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diff --git a/35965-h/35965-h.htm b/35965-h/35965-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..49e185b --- /dev/null +++ b/35965-h/35965-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17300 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Abroad at Home, by Julian Street</title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Abroad at Home, by Julian Street, Illustrated +by Wallace Morgan</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Abroad at Home</p> +<p> American Ramblings, Observations, and Adventures of Julian Street</p> +<p>Author: Julian Street</p> +<p>Release Date: April 25, 2011 [eBook #35965]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABROAD AT HOME***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Corsetiere,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>ABROAD AT HOME</h1> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[ iii]</a></span> + +<h2>BY JULIAN STREET</h2> + + +<blockquote><p class="center">THE NEED OF CHANGE</p> + +<p class="center">Fifth Anniversary Edition. Illustrated by +James Montgomery Flagg. Cloth, 50 +cents net. Leather, $1.00 net.</p> + +<p class="center">PARIS À LA CARTE</p> + +<p class="center">"Gastronomic promenades" in Paris. Illustrated +by May Wilson Preston. Cloth, +60 cents net.</p> + +<p class="center">WELCOME TO OUR CITY</p> + +<p class="center">Mr. Street plays host to the stranger in +New York. Illustrated by James Montgomery +Flagg and Wallace Morgan. +Cloth, $1.00 net.</p> + +<p class="center">SHIP-BORED</p> + +<p class="center">Who hasn't been? Illustrated by May +Wilson Preston. Cloth, 50 cents net.</p> + +<p class="center">ABROAD AT HOME +Cheerful ramblings and adventures in +American cities and other places. Illustrated +by Wallace Morgan. Cloth, $2.50 +net.</p> + +<p class="center">For Children</p> + +<p class="center">THE GOLDFISH</p> + +<p class="center">A Christmas story for children between +six and sixty. Colored Illustrations and +page Decorations. Cloth, 70 cents net.</p></blockquote> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[ iv]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus004.png" width="450" height="716" alt="The St. Francis at tea-time.—With her hotels San Francisco is New +York, but with her people she is San Francisco—which comes near +being the apotheosis of praise" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The St. Francis at tea-time.—With her hotels San Francisco is New +York, but with her people she is San Francisco—which comes near +being the apotheosis of praise</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[ v]</a></span></p> + +<div class="center"> +ABROAD AT HOME<br /> +<br /> +AMERICAN RAMBLINGS, OBSERVATIONS, AND<br /> +ADVENTURES OF JULIAN STREET<br /> +<br /> +WITH PICTORIAL SIDELIGHTS<br /> +<br /> +BY<br /> +<br /> +WALLACE MORGAN<br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus005.png" width="200" height="194" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<div class="center"> +NEW YORK<br /> +THE CENTURY CO.<br /> +1915<br /></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[ vi]</a></span> +<div class="center"> +Copyright, 1914, by<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Century Co.</span><br /> +<br /> +Copyright, 1914, by<br /> +<span class="smcap">P. F. Collier & Son, Inc.</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>Published, November, 1914</i><br /></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[ vii]</a></span> + + +<h5>TO MY FATHER</h5> +<p class="center">the companion of my first railroad journey<br /> +</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[ viii]</a></span> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center">The Author takes this opportunity to thank the old +friends, and the new ones, who assisted him in so many +ways, upon his travels. Especially, he makes his affectionate +acknowledgment to his wise and kindly companion, +the Illustrator, whose admirable drawings are +far from being his only contribution to this volume.</p> + +<p class="right"> +—J. S.<br /> +<br /> +New York,<br /> +October, 1914.<br /> +</p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ ix]</a></span> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">CHAPTER</span></td><td align="left"> </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">PAGE</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="center">STEPPING WESTWARD</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">I</td><td align="left">STEPPING WESTWARD</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II</td><td align="left">BIFURCATED BUFFALO</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III</td><td align="left">CLEVELAND CHARACTERISTICS</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV</td><td align="left">MORE CLEVELAND CHARACTERISTICS</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"> </td><td align="center">MICHIGAN MEANDERINGS</td><td align="left"> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V</td><td align="left">DETROIT THE DYNAMIC</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI</td><td align="left">AUTOMOBILES AND ART</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII</td><td align="left">THE MÆCENAS OF THE MOTOR</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII</td><td align="left">THE CURIOUS CITY OF BATTLE CREEK</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX</td><td align="left">KALAMAZOO</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X</td><td align="left">GRAND RAPIDS THE "ELECT"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"> </td><td align="center">CHICAGO</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XI</td><td align="left">A MIDDLE-WESTERN MIRACLE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XII</td><td align="left">FIELD'S AND THE "TRIBUNE"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIII</td><td align="left">THE STOCKYARDS</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIV</td><td align="left">THE HONORABLE HINKY DINK</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XV</td><td align="left">AN OLYMPIAN PLAN</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVI</td><td align="left">LOOKING BACKWARD</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"> </td><td align="center">"IN MIZZOURA"</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVII</td><td align="left">SOMNOLENT ST. LOUIS</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVIII</td><td align="left">THE FINER SIDE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIX</td><td align="left">HANNIBAL AND MARK TWAIN</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XX</td><td align="left">PIKE AND POKER</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXI</td><td align="left">OLD RIVER DAYS</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"> </td><td align="center">THE BEGINNING OF THE WEST</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXII</td><td align="left">KANSAS CITY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIII</td><td align="left">ODDS AND ENDS</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIV</td><td align="left">COLONEL NELSON'S "STAR"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_302">302</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXV</td><td align="left">KEEPING A PROMISE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_313">313</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVI</td><td align="left">THE TAME LION</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVII</td><td align="left">KANSAS JOURNALISM</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_337">337</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXVIII</td><td align="left">A COLLEGE TOWN</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_345">345</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXIX</td><td align="left">MONOTONY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_365">365</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right"> </td><td align="center">THE MOUNTAINS AND THE COAST</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXX</td><td align="left">UNDER PIKE'S PEAK</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_379">379</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXI</td><td align="left">HITTING A HIGH SPOT</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_400">400</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXII</td><td align="left">COLORADO SPRINGS</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_417">417</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXIII</td><td align="left">CRIPPLE CREEK</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_434">434</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXIV</td><td align="left">THE MORMON CAPITAL</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_439">439</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXV</td><td align="left">THE SMITHS</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_454">454</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXVI</td><td align="left">PASSING PICTURES</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_465">465</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXVII</td><td align="left">SAN FRANCISCO</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_474">474</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXVIII</td><td align="left">"BEFORE THE FIRE"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_488">488</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXXIX</td><td align="left">AN EXPOSITION AND A "BOOSTER"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_498">498</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XL</td><td align="left">NEW YORK AGAIN</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_507">507</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">The St. Francis at tea-time.—With her hotels San Francisco is New +<br />York, but with her people she is San Francisco—which comes<br />near being the apotheosis of praise. <i>Frontispiece</i></td><td align="right">FACING<br />PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I was moving about my room, my hands full of hairbrushes and toothbrushes +<br />and clothesbrushes and shaving brushes; my head full of +<br />railroad trains, and hills, and plains, and valleys</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A dusky redcap took my baggage</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">What scenes these black, pathetic people had passed through—were +<br />passing through! Why did they not look up in wonderment?.