Sometimes one or two of the visiting stage professionals, after being sufficiently urged, would go into the back room and take the places of the regular amateur entertainers, but they were very sparing with these favors, and the patrons regarded them as special treats.  There was one man, a minstrel, who, whenever he responded to a request to “do something,” never essayed anything below a reading from Shakespeare.  How well he read I do not know, but he greatly impressed me; and I can say that at least he had a voice which strangely stirred those who heard it.  Here was a man who made people laugh at the size of his mouth, while he carried in his heart a burning ambition to be a tragedian; and so after all he did play a part in a tragedy.

These notables of the ring, the turf, and the stage, drew to the place crowds of admirers, both white and colored.  Whenever one of them came in, there were awe-inspired whispers from those who knew him by sight, in which they enlightened those around them as to his identity, and hinted darkly at their great intimacy with the noted one.  Those who were on terms of approach immediately showed their privilege over others less fortunate by gathering around their divinity.  I was, at first, among those who dwelt in darkness.  Most of these celebrities I had never heard of.  This made me an object of pity among many of my new associates.  I soon learned, however, to fake a knowledge for the benefit of those who were greener than I; and, finally, I became personally acquainted with the majority of the famous personages who came to the “Club.”

A great deal of money was spent here, so many of the patrons were men who earned large sums.  I remember one night a dapper little brown-skin fellow was pointed out to me and I was told that he was the most popular jockey of the day, and that he earned $12,000 a year.  This latter statement I couldn’t doubt, for with my own eyes I saw him spending at about thirty times that rate.  For his friends and those who were introduced to him he bought nothing but wine—­in sporting circles, “wine” means champagne—­and paid for it at five dollars a quart.  He sent a quart to every table in the place with his compliments; and on the table at which he and his party were seated there were more than a dozen bottles.  It was the custom at the “Club” for the waiter not to remove the bottles when champagne was being drunk until the party had finished.  There were reasons for this; it advertised the brand of wine, it advertised that the party was drinking wine, and advertised how much they had bought.  This jockey had won a great race that day, and he was rewarding his admirers for the homage they paid him, all of which he accepted with a fine air of condescension.

Besides the people I have just been describing, there was at the place almost every night one or two parties of white people, men and women, who were out sight-seeing, or slumming.  They generally came in cabs; some of them would stay only for a few minutes, while others sometimes stayed until morning.  There was also another set of white people who came frequently; it was made up of variety performers and others who delineated “darky characters”; they came to get their imitations first hand from the Negro entertainers they saw there.