August 8 Thursday – In Spokane, Wash., this was a rest and travel day late for the Clemens party — they would leave at midnight for Tacoma. From J.B. Pond’s diary:

We spent all day, August 8th, in Spokane. The hotel was full. The new receiver and his gay party are also spending the day here, but all leave just before the time set for the lecture.

In the forenoon “Mark” and I walked about this remarkable city, with its asphalt streets, electric lights, nine-story telegraph poles, and commercial blocks that would do credit to any Eastern city. There were buildings ten stories high, with the nine top stories empty, and there were many fine stores with great plate-glass fronts, marked “To Rent.” In the afternoon our entire party drove about the city in an open carriage. Our driver pointed out some beautiful suburban residences and told us who occupied them.

“That house,” he said, as we drove by a palatial establishment, “is where Mr. Brown lives. He is receiver for the Spokane Bank, which failed last year for over $2,000,000. You all know about that big failure, of course. The receiver lives there.”

Pointing out another house, he said: “That man living up in that big house is receiver for the Great Falls Company. It failed for nearly a million. The president and directors of that company are most all in the State prison. And this yere house that we are coming to now is where the receiver of the Washington Gas and Water Company lives,” etc.

“Mark” said to the ladies: “If I had a son to send West, I would educate him for a receiver. It seems to be about the only thriving industry.”

…

As we have a day here, the ladies have overhauled and repacked their trunks. I think there is no occupation that has the fascination for women when travelling as the unpacking and overhauling of large travelling trunks. They go at it early, miss their luncheon, and are late to dinner, and yet show no signs of fatigue.

There was another incident here. Our ladies dressed their best for dinner, and outshone the receiver’s excursionists, who occupied most of the great dining hall. “Mark” didn’t see it, as he never comes down to dinner. I know I saw it, and enjoyed a feeling of pride. I just felt and knew I was envied by the men at the other tables. Clara Clemens is a beautiful girl. As we passed out of the dining room into the great parlor, she sat down to the Chickering grand piano and began playing a Chopin nocturne. It was in the gloaming, Stealthily guests came in from dinner and sat breathlessly in remote parts of the boundless room listening to a performance that would have done credit to any great pianist. Never have I witnessed a more beautiful sight than this sweet brunette unconsciously holding a large audience of charmed listeners. If it was not one of the supreme moments of her mother’s life, who saw and heard her, then I have guessed wrong. It was an incident forever fixed in my memory.

That night at 11:30 we went aboard the sleeper on the Great Northern Road. Everything was in readiness for us.

The next day [Aug.8] was one full of interest as we rode over the Rockies on the zigzag road, travelling over thirty miles to make seven. “Mark” rode on the engine, greatly to the delight of the engineer. 

We transferred at Seattle to the little “Greyhound of Puget Sound” — The Flyer — said to be the fastest steamer in the world. “Mark” sat on the deck of The Flyer watching the baggage-smashers removing our trunks from the baggage car to the truck which was to convey them to The Flyer, and exclaimed: “Oh, how I do wish one of those trunks were filled with dynamite and that all the baggage-destroyers on earth were gathered about it, and I just far enough off to see them hurled into Kingdom Come!”

We arrived in Tacoma at five o’clock, and have sumptuous apartments at The Tacoma, a grand caravansery built by the Northern Pacific Railroad Company. The “receiver” is an old friend of mine, formerly a contractor on the Northern Pacific Railroad. I also found another old friend in C. H. Prescott — one of the prosperous. He is local “receiver” of the Northern Pacific Railroad, the highest distinction a man can attain out here. This is another overgrown metropolis. We can’t see it, nor anything else, owing to the dense smoke everywhere.

Here in Tacoma the ladies are to remain and rest, while “Mark” and I take in Portland and Olympia [Eccentricities of Genius 216-18].