The hour was now past a respectable bedtime and the Tenderloin had
awakened. The roar of commerce had dwindled away, and the
comparative silence was broken only by the clang of an infrequent
trolley. The streets were empty of vehicles, except for a few cabs
that followed the little group persistently. As yet there was no
need of them. The crowd was made up, for the most part, of
healthy, full-blooded boys, fresh from weeks of training, strong
of body, and with stomachs like galvanized iron. They showed scant
evidence of intoxication. As for the weakest member of the party,
it had long been known that one drink made Higgins drunk, and all
further libations merely served to maintain him in status quo.
Exhaustive experiments had proved that he was able to retain
consciousness and the power of locomotion until the first streak
of dawn appeared, after which he usually became a burden. For the
present he was amply able to take care of himself, and now,
although his speech was slightly thick, his demeanor was as
didactic and severe as ever, and, save for the vagrant workings of
his mind, he might have passed for a curate. As a whole, the crowd
was in fine fettle.
The Austrian Village is a saloon, dance-hall, and all-night
restaurant, flourishing brazenly within a stone's throw of
Broadway, and it is counted one of the sights of the city.
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