</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">We made believe we wanted to go out and smoke. And as we left +<br />our seats she made believe she didn't know that we were going.</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The gentleman who favored linen mesh was a fat, prosperous-looking +<br />person, whose gold-rimmed spectacles reflected flying lights +<br />from out of doors</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In a few hours there was enough shame around us to have lasted all +<br />the reformers and muckrakers I know a whole month</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">My companion and I made excuses to go downstairs and wash our +<br />hands in the public washroom, just for the pleasure of doing so +<br />without fear of being attacked by a swarthy brigand with a brush</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I was prepared to take the field against all comers, not only in favor +<br />of simplicity, but in favor of anything and everything which was +<br />favored by my hostess</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Chamber of Commerce representatives were with us all the first day +<br />and until we went to our rooms, late at night</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">It is an Elizabethan building, with a heavy timbered front, suggesting +<br />some ancient, hospitable, London coffee house where wits of +<br />old were used to meet</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In this charming, homelike old building, with its grandfather's clock, +<br />its Windsor chairs, and its open wood fires, a visitor finds it hard +<br />to realize that he is in the "west"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Down by the docks we saw gigantic, strange machines, expressive of +<br />Cleveland's lake commerce—machines for loading and unloading +<br />ships in the space of a few hours</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In midstream passes a continual parade of freighters ... and in +<br />their swell you may see, teetering, all kinds of craft, from proud +<br />white yachts to canoes</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The automobile has not only changed Detroit from a quiet old town +<br />into a rich, active city, but upon the drowsy romance of the old +<br />days it has superimposed the romance of modern business</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Of course there was order in that place, of course there was system—relentless +<br />system—terrible "efficiency"—but to my mind it expressed +<br />but one thing, and that thing was delirium</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Never, since then, have I heard men jeering over women as they look +<br />in dishabille, without wondering if those same men have ever seen +<br />themselves clearly in the mirrored washroom of a sleeping car</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Can that stuff," admonished Miss Buck in her easy, offhand manner</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">She was saying to herself (and, unconsciously, to us, through the +<br />window): "If <i>I</i> had played that hand, I never should have done +<br />it <i>that</i> way!"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Rodin's "Thinker"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Chicago's skyline from the docks.... A city which rebuilt itself after +<br />the fire; in the next decade doubled its size; and now has a population +<br />of two million, plus a city of about the size of San Francisco</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Two rabbis, old bearded men, performed the rites with long, slim, +<br />shiny blades</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">As I stood there, studying the temperament of pigs, I saw the butcher +<br />looking up at me.... I have never seen such eyes</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The bold front of Michigan Avenue along Grant Park ... great +<br />buildings wreathed in whirling smoke and that allegory of infinity +<br />which confronts one who looks eastward</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The dilapidation of the quarter has continued steadily from Dickens's +<br />day to this, and the beauty now to be discovered there is that of +<br />decay and ruin</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The three used bridges which cross the Mississippi River at St. Louis +<br />are privately controlled toll bridges</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The skins are handled in the raw state ... with the result that the +<br />floor of the exchange is made slippery by animal fats, and that the +<br />olfactory organs encounter smells not to be matched in any zoo</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">St. Louis needs to be taken by the hand and led around to some municipal-improvement +<br />tailor, some civic haberdasher</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">We came upon the "Mark Twain House."... And to think that, +<br />wretched as this place was, the Clemens family were forced to +<br />leave it for a time because they were too poor to live there</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">At one side is an alley running back to the house of Huckleberry Finn, +<br />and in that alley stood the historic fence which young Sam +<br />Clemens cajoled the other boys into whitewashing for him</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Never outside of Brittany and Normandy have I seen roads so full of +<br />animals as those of Pike County</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mr. Roberts is a wonder—nothing less. There's a book in him, and +<br />I hope that somebody will write it, for I should like to read that +<br />book</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Looking down from Kersey Coates Drive, one sees ... the appalling +<br />web of railroad tracks, crammed with freight cars, which seen +<br />through a softening haze of smoke, resemble a relief map—strange, +<br />vast and pictorial</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_289">289</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Colonel Nelson is a "character." Even if he didn't own the "Star," ... +<br />he would be a "character."... I have called him a volcano; +<br />he is more like one than any other man I have ever met</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_304">304</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mr. Fish informed me that the waters of Excelsior Springs resemble +<br />the waters of Homburg, the favorite watering place of the late +<br />King Edward—or, rather, I think he put it the other way round</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_322">322</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">We strolled in the direction of the old house, that house of tragedy in +<br />which the family lived in the troublous times.... It was there +<br />that the Pinkertons threw the bomb</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_328">328</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">It was Frank James.... He looks more like a prosperous farmer or +<br />the president of a rural bank than like a bandit. In his manner +<br />there is a strong note of the showman</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_335">335</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The campus seems to have "just growed."... Nevertheless, there is +<br />a sort of homely charm about the place, with its unimposing, helter-skelter +<br />piles of brick and stone</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Even at sea the great bowl of the sky had never looked to me so vast</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_368">368</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The little towns of western Kansas are far apart and have, like the +<br />surrounding scenery, an air of sadness and desolation</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_373">373</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">In the lobby of the Brown Palace Hotel we saw several old fellows, +<br />sitting about, looking neither prosperous nor busy, but always +<br />talking mines. A kind word, or even a pleasant glance, is enough +<br />to set them off</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_380">380</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Ain't Nature wonderful!"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_405">405</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I was by this time very definitely aware that I had my fill of winter +<br />motoring in the mountains. The mere reluctance I felt as we began +<br />to climb had now developed into a passionate desire to desist</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_412">412</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The homes of Colorado Springs really explain the place and the society +<br />is as cosmopolitan as the architecture</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_417">417</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">On the road to Cripple Creek we were always turning, always turning +<br />upward</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_432">432</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">We were invited to meet the President of the Mormon Church and +<br />some members of his family at the Beehive House, his official +<br />residence</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_452">452</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Lion House—a large adobe building in which formerly resided +<br />the rank and file of Brigham Young's wives</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_461">461</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Cliff House has a Sorrento setting and hectic turkey-trotting +<br />nights</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_468">468</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Salt-water pool, Olympic Club, San Francisco</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_477">477</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The switchboard of the Chinatown telephone exchange is set in a +<br />shrine and the operators are dressed in Chinese silks</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_496">496</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">We believed we had encountered every kind of "booster" that creeps, +<br />crawls, walks, crows, cries, bellows, barks or brays, but it remained +<br />for the Exposition to show us a new specimen</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_504">504</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">New York—Everyone is in a hurry. Everyone is dodging everyone +<br />else. Everyone is trying to keep his knees from being knocked +<br />by swift-passing suitcases</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_513">513</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[ 1]</a></span> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>STEPPING WESTWARD</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[ 3]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ABROAD AT HOME</h2> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>STEPPING WESTWARD</h3> + +<p> +"<i>What, you are stepping westward?