went on.
“You mean your sisters?”
“No! Real girls—the kind you court. Of course they’d be coming around anyway, but it is much nicer to have a zoo, for otherwise one would have to sit around in the parlor and always be thinking up conversation.”
“Do you have a girl?” Aiden asked.
“A sweetheart?”
“Yes, I suppose, a girl you especially like.”
“I like them all. They’re all fine.”
“What do you mean, all?”
“Well, all the girls in our set,” Christopher said. “There aren’t that many of them. Thirty-five, I think, maybe forty if you count the ones over twenty. And, well, another fifty if you go down to the picnic girls.”
“Picnic girls?”
“The daughters of merchants or minor officials—the next tier down. The ones we would invite to a picnic or a casual dance but not a ball. You know, an open house, like this, but not a served dinner.”
“But what’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing’s wrong, they just aren’t, you know, in our set,” Christopher explained. “Look, society here is really very movable. I mean, look at yourself—you’re nobody, and here you are, welcome in my home. Most people came here with nothing, after all, my father among them. But the gold rush was seventeen years ago.”
“Is that how your father made his fortune—in gold?”
“No, iron,” Christopher said. “Nails mostly. The city grew so fast, and burned down so often, there was always a need for nails. He started scavenging nails from burned houses, then manufacturing them. He made nails, then factories, then machinery. You’ve heard of the Comstock Lode? In Nevada, 1859?”
“Of course.” It was the biggest silver deposit ever discovered in the United States.
“It was different from the gold rush—a different sort of mining. You needed machinery, and most of all you needed financing. Father provided both. And here we are.” Christopher waved toward the elaborate estate. “But the point is, there is a real society now, not just some lucky gold diggers. There are about a hundred top families, give or take a few who are in scandal or bankruptcy or are just too dull. We have to maintain standards. So picnic girls are just for fun.”
“What if you fell in love with one?”
“Why would I?”
“Maybe she’s beautiful and—nice. I don’t know, maybe it just happens?”
“It isn’t shameful to marry down a bit. But why? I mean, there are forty good ones available, so chances are that at least one will be all right for a
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