They boast huge golden time-pieces,
like young melons. Their diamond cluster pins are as resplendent
as crystal door-knobs.
Fair hands, fresh from the healthful contact of washing-soda, wave
recognition to him from coupe or victoria. In some cases these are
driven by the millionnaire himself, who insists on "holding the
ribbons."
The newspapers, in the recherche society columns, refer to the
grandeur of the "Gold Hill" outfit, the Virginia City "gang," the
Reese River "hummers," or the Eberhardt "crowd." These are the
Golden Horde.
These lucky children of fortune mingle with the stock-brokers, who,
resplendent in attire, and haughty of demeanor, fill the thousand
offices of speculation. They disdain the meaner element, as they
tool their drags over the Cliff Road to bathe in champagne, and
listen to the tawdry Phrynes and bedraggled Aspasias who share
their vulture feast of the moment.
It is a second descent of male and female harpies. Human nature,
loosened from long restraint by the war, has flooded the coast with
the moral debris of the conflict. It is a reign of the Bacchanals.
"After all," thinks Philip Hardin, as he sees these dazzling rockets
rise, with golden trails, into the social darkness of the Western
skies, "they are really the upper classes here.
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