</i>"—"<i>Yea.</i>"<br /> +—'Twould be a wildish destiny,<br /> +If we, who thus together roam<br /> +In a strange Land, and far from home,<br /> +Were in this place the guests of Chance:<br /> +Yet who would stop or fear to advance,<br /> +Though home or shelter he had none,<br /> +With such a sky to lead him on?<br /> +<br /> +—<span class="smcap">Wordsworth.</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p>For some time I have desired to travel over the +United States—to ramble and observe and seek +adventure here, at home, not as a tourist with a +short vacation and a round-trip ticket, but as a kind of +privateer with a roving commission. The more I have +contemplated the possibility the more it has engaged me. +For we Americans, though we are the most restless race +in the world, with the possible exception of the Bedouins, +almost never permit ourselves to travel, either at home +or abroad, as the "guests of Chance." We always go +from one place to another with a definite purpose. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[ 4]</a></span> +never amble. On the boat, going to Europe, we talk +of leisurely trips away from the "beaten track," but we +never take them. After we land we rush about obsessed +by "sights," seeing with the eyes of guides and thinking +the "canned" thoughts of guidebooks.</p> + +<p>In order to accomplish such a trip as I had thought +of I was even willing to write about it afterward. +Therefore I went to see a publisher and suggested that +he send me out upon my travels.</p> + +<p>I argued that Englishmen, from Dickens to Arnold +Bennett, had "done" America; likewise Frenchmen and +Germans. And we have traveled over there and written +about them. But Americans who travel at home to +write (or, as in my case, write to travel) almost always +go in search of some specific thing: to find corruption +and expose it, to visit certain places and describe them +in detail, or to catch, exclusively, the comic side. For +my part, I did not wish to go in search of anything +specific. I merely wished to take things as they might +come. And—speaking of taking things—I wished, +above all else, to take a good companion, and I had him +all picked out: a man whose drawings I admire almost +as much as I admire his disposition; the one being who +might endure my presence for some months, sharing +with me his joys and sorrows and collars and cigars, and +yet remain on speaking terms with me.</p> + +<p>The publisher agreed to all. Then I told my New +York friends that I was going.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus022.png" width="450" height="467" alt="I was moving about my room, my hands full of hairbrushes and toothbrushes +and clothesbrushes and shaving brushes; my head full of railroad trains, and hills, +and plains, and valleys" title="" /> +<span class="caption">I was moving about my room, my hands full of hairbrushes and toothbrushes +and clothesbrushes and shaving brushes; my head full of railroad trains, and hills, +and plains, and valleys</span> +</div> + +<p>They were incredulous. That is the New York atti<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[ 5]</a></span>tude +of mind. Your "typical New Yorker" really +thinks that any man who leaves Manhattan Island for +any destination other than Europe or Palm Beach must +be either a fool who leaves voluntarily or a criminal +taken off by force. For the picturesque criminal he +may be sorry, but for the fool he has scant pity.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>At a farewell party which they gave us on the night +before we left, one of my friends spoke, in an emotional +moment, of accompanying us as far as Buffalo. +He spoke of it as one might speak of going up to Baffin +Land to see a friend off for the Pole.</p> + +<p>I welcomed the proposal and assured him of safe conduct +to that point in the "interior." I even showed him +Buffalo upon the map. But the sight of that wide-flung +chart of the United States seemed only to alarm +him. After regarding it with a solemn and uneasy eye +he shook his head and talked long and seriously of +his responsibilities as a family man—of his duty to his +wife and his limousine and his elevator boys.</p> + +<p>It was midnight when good-bys were said and my +companion and I returned to our respective homes to +pack. There were many things to be put into trunks +and bags. A clock struck three as my weary head +struck the pillow. I closed my eyes. Then when, as it +seemed to me, I was barely dozing off there came a +knocking at my bedroom door.</p> + +<p>"What is it?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[ 6]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Six o'clock," replied the voice of our trusty Hannah.</p> + +<p>As I arose I knew the feelings of a man condemned +to death who hears the warden's voice in the chilly +dawn: "Come! It is the fatal hour!"</p> + +<p>When, fifteen minutes later, doubting Hannah (who +knows my habits in these early morning matters) +knocked again, I was moving about my room, my +hands full of hairbrushes and toothbrushes and clothes +brushes and shaving brushes; my head full of railroad +trains, and hills, and plains and valleys, and snow-capped +mountain peaks, and smoking cities and smoking-cars, +and people I had never seen.</p> + +<p>The breakfast table, shining with electric light, had +a night-time aspect which made eggs and coffee seem +bizarre. I do not like to breakfast by electric light, and +I had done so seldom until then; but since that time I +have done it often—sometimes to catch the early morning +train, sometimes to catch the early morning man.</p> + +<p>Beside my plate I found a telegram. I ripped the +envelope and read this final punctuation-markless message +from a literary friend:</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>you are going to discover the united states dont be +afraid to say so</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>That is an awful thing to tell a man in the very early +morning before breakfast. In my mind I answered +with the cry: "But I <i>am</i> afraid to say so!"</p> + +<p>And now, months later, I am still afraid to say so, be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[ 7]</a></span>cause, +despite a certain truth the statement may contain, +it seems to me to sound ridiculous, and ponderous, and +solemn with an asinine solemnity.</p> + +<p>It spoiled my last meal at home—that well-meant telegram.</p> + +<p>I had not swallowed my second cup of coffee when, +from her switchboard, a dozen floors below, the operator +telephoned to say my taxi had arrived; whereupon I +left the table, said good-by to those I should miss most +of all, took up my suit case and departed.</p> + +<p>Beside the curb there stood an unhappy-looking taxicab, +shivering as with malaria, but the driver showed +a face of brazen cheerfulness which, considering the +hour and the circumstances, seemed almost indecent. +I could not bear his smile. Hastily I blotted him from +view beneath a pile of baggage.</p> + +<p>With a jerk we started. Few other vehicles disputed +our right to the whole width of Seventy-second Street +as we skimmed eastward. Farewell, O Central Park! +Farewell, O Plaza! And you, Fifth Avenue, empty, +gray, deserted now; so soon to flash with fascinating +traffic. Farewell! Farewell!</p> + +<p>Presently, in that cavern in which vehicles stop beneath +the overhanging cliffs of the Grand Central Station, +we drew up. A dusky redcap took my baggage. I +alighted and, passing through glass doors, gazed down +on the vast concourse. Far up in the lofty spaces of +the room there seemed to hang a haze, through which—from +that amazing and audacious ceiling, painted like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[ 8]</a></span> +the heavens—there twinkled, feebly, morning stars of +gold. Through three arched windows, towering to the +height of six-story buildings, the eastern light streamed +softly in, combining with the spaciousness around me, +and the blue above, to fill me with a curious sense of +paradox: a feeling that I was indoors yet out of doors.</p> + +<p>The glass dials of the four-faced clock, crowning the +information bureau at the center of the concourse, +glowed with electric light, yellow and sickly by contrast +with the day which poured in through those +windows. Such stupendous windows! Gargantuan +spider webs whose threads were massive bars of steel. +And suddenly I saw the spider! He emerged from +one side, passed nimbly through the center of the web, +disappeared, emerged again, crossed the second web +and the third in the same way, and was gone—a two-legged +spider, walking importantly and carrying papers +in his hand. Then another spider came, and still another, +each black against the light, each on a different +level. For those windows are, in reality, more than +windows. They are double walls of glass, supporting +floors of glass—layer upon layer of crystal corridor, suspended +in the air as by genii out of the Arabian Nights. +And through these corridors pass clerks who never +dream that they are princes in the modern kind of fairy +tale.