The Lure of San Francisco: A Romance Amid Old Landmarks
9781465653260
118 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
Tickets to the city, Sir? The conductor's voice sounded above the rumble of the train. As my companion's hand went to his pocket he glanced at me with a quizzical smile. "I should think you Oaklanders would resent that. Hasn't your town put on long skirts since the fire?" There was an unpleasant emphasis on the last phrase, but I passed it over unnoticed. "Of course we have grown up," I assured him. "We're a big flourishing city, but we are not the city. San Francisco always has been, and always will be the city to all northern California; it was so called in the days of forty-nine and we still cling affectionately to the term." "I believe you Californians have but two dates on your calendar," he exclaimed, "for everything I mention seems to have happened either 'before the fire' or 'in the good old days of forty-nine!' 'Good old days of forty-nine,'" he repeated, amused. "In Boston we date back to the Revolution, and 'in Colonial times' is a common expression. We have buildings a hundred years old, but if you have a structure that has lasted a decade, it is a paragon and pointed out as built 'before the fire.' Do you remember the pilgrimage we made to the historic shrines of Boston, just a year ago?" "Shall I ever forget it!" I exclaimed. He smiled appreciatively. "Faneuil Hall and the old State House are interesting." "Oh, I wasn't thinking about the buildings! I don't even recall how they look. But I do remember the weather. I was so cold I couldn't even speak." "Impossible!" he cried, "you not able to talk!" "But it's true! My cheeks were frozen stiff. I wore a thick dress, a sweater, a heavy coat and my furs, and, still I was cold while all the time I was thinking that the fruit trees and wild flowers were in blossom in California. If it hadn't been for the symphony concerts and the opera, I never could have endured an Eastern winter." "A fine compliment to me when I spent days taking you to points of historic interest." I sent him an appreciative glance. "It was good of you," I acknowledged, "and do you remember that I promised to take you on a similar pilgrimage when you came to San Francisco?" He laughed. "And I was foolish enough to believe you, since I had never been to the Pacific Coast." The train came to a stop in the Ferry Building and we followed the other passengers onto the boat. "San Francisco is modern to the core," he continued. "Boston dates back generations, but you have hardly acquired your three score years and ten." "If you don't like fine progressive cities, why did you come to California?" His fault-finding with San Francisco hurt me as if it had been a personal criticism. "You know why I came," he said gently, with his eyes on my face. I felt the blood creeping to my cheeks and turned quickly to look for an out-of-doors seat. In the crowd we were jostled by a little slant-eyed man of the Orient, resplendent in baggy blue silk trousers tied neatly at the ankles and a loose coat lined with lavender, whose flowing sleeves half concealed his slender brown hands. "There's a man who has centuries at his back." My companion's eyes traveled from the soft padded shoes to the little red button on the top of the black skull cap. "Even his costume is the same as his forefathers'." "If you are interested in the Chinese, I'll show you Oriental San Francisco. It lies in the heart of the city and its very atmosphere is saturated with Eastern customs. It is much more sanitary but not as picturesque as it was before the fire." I flushed as I saw his amusement, and quickly called his attention to the receding shores where the encircling green hills had thrown out long banners of yellow mustard and blue lupins. To the right was Mt. Tamalpais, a sturdy sentinel looking out to the ocean, its summit pressed against the sky's blue canopy and its base lost in a network of purple forests.
