The rooms were built around a central court, very much like a patio. Horses and carriages drove right in here, depositing guests almost at the office desk. The furniture for all the rooms was made of solid mahogany which Mr. Ralston brought all the way from South America in a big white fleet sent down for the purpose. Nothing more completely Western or completely comfortable could be imagined. If you stopped at the Palace Hotel, you were certain to get the feeling that you were somebody’s personal guest and that that somebody had taken a great deal of trouble for your ease and enjoyment. In his own home at Belmont, Mr. Ralston was an extravagant host. The immense house was always crowded with guests, and from a specially constructed gallery he looked down (like an Emperor of Rome) upon these numbers of people, each one amusing himself according to his own personal desire. But emperors fall, and there are always people jealous of a dictator, no matter how just he may be. Ralston lived for others and consequently trusted others; therefore, the blow must have been harder to bear when it fell. I saw him the day he was asked to resign from the presidency of the California Bank. It was right after he had left the board of directors. He did not act in any way unusual, but came out of the building, went straight to his carriage, and drove away. That was in the morning. The evening papers had the account of his suicide. He had gone out to North Beach to have his daily swim, and, contrary to his usual habit, left his watch and valuables in the life saver’s hands, waded into the water, and was gone. One could hardly pass over the dreamers of the West without telling of the greatest of them all—the Emperor Norton. His was a vision worth having, for he believed himself the deposed ruler of the vast kingdom of the United States. Foully ousted from his throne, he was only biding the time when he would come into what was rightfully his. I suppose “the few faithful subjects,” who stuck to him were the citizens of San Francisco. At any rate, they furnished him with a living and the few luxuries he deemed necessary in his exile. They called him a “natural,” but I often suspected him of being more clever than they knew. The Emperor looked very much like General Grant, perhaps because of his bushy beard and long blue army coat. In his top hat he wore a feather and elaborate gold epaulets on his shoulders, while across his breast were rows and rows of medals. He was in no way shabby, and, in _spite_ of his costume, gave the impression of mighty dignity. No one laughed at him, no one interfered with him, and he went his way, receiving everything he wanted without paying a cent. Charity? Not at all. He took it as his right. The street cars belonged to him; therefore, he rode for nothing.