</p> + +<p>As yet the torrent of commuters had not begun to +pour through the vast place. The floor lay bare and +tawny like the bed of some dry river waiting for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[ 9]</a></span> +melting of the mountain snows. Across the river bed +there came a herd of cattle—Italian immigrants, dark-eyed, +dumb, patient, uncomprehending. Two weeks +ago they had left Naples, with plumed Vesuvius looming +to the left; yesterday they had come to Ellis +Island; last night they had slept on station benches; +to-day they were departing; to-morrow or the next day +they would reach their destination in the West. Suddenly +there came to me from nowhere, but with a +poignance that seemed to make it new, the platitudinous +thought that life is at once the commonest and strangest +of experiences. What scenes these black, pathetic +people had passed through—were passing through! +Why did they not look up in wonderment? Why were +their bovine eyes gazing blankly ahead of them at nothing? +What had dazed them so—the bigness of the +world? Yet, after all, why should they understand? +What American can understand Italian railway stations? +They have always seemed to me to express +a sort of mild insanity. But the Grand Central +terminal I fancy I do understand. It seems to me to +be much more than a successful station. In its stupefying +size, its brilliant utilitarianism, and, most of all, in +its mildly vulgar grandeur, it seems to me to express, +exactly, the city to which it is a gate. That is something +every terminal should do unless, as in the case of +the Pennsylvania terminal in New York, it expresses +something finer. The Grand Central Station <i>is</i> New +York, but that classic marvel over there on Seventh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[ 10]</a></span> +Avenue is more: it is something for New York to live +up to.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When I had bought my ticket and moved along to +count my change there came up to the ticket window +a big man in a big ulster who asked in a big voice +for a ticket to Grand Rapids. As he stood there +I was conscious of a most un-New-York-like wish to +say to him: "After a while I'm going to Grand +Rapids, too!" And I think that, had I said it, he +would have told me that Grand Rapids was "<i>some town</i>" +and asked me to come in and see him, when I got there,—"at +the plant," I think he would have said.</p> + +<p>As I crossed the marble floor to take the train I caught +sight of my traveling companion leaning rigidly against +the wall beside the gate. He did not see me. Reaching +his side, I greeted him.</p> + +<p>He showed no signs of life. I felt as though I had +addressed a waxwork figure.</p> + +<p>"Good morning," I repeated, calling him by name.</p> + +<p>"I've just finished packing," he said. "I never got +to bed at all."</p> + +<p>At that moment a most attractive person put in an appearance. +She was followed by a redcap carrying a +lovely little Russia leather bag. A few years before I +should have called a bag like that a dressing case, but +watching that young woman as she tripped along with +steps restricted by the slimness of her narrow satin +skirt, it occurred to me that modes in baggage may have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[ 11]</a></span> +changed like those in woman's dress and that her little +leather case might be a modern kind of wardrobe +trunk.</p> + +<p>My companion took no notice of this agitating presence.</p> + +<p>"Look!" I whispered. "<i>She</i> is going, too."</p> + +<p>Stiffly he turned his head.</p> + +<p>"The pretty girl," he remarked, with sad philosophy, +"is always in the other car. That's life."</p> + +<p>"No," I demurred. "It's only early morning +stuff."</p> + +<p>And I was right, for presently, in the parlor car, we +found our seats across the aisle from hers.</p> + +<p>Before the train moved out a boy came through with +books and magazines, proclaiming loudly the "last call +for reading matter."</p> + +<p>I think the radiant being believed him, for she bought +a magazine—a magazine of pretty girls and piffle: +just the sort we knew she'd buy. As for my companion +and me, we made no purchases, not crediting the statement +that it was really the "last call." But I am impelled +to add that having, later, visited certain book +stores of Buffalo, Cleveland, and Detroit, I now see +truth in what the boy said.</p> + +<p>For a time my companion and I sat and tried to make +believe we didn't know that some one was across the +aisle. And she sat there and played with pages and +made believe she didn't know we made believe. When +that had gone on for a time and our train was slipping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[ 12]</a></span> +silently along beside the Hudson, we felt we couldn't +stand it any longer, so we made believe we wanted to +go out and smoke. And as we left our seats she made +believe she didn't know that we were going.</p> + +<p>Four men were seated in the smoking room. Two +were discussing the merits of flannel versus linen mesh +for winter underwear. The gentleman who favored +linen mesh was a fat, prosperous-looking person, whose +gold-rimmed spectacles reflected flying lights from out +of doors.</p> + +<p>"If you'll wear linen," he declared with deep conviction—"and +it wants to be a union suit, too—you'll +never go back to shirt and drawers again. I'll guarantee +that!" The other promised to try it. Presently +I noticed that the first speaker had somehow gotten +all the way from linen union suits to Portland, Me., +on a hot Sunday afternoon. He said it was the hottest +day last year, and gave the date and temperatures at +certain hours. He mentioned his wife's weight, details +of how she suffered from the heat, the amount of flesh +she lost, the name of the steamer on which they finally +escaped from Portland to New York, the time of leaving +and arrival, and many other little things.</p> + +<p>I left him on the dock in New York. A friend (name +and occupation given) had met him with a touring car +(make and horsepower specified). What happened +after that I do not know, save that it was nothing of +importance. Important things don't happen to a man +like that.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus031.png" width="450" height="291" alt="A dusky redcap took my baggage" title="" /> +<span class="caption">A dusky redcap took my baggage</span> +</div><p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[ 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>Two other men of somewhat Oriental aspect were +seated on the leather sofa talking the unintelligible jargon +of the factory. But, presently, emerged an anecdote.</p> + +<p>"I was going through our sorting room a while +back," said the one nearest the window, "and I happened +to take notice of one of the girls. I hadn't seen +her before. She was a new hand—a mighty pretty +girl, with a nice, round figure and a fine head of hair. +She kept herself neater than most of them girls do. I +says to myself: 'Why, if you was to take that girl and +dress her up and give her a little education you wouldn't +be ashamed to take her anywheres.' Well, I went over +to her table and I says: 'Look at here, little girl; you +got a fine head of hair and you'd ought to take care of +it. Why don't you wear a cap in here in all this dust?' +It tickled her to death to be noticed like that. And, +sure enough, she did get a cap. I says to her: 'That's +the dope, little girl. Take care of your looks. You'll +only be young and pretty like this once, you know.' So +one thing led to another, and one day, a while later, she +come up to the office to see about her time slip or something, +and I jollied her a little. I seen she was a pretty +smart kid at that, so—" At that point he lowered his +voice to a whisper, and leaned over so that his thick, +smiling lips were close to his companion's ear. The +motion of the train caused their hat brims to interfere. +Disturbed by this, the raconteur removed his derby. +His head was absolutely bald.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[ 14]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Well, I am not sure that I should have liked to hear +the rest. I shifted my attention back to the apostle of +the linen union suit, who had talked on, unremittingly. +His conversation had, at least, the merit of entire frankness. +He was a man with nothing to conceal.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir!" I heard him declare, "every time you get +on to a railroad train you take your life in your hands. +That's a positive fact. I was reading it up just the +other day. We had almost sixteen thousand accidents +to trains in this country last year. A hundred and +thirty-nine passengers killed and between nine and ten +thousand injured. That's not counting employees, +either—just passengers like us." He emphasized his +statements by waving a fat forefinger beneath the listener's +nose, and I noticed that the latter seemed to wish +to draw his head back out of range, as though in momentary +fear of a collision.</p> + +<p>For my part, I did not care for these statistics. +They were not pleasant to the ears of one on the first +leg of a long railroad journey. I rose, aimed the end +of my cigar at the convenient nickel-plated receptacle +provided for that purpose by the thoughtful Pullman +Company, missed it, and retired from the smoking room. +Or, rather, I emerged and went to luncheon.</p> + +<p>Our charming neighbor of the parlor car was already +in the diner. She finished luncheon before we did, and, +passing by our table as she left, held her chin well up +and kept her eyes ahead with a precision almost military—almost, +but not quite. Try as she would, she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[ 15]</a></span> +unable to control a slight but infinitely gratifying flicker +of the eyelids, in which nature triumphed over training +and femininity defeated feministic theory.