Belasco left school in June, 1871. In August, 1878, he married. It has been impossible to fix precise dates for some of his proceedings within that period of about two years and three months. Though he steadily, if at first slowly, progressed, and though specific records of his doings become more and more frequent as the years pass in review, it is not until about 1876-’79 that they are numerous. During all, or almost all, of the period indicated (1871-1879),--more so in the earlier part than in the later,--he was a nomadic bohemian. At first he often roamed the streets at night and would visit the saloons and low “dives” which abounded in San Francisco, and recite before the rough frequenters of those resorts,--sometimes giving “The Maniac,” sometimes “Bernardo del Carpio,” sometimes “shockers” of his own composition (things which he wrote with facility, on any current topic that attracted his attention), and gather whatever money might be thrown to him by those unruly but often liberal auditors. On a Sunday he was sometimes fortunate enough to earn as much as ten or twelve dollars by his recitals. Another means of gain that he employed was the expedient of volunteer press reporting. He would visit every gambling “den,” opium “joint,” hospital, and police-station to which he could obtain access (the morgue was one of his familiar resorts), and write brief stories of whatever scenes and occurrences he might observe, to be sold to any newspaper that would pay for them,--when he was lucky enough to make a sale. In talking to me about his youthful days, as he has done in the course of a friendly acquaintance extending over many years, he has particularly dwelt on the intense, often morbid, and quite irresistible interest which, in early life, he felt in everything extraordinary, emotional, sensational, dramatic,--everything that might be called phenomenal. “As a young fellow,” he once said to me, “I visited the scene of every murder that I heard of--and they were many. I knew every infamous and dangerous place in San Francisco. Once I tried to interfere between a blackguard and his woman, whom he was abusing, and I got a bullet along the forehead for my trouble: I have the scar of it to this day. It was freely predicted that I would end in state’s prison, probably on the gallows. Only my dear mother seemed to understand me. My adventures and wanderings (’Wandering Feet,’ she used to call me) worried her, which I grieve to think of now, but she always took my part. ’Davy is all right,’ she used to say; ’leave him alone; he’s only curious about life, and wants to see everything with those big, dark eyes of his.’ She was right; and, if I didn’t see everything, I saw a good deal.”