Then Emeline was left to put her house in order, and dress herself for
the day--her corsets laced tight at the waist, her black hair crimped
elaborately above her bang, her pleated skirts draped fashionably over
her bustle. George would come back at one o'clock to take her to lunch,
and after lunch they wandered up and down Kearney and Market streets,
laughing and chatting, glad just to be alive and together. Sometimes
they dined downtown, too, and afterward went to the "Tivoli" or
"Morosco's," or even the Baldwin Theatre, and sometimes bought and
carried home the materials for a dinner, and invited a few of George's
men friends to enjoy it with them. These were happy times; Emeline,
flushed and pretty in her improvised apron, queened it over the three or
four adoring males, and wondered why other women fussed so long over
cooking, when men so obviously enjoyed a steak, baked potatoes, canned
vegetables, and a pie from Swain's. After dinner the men always played
poker, a mild little game at first, with Emeline eagerly guarding a
little pile of chips, and gasping over every hand like a happy child;
but later more seriously, when Emeline, contrary to poker superstition,
sat on the arm of her husband's chair, to bring him luck.
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