</p> + +<p>A little later, on our way back to the smoking room, +we saw her seated, as before, behind the sheltering ramparts +of her magazine. This time it pleased our fancy +to take the austere military cue from her. So we filed +by in step, as stiff as any guardsmen on parade before +a princess seated on a green plush throne. Resolutely +she kept her eyes upon the page. We might have +thought she had not noticed us at all but for a single +sign. She uncrossed her knees as we passed by.</p> + +<p>In the smoking room we entered conversation with +a young man who was sitting by the window. He +proved to be a civil engineer from Buffalo. He had +lived in Buffalo eight years, he said, without having +visited Niagara Falls. ("I've been meaning to go, but +I've kept putting it off.") But in New York he had +taken time to go to Bedloe Island and ascend the Statue +of Liberty. ("It's awfully hot in there.") Though +my companion and myself had lived in New York for +many years, neither of us had been to Bedloe Island. +But both of us had visited the Falls. The absurd humanness +of this was amusing to us all; to my companion +and me it was encouraging as well, for it seemed to give +us ground for hope that, in our visits to strange places, +we might see things which the people living in those +places fail to see.</p> + +<p>When, after finishing our smoke, we went back to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[ 16]</a></span> +our seats, the being across the way began to make believe +to read again. But now and then, when some one +passed, she would look up and make believe she wished +to see who it might be. And always, after doing so, +she let her eyes trail casually in our direction ere they +sought the page again. And always we were thankful.</p> + +<p>As the train slowed down for Rochester we saw her +rise and get into her slinky little coat. The porter +came and took her Russia leather bag. Meanwhile we +hoped she would be generous enough to look once more +before she left the car. Only once more!</p> + +<p>But she would not. I think she had a feeling that +frivolity should cease at Rochester; for Rochester, we +somehow sensed, was home to her. At all events she +simply turned and undulated from the car.</p> + +<p>That was too much! Enough of make-believe! With +one accord we swung our chairs to face the window. +As she appeared upon the platform our noses almost +touched the windowpane and our eyes sent forth forlorn +appeals. She knew that we were there, yet she +walked by without so much as glancing at us.</p> + +<p>We saw a lean old man trot up to her, throw one arm +about her shoulders, and kiss her warmly on the cheek. +Her father—there was no mistaking that. They stood +there for a moment on the platform talking eagerly; +and as they talked they turned a little bit, so that we saw +her smiling up at him.</p> + +<p>Then, to our infinite delight, we noticed that her eyes +were slipping, slipping. First they slipped down to her +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus038.png" width="450" height="641" alt="What scenes these black, pathetic people had passed through—were passing +through! Why did they not look up in wonderment?" title="" /> +<span class="caption">What scenes these black, pathetic people had passed through—were passing +through! Why did they not look up in wonderment?</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[ 17]</a></span> +father's necktie. Then sidewise to his shoulder, where +they fluttered for an instant, while she tried to get them +under control. But they weren't the kind of eyes which +are amenable. They got away from her and, with a +sudden leap, flashed up at us across her father's shoulder! +The minx! She even flung a smile! It was +just a little smile—not one of her best—merely the fragment +of a smile, not good enough for father, but too +good to throw away.</p> + +<p>Well—it was not thrown away. For it told us that +she knew our lives had been made brighter by her presence—and +that she didn't mind a bit.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Pushing on toward Buffalo as night was falling, +my companion and I discussed the fellow travelers +who had most engaged our notice: the young engineer +from Buffalo, keen and alive, with a quick eye +for the funny side of things; the hairless amorist; the +genial bore, whose wife (we told ourselves) got very +tired of him sometimes, but loved him just because he +was so good; the pretty girl, who couldn't make her eyes +behave because she was a pretty girl. We guessed what +kind of house each one resided in, the kind of furniture +they had, the kind of pictures on the walls, the kind of +books they read—or didn't read. And I believed that +we guessed right. Did we not even know what sort of +underwear encased the ample figure of the man with the +amazing memory of unessential things? And, while<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[ 18]</a></span> +touching on this somewhat delicate subject, were we not +aware that if the alluring being who left the train, and +us, at Rochester possessed the once-so-necessary garment +called a petticoat, that petticoat was hanging in +her closet?</p> + +<p>All this I mention because the thought occurred to +me then (and it has kept recurring since) that places, +no less than persons, have characters and traits and +habits of their own. Just as there are colorless people +there are colorless communities. There are communities +which are strong, self-confident, aggressive; others +lazy and inert. There are cities which are cultivated; +others which crave "culture" but take "culturine" (like +some one drinking from the wrong bottle); and still +others almost unaware, as yet, that esthetic things exist. +Some cities seem to fairly smile at you; others are +glum and worried like men who are ill, or oppressed with +business troubles. And there are dowdy cities and +fashionable cities—the latter resembling one another as +fashionable women do. Some cities seem to have an +active sense of duty, others not. And almost all +cities, like almost all people, appear to be capable alike +of baseness and nobility. Some cities are rich and +proud like self-made millionaires; others, by comparison, +are poor. But let me digress here to say that, though +I have heard mention of "hard times" at certain points +along my way, I don't believe our modern generation +knows what hard times really are. To most Americans +the term appears to signify that life is hard indeed on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[ 19]</a></span> +him who has no motor car or who goes without champagne +at dinner.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>My contacts with many places and persons I shall +mention in the following chapters have, of necessity, +been brief. I have hardly more than glimpsed them as +I glimpsed those fellow travelers on the train. Therefore +I shall merely try to give you some impressions, +from a sort of mental sketchbook, of the things which +I have seen and done and heard. There is one point +in particular about that sketchbook: in it I have reserved +the right to set down only what I pleased. It has been +hard to do that sometimes. People have pulled me this +way and that, telling me what to see and what not to +see, what to write and what to leave out. I have been +urged, for instance, to write about the varied industries +of Cleveland, the parks of Milwaukee, and the enormous +red apples of Louisiana, Mo. I may come to the apples +later on, for I ate a number of them and enjoyed them; +but the varied industries of Cleveland and the Milwaukee +parks I did not eat.</p> + +<p>I claim the further right to ignore, when I desire to, +the most important things, or to dwell with loving pen +upon the unimportant. Indeed, I reserve all rights—even +to the right to be perverse.</p> + +<p>Thus I shall mention things which people told me not +to mention: the droll Detroit Art Museum; the comic +chimney rising from the center of a Grand Rapids park; +horrendous scenes in the Chicago stockyards; the Free<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[ 20]</a></span> +Bridge, standing useless over the river at St. Louis for +want of an approach; the "wettest block"—a block full +of saloons, which marks the dead line between "wet" +Kansas City, Mo., and "dry" Kansas City, Kas. (I +never heard about that block until a stranger wrote and +told me not to mention it.)</p> + +<p>As for statistics, though I have been loaded with them +to the point of purchasing another trunk, I intend to +use them as sparingly as possible. And every time I use +them I shall groan.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[ 21]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>BIFURCATED BUFFALO</h3> + + +<p>Alighting from the train at Buffalo, I was reminded +of my earlier reflection that railway stations +should express their cities. In Buffalo +the thought is painful. If that city were in fact, expressed +by its present railway stations, people would +not get off there voluntarily; they would have to be put +off. And yet, from what I have been told, the curious +and particularly ugly relic which is the New York Central +Station there, to-day, does tell a certain story of the +city. Buffalo has long been torn by factional +quarrels—among them a protracted fight as to the location +of a modern station for the New York Central +Lines. The East Side wants it; the West Side wants it. +Neither has it. The old station still stands—at least it +was standing when I left Buffalo, for I was very careful +not to bump it with my suit case.</p> + +<p>This difference of opinion between the East Side and +the West with regard to the placing of a station is, I am +informed, quite typical of Buffalo. Socially, commercially, +religiously, politically, the two sides disagree. +The dividing line between them, geographically, is not, +as might be supposed, Division Street. (That, by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[ 22]</a></span> +way, is a peculiarity of highways called "Division +Street" in most cities—they seldom divide anything +more important than one row of buildings from another.) +The real street of division is called Main.</p> + +<p>Main Street! How many American towns and +cities have used that name, and what a stupid name it +is! It is as characterless as a number, and it lacks the +number's one excuse for being. If names like Tenth +Street or Eleventh Avenue fail to kindle the imagination +they do not fail, at all events, to help the stranger +find his way—although it should be added that +strangers do, somehow, manage to find their way about +in London, Paris, and even Boston, where the modern +American system of numbering streets and avenues is +not in vogue. But I am not agitating against the numbering +of streets. Indeed, I fear I rather believe in it, +as I believe in certain other dull but useful things like +work and government reports. What I am crying out +about is the stupid naming of such streets as carry +names. Why do we have so many Main Streets? Do +you think we lack imagination? Then look at the names +of Western towns and Kansas girls and Pullman cars! +The thing is an enigma.</p> + +<p>Main Street is not only a bad name for a thoroughfare; +the quality which it implies is unfortunate. And +that quality may be seen in Main Street, Buffalo. On +an exaggerated scale that street <i>is</i> like the Main Street +of a little town, for the business district, the retail shopping +district, all the city's activities string along on +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus046.png" width="450" height="577" alt="We made believe we wanted to go out and smoke. And as we left +our seats she made believe she didn't know that we were going" title="" /> +<span class="caption">We made believe we wanted to go out and smoke. And as we left +our seats she made believe she didn't know that we were going</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[ 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>either side. It is bad for a city to grow in that elongated +way just as it is bad for a human being. To +either it imparts a kind of gawky awkwardness.</p> + +<p>The development of Main Street, Buffalo, has been +natural. That is just the trouble; it has been too natural. +Originally it was the Iroquois trail; later the route followed +by the stages coming from the East. So it has +grown up from log-cabin days. It is a fine, broad street; +all that it lacks is "features." It runs along its wide, +monotonous way until it stops in the squalid surroundings +of the river; and if the river did not happen to +be there to stop it, it would go on and on developing, +indefinitely, and uninterestingly, in that direction as +well as in the other.</p> + +<p>The thing which Buffalo lacks physically is a recognizable +center; a point at which a stranger would stop, +as he stops in Piccadilly Circus or the Place de l'Opéra, +and say to himself with absolute assurance: "Now I +am at the very heart of the city." Every city ought to +have a center, and every center ought to signify in its +spaciousness, its arrangement and its architecture, a +city's dignity. Buffalo is, unfortunately, far from being +alone in her need of such a thing. Where Buffalo +is most at fault is that she does not even seem to be +thinking of municipal distinction. And very many +other cities are. Cleveland is already attaining it in a +manner which will be magnificent; Chicago has long +planned and is slowly executing; Denver has work upon +a splendid municipal center well under way; so has San<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[ 24]</a></span> +Francisco; St. Louis, Milwaukee, and Grand Rapids +have plans for excellent municipal improvements. +Even St. Paul is waking up and widening an important +business street.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Every one knows that what is called "a wave of +reform" has swept across the country, but not every +one seems to know that there is also surging over +the United States a "wave" of improved public +taste. I shall write more of this later. Suffice it now +to say that it manifests itself in countless forms: in +municipal improvements of the kind of which the Cleveland +center is, perhaps, the best example in the country; +in architecture of all classes; in household furniture and +decoration; in the tendency of art museums to realize +that modern American paintings are the finest modern +paintings obtainable in the world to-day; in the tendency +of private art collectors not to buy quite so much rubbish +as they have bought in the past; in the Panama-Pacific +Exposition, which will be the most beautiful exposition +anybody ever saw; and in innumerable other ways. Indeed, +public taste in the United States has, in the last +ten years, taken a leap forward which the mind of to-day +cannot hope to measure. The advance is nothing less +than marvelous, and it is reflected, I think, in every +branch of art excepting one: the literary art, which has +in our day, and in our country, reached an abysmal +depth of degradation.</p> + +<p>With Cleveland so near at hand as an example, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[ 25]</a></span> +so many other American cities thinking about civic +beauty, Buffalo ought soon to begin to rub her eyes, look +about, and cast up her accounts. Perhaps her trouble +is that she is a little bit too prosperous with an olden-time +prosperity; a little bit too somnolent and satisfied. +There is plenty to eat; business is not so bad; there are +good clubs, and there is a delightful social life and a +more than ordinary degree of cultivation. Furthermore, +there may be a new station for the New York +Central some day, for it is a fact that there are now +some street cars which actually <i>cross</i> Main Street, instead +of stopping at the Rubicon and making passengers +get out, cross on foot, and take the other car on the +other side! That, in itself, is a startling state of things. +Evidently all that is needed now is an earthquake.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I have remarked before that cities, like people, +have habits. Just as Detroit has the automobile +habit, Pittsburgh the steel habit, Erie, Pa., the boiler +habit, Grand Rapids the furniture habit, and Louisville +the (if one may say so) whisky habit, Buffalo +had in earlier times the transportation habit. The +first fortunes made in Buffalo came originally from the +old Central Wharf, where toll was taken of the passing +commerce. Hand in hand with shipping came that +business known by the unpleasant name of "jobbing." +From the opening of the Erie Canal until the late seventies, +jobbing flourished in Buffalo, but of recent years<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[ 26]</a></span> +her jobbing territory has diminished as competition +with surrounding centers has increased.</p> + +<p>The early profits from docks and shipping were considerable. +The business was easy; it involved comparatively +small investment and but little risk. So when, +with the introduction of through bills of lading, this +business dwindled, it was hard for Buffalo to readjust +herself to more daring ventures, such as manufacturing. +"For," as a Buffalo man remarked to me, "there +is only one thing more timid than a million dollars, and +that is two million." It was the same gentleman, I +think, who, in comparing the Buffalo of to-day with the +Buffalo of other days, called my attention to the fact +that not one man in the city is a director of a steam railroad +company.</p> + +<p>From her geographical position with regard to ore, +limestone, and coal it would seem that Buffalo might +well become a great iron and steel city like Cleveland, +but for some reason her ventures in this direction have +been unfortunate. One steel company in which Buffalo +money was invested, failed; another has been struggling +along for some years and has not so far proved profitable. +Some Buffalonians made money in a land boom +a dozen or so years since; then came the panic, and the +boom burst with a loud report, right in Buffalo's face.</p> + +<p>Back of most of this trouble there seems to have been +a streak of real ill luck.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus051.png" width="450" height="430" alt="The gentleman who favored linen mesh was a fat, prosperous-looking person, +whose gold-rimmed spectacles reflected flying lights from out of doors" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The gentleman who favored linen mesh was a fat, prosperous-looking person, +whose gold-rimmed spectacles reflected flying lights from out of doors</span> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[ 27]</a></span> + +<p>There is a great deal of money in Buffalo, but it is +wary money—financial wariness seems to be another +Buffalo habit. And there are other cities with the same +characteristic. You can tell them because, when you +begin to ask about various enterprises, people will say: +"No, we haven't this and we haven't that, but this is +a safe town in times of financial panic." That is what +they say in Buffalo; they also say it in St. Louis and St. +Paul. But if they say it in Chicago, or Minneapolis, or +Kansas City, or in those lively cities of the Pacific slope, +I did not hear them. Those cities are not worrying +about financial panics which may come some day, but +are busy with the things which are.</p> + +<p>If you ask a Buffalo man what is the matter with his +city, he will, very likely, sit down with great solemnity +and try to tell you, and even call a friend to help him, so +as to be sure that nothing is overlooked. He may tell +you that the city lacks one great big dominating man to +lead it into action; or that there has been, until recently, +lack of coöperation between the banks; or that there are +ninety or a hundred thousand Poles in the city and only +about the same number of people springing from what +may be called "old American stock." Or he may tell +you something else.</p> + +<p>If, upon the other hand, you ask a Minneapolis man +that question, what will he do? He will look at you +pityingly and think you are demented. Then he will +tell you very positively that there is nothing the matter +with Minneapolis, but that there is something definitely +the matter with any one who thinks there is! Yes, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[ 28]</a></span>deed! +If you want to find out what is the matter with +Minneapolis, it is still necessary to go for information to +St. Paul. As you proceed westward, such a question +becomes increasingly dangerous.</p> + +<p>Ask a Kansas City man what is wrong with his town +and he will probably attack you; and as for Los +Angeles—! Such a question in Los Angeles would +mean the calling out of the National Guard, the Chamber +of Commerce, the Rotary Club, and all the "boosters" +(which is to say the entire population of the city); +the declaring of martial law, a trial by summary court-martial, +and your immediate execution. The manner +of your execution would depend upon the phrasing of +your question. If you had asked: "Is there anything +wrong with Los Angeles?" they'd probably be content +with selling you a city lot and then hanging you; but if +you said: "What <i>is</i> wrong with Los Angeles?" they +would burn you at the stake and pickle your remains in +vitriol.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>At this juncture I find myself oppressed with the +idea that I haven't done Buffalo justice. Also, I +am annoyed to discover that I have written a great +deal about business. When I write about business I +am almost certain to be wrong. I dislike business +very much—almost as much as I dislike politics—and +the idea of infringing upon the field of friends of mine +like Lincoln Steffens, Ray Stannard Baker, Miss Tarbell, +Samuel Hopkins Adams, Will Irwin, and others,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[ 29]</a></span> +is extremely distasteful to me. But here is the trouble: +so many writers have run a-muckraking that, now-a-days, +when a writer appears in any American city, every +one assumes that he is scouting around in search of +"shame." The result is that you don't have to hunt for +shame. People bring it to you by the cartload. They +don't give you time to explain that you aren't a shame +collector—that you don't even know a good piece of +shame when you see it—they just drive up, dump it at +your door, and go back to get another load.</p> + +<p>My companion and I were new at the game in Buffalo. +As the loads of shame began to arrive, we had a feeling +that something was going wrong with our trip. We +had come in search of cheerful adventure, yet here we +were barricaded in by great bulwarks of shame. In a +few hours there was enough shame around us to have +lasted all the reformers and muckrakers I know a whole +month. We couldn't see over the top of it. It hypnotized +us. We began to think that probably shame <i>was</i> +what we wanted, after all. Every one we met assumed +it was what we wanted, and when enough people assume +a certain thing about you it is very difficult to buck +against them. By the second day we had ceased to be +human and had begun to act like muckrakers. We became +solemn, silent, mysterious. We would pick up a +piece of shame, examine it, say "<i>Ha!</i>" and stick it in +our pockets. When some white-faced Buffalonian +would drive up with another load of shame I would go +up to him, wave my finger under his nose and, trying to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[ 30]</a></span> +look as much like Steffens as I could, say in a sepulchral +voice: "Come! Out with it! What are you holding +back? Tell me all! Who tore up the missing will?" +Then that poor, honest, terrified Buffalonian would +gasp and try to tell me all, between his chattering teeth. +And when he had told me all I would continue to glare +at him horribly, and ask for more. Then he would begin +making up stories, inventing the most frightful and +shocking lies so as not to disappoint me. I would print +some of them here, but I have forgotten them. That +is the trouble with the amateur muckraker or reformer. +His mind isn't trained to his work. He is +constantly allowing it to be diverted by some pleasant +thing.</p> + +<p>For instance, some one pointed out to me that the +water front of the city, along the Niagara River, is so +taken up by the railroads that the public does not get +the benefit of that water life which adds so much to +the charm of Cleveland and Detroit. That situation +struck me as affording an excellent piece of muck to +rake. For isn't it always the open season so far as railroads +are concerned?</p> + +<p>I ought to have kept my mind on that, but in +my childlike way I let myself go ambling off through +the parks. I found the parks delightful, and in one of +them I came upon a beautiful Greek temple, built of +marble and containing a collection of paintings of which +any city should be proud. Now that is a disconcerting +sort of thing to find when you have just abandoned your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[ 31]</a></span>self +to the idea of becoming a muckraker! How can +you muckrake a gallery like that? It can't be done.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>With the possible exception of the Chicago Art +Institute my companion and I did not see, upon +our entire journey, any gallery of art in which such +good judgment had been shown in the selection of +paintings as in the Albright Gallery in Buffalo. +Though the Chicago Art Institute is much the larger and +richer museum, and though its collection is more comprehensive, +its modern art is far more heterogeneous +than that of Buffalo. One admires that Albright Gallery +not only for the paintings which hang upon its +walls, but also for those which do not hang there. +Judgment has been shown not only in selecting paintings, +but (one concludes) in rejecting gifts. I do not +know that the Albright Gallery has rejected gifts, but +I do know that the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New +York and the Chicago Art Institute have, at times, failed +to reject gifts which should have been rejected. Almost +all museums fail in that respect in their early days. When +a rich man offers a bad painting, or a roomful of bad +paintings, the museum is afraid to say "No," because +rich men must be propitiated. That has been the curse +of art museums; they have to depend on rich men for +support. And rich men, however generous they may be, +and however much they may be interested in art, are, +for the most part, lacking in any true and deep under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[ 32]</a></span>standing +of it. That is one trouble with being rich—it +doesn't give you time to be much of anything else. +If rich men really did <i>know</i> art, there would not be so +many art dealers, and so many art dealers would not +be going to expensive tailors and riding in expensive +limousines.</p> + +<p>Those who control the Albright Gallery have been +wise enough to specialize in modern American painting. +They have not been impressed, as so many Americans +still are impressed, by the sound of the word "Europe." +Nor have they attempted to secure old masters.</p> + +<p>Does it not seem a mistake for any museum not possessed +of enormous wealth to attempt a collection of old +masters? A really fine example of the work of an old +master ties up a vast amount of money, and, however +splendid it may be, it is only one canvas, after all; and +one or two or three old masters do not make a representative +collection. Rather, it seems to me, they tend +to disturb balance in a small museum.</p> + +<p>To many American ears "Europe" is still a magic +word. It makes little difference that Europe remains +the happy hunting ground of the advanced social +climber; but it makes a good deal of difference that so +many American students of the arts continue to believe +that there is some mystic thing to be gotten over there +which is unobtainable at home. Europe has done much +for us and can still do much for us, but we must learn +not to accept blindly as we have in the past. Until quite +recently, American art museums did, for the most part,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[ 33]</a></span> +buy European art which was in many instances absolutely +inferior to the art produced at home. And unless +I am very much mistaken a third-rate portrait painter, +with a European name (and a clever dealer to push +him) can still come over here and reap a harvest of +thousands while Americans with more ability are making +hundreds.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus059.png" width="450" height="216" alt="In a few hours there was enough shame around us to have lasted all the reformers and muckrakers +I know a whole month" title="" /> +<span class="caption">In a few hours there was enough shame around us to have lasted all the reformers and muckrakers +I know a whole month</span> +</div> + +<p>One of the brightest signs for American painting to-day +is the fact that it is now found profitable to make and +sell forgeries of the works of our most distinguished +modern artists—even living ones. This is a new and +encouraging situation. A few years ago it was hardly +worth a forger's time to make, say, a false Hassam, +when he might just as well be making a Corot—which +reminds me of an amusing thing a painter said to me +the other day.</p> + +<p>We were passing through an art gallery, when I happened +to see at the end of one room three canvases in +the familiar manner of Corot.</p> + +<p>"What a lot of Corots there are in this country," I +remarked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied. "Of the ten thousand canvases +painted by Corot, there are thirty thousand in the United +States."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There are two interesting hotels in Buffalo. One, +the Iroquois, is characterized by a kind of solid dignity +and has for years enjoyed a high reputation. It +is patronized to-day at luncheon time by many of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[ 34]</a></span> +Buffalo's leading business men. Another, the Statler, is +more "commercial" in character. My companion and +I happened to stop at the latter, and we became very +much interested in certain things about it. For one +thing, every room in the hotel has running ice water and +a bath—either a tub or a shower. Everywhere in +that hotel we saw signs. At the desk, when we entered, +hung a sign which read: <i>Clerk on duty, Mr. Pratt</i>.</p> + +<p>There were signs in our bedrooms, too. I don't remember +all of them, but there was one bearing the genial +invitation: <i>Criticize and suggest for the improvement +of our service. Complaint and suggestion box in +lobby.</i></p> + +<p>While I was in that hotel I had nothing to "criticize +and suggest," but I have been in other hotels where, if +such an invitation had been extended to me, I should +have stuffed the box.</p> + +<p>Besides the signs, we found in each of our rooms the +following: a clothes brush; a card bearing on one side +a calendar and on the other side a list of all trains leaving +Buffalo, and their times of departure; a memorandum +pad and pencil by the telephone; a Bible ("Placed +in this hotel by the Gideons"), and a pincushion, containing +not only a variety of pins (including a large +safety pin), but also needles threaded with black thread +and white, and buttons of different kinds, even to a suspender +button.</p> + +<p>But aside from the prompt service we received, I +think the thing which pleased us most about that hotel +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus064.png" width="450" height="712" alt="My companion and I made excuses to go downstairs and wash +our hands in the public washroom, just for the pleasure of doing +so without fear of being attacked by a swarthy brigand with +a brush" title="" /> +<span class="caption">My companion and I made excuses to go downstairs and wash +our hands in the public washroom, just for the pleasure of doing +so without fear of being attacked by a swarthy brigand with +a brush</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[ 35]</a></span> +was a large sign in the public wash room, downstairs. +Had I come from the West I am not sure that sign +would have startled me so much, but coming from New +York—! Well, this is what it said:</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>Believing that voluntary service in washrooms is distasteful +to guests, attendants are instructed to give no +service which the guest does not ask for.</i></p></blockquote> + +<p>Time and again, while we were in Buffalo, my companion +and I made excuses to go downstairs and wash +our hands in the public washroom, just for the pleasure +of doing so without fear of being attacked by a swarthy +brigand with a brush. We became positively fond of +the melancholy washroom boy in that hotel. There +was something pathetic in the way he stood around waiting +for some one to say: "Brush me!" Day after +day he pursued his policy of watchful waiting, hoping +against hope that something would happen—that some +one would fall down in the mud and really need to +be brushed; that some one would take pity on him +and let himself be brushed anyhow. The pathos of +that boy's predicament began to affect us deeply. +Finally we decided, just before leaving Buffalo, to go +downstairs and let him brush us. We did so. When +we asked him to do it he went very white at first. +Then, with a glad cry, he leaped at us and did his +work. It was a real brushing we got that day—not +a mere slap on the back with a whisk broom, meaning +"Stand and deliver!" but the kind of brushing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[ 36]</a></span> +that takes the dust out of your clothes. The wash room +was full of dust before he got through. Great clouds +of it went floating up the stairs, filling the hotel lobby +and making everybody sneeze. When he finished we +were renovated. "How much do you think we ought to +give him for all this?" I asked of my companion.</p> + +<p>"If the conventional dime which we give the washroom +boys in New York hotels," he replied, "is proper +payment for the services they render, I should say we +ought to give this boy about twenty-seven dollars."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There are many other things about Buffalo which +should be mentioned. There is the Buffalo Club—the +dignified, solid old club of the city; and there is the +Saturn Club, "where women cease from troubling and +the wicked are at rest." And there is Delaware Avenue, +on which stand both these clubs, and many of the +city's finest homes.</p> + +<p>Unlike certain famous old residence streets in other +cities, Delaware Avenue still holds out against the encroachments +of trade. It is a wide, fine street of trees +and lawns and residences. Despite the fact that many +of its older houses are of the ugly though substantial +architecture of the sixties, seventies, and eighties, and +many of its newer ones lack architectural distinction, +the general effect of Delaware Avenue is still fine and +American.</p> + +<p>My impression of this celebrated street was neces<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[ 37]</a></span>sarily +hurried, having been acquired in the course of +sundry dashes down its length in motor cars. I recall +a number of its buildings only vaguely now, but there +is one which I admired every time I saw it, and which +still clings in my memory both as a building and as a +sermon on the enduring beauty of simplicity and good, +old-fashioned lines—the office of Spencer Kellogg & +Sons, at the corner of Niagara Square.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It happened that just before we left New York there +was a newspaper talk about some rich women who +had organized a movement of protest against the ever-increasing +American tendency toward show and extravagance. +We were, therefore, doubly interested +when we heard of a similar activity on the part of certain +fashionable women of Buffalo.</p> + +<p>Our hostess at a dinner party there was the first to +mention it, but several other ladies added details. They +had formed a few days before a society called the "Simplicity +League," the members of which bound themselves +to give each other moral support in their efforts +to return to a more primitive mode of life. I cannot recall +now whether the topic came up before or after the +butler and the footman came around with caviar and +cocktails, but I know that I had learned a lot about it +from charming and enthusiastic ladies at either side of +me before the sherry had come on; that, by the time the +sauterne was served, I was deeply impressed, and that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[ 38]</a></span> +with the roast and the Burgundy, I was prepared to take +the field against all comers, not only in favor of simplicity, +but in favor of anything and everything which +was favored by my hostess. Throughout the salad, the +ices, the Turkish coffee, and the Corona-coronas I remained +her champion, while with the port—ah! nothing, +it seems to me, recommends the old order of things quite +so thoroughly as old port, which has in it a sermon and +a song. After dinner the ladies told us more about +their league.</p> + +<p>"We don't intend to go to any foolish extremes," said +one who looked like the apotheosis of the Rue de la +Paix. "We are only going to scale things down and +eliminate waste. There is a lot of useless show in this +country which only makes it hard for people who can't +afford things. And even for those who can, it is wrong. +Take the matter of dress—a dress can be simple without +looking cheap. And it is the same with a dinner. A +dinner can be delicious without being elaborate. Take +this little dinner we had to-night—"</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i>" I cried.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she nodded. "In future we are all going to +give plain little dinners like this."</p> + +<p>"<i>Plain?</i>" I gasped.</p> + +<p>Our hostess overheard my choking cry.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she put in. "You see, the league is going to +practise what it preaches."</p> + +<p>"But I didn't think it had begun yet! I thought this +dinner was a kind of farewell feast—that it was—"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus069.png" width="450" height="599" alt="I was prepared to take the field against all comers, not only in favor of +simplicity, but in favor of anything and everything which was favored by +my hostess" title="" /> +<span class="caption">I was prepared to take the field against all comers, not only in favor of +simplicity, but in favor of anything and everything which was favored by +my hostess</span> +</div><p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[ 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>Our hostess looked grieved. The other ladies of the +league gazed at me reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"Why!" I heard one exclaim to another, "I don't believe +he noticed!"</p> + +<p>"Didn't you notice?" asked my hostess.</p> + +<p>I was cornered.</p> + +<p>"Notice?" I asked. "Notice <i>what</i>?"</p> + +<p>"That we didn't have champagne!" she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[ 40]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>CLEVELAND CHARACTERISTICS</h3> + + +<p>Before leaving home we were presented with a +variety of gifts, ranging all the way from ear +muffs to advice. Having some regard for the +esthetic, we threw away the ear muffs, determining to +buy ourselves fur caps when we should need them. +But the advice we could not throw away; it stuck to us +like a poor relation.</p> + +<p>In the parlor car, on the way from Buffalo to Cleveland, +our minds got running on sad subjects.</p> + +<p>"We have come out to find interesting things—to have +adventures," said my blithe companion. "Now supposing +we go on and on and nothing happens. What +will we do then? The publishers will have spent all this +money for our traveling, and what will they get?"</p> + +<p>I told him that, in such an event, we would make up +adventures.</p> + +<p>"What, for instance?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>I thought for a time. Then I said:</p> + +<p>"Here's a good scheme—we could begin now, right +here in this car. You act like a crazy man. I will be +your keeper. You run up and down the aisle shouting—talk +wildly to these people—stamp on your hat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[ 41]</a></span>—do +anything you like. It will interest the passengers +and give us something nice to write about. And you +could make a picture of yourself, too."</p> + +<p>Instead of appreciating that suggestion he was annoyed +with me, so I ventured something else.</p> + +<p>"How would it be for you to beat a policeman on +the helmet?"</p> + +<p>He didn't care for that either.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you think of something for yourself to +do?" he said, somewhat sourly.</p> + +<p>"All right," I returned. "I'm willing to do my share. +I will poison you and get arrested for it."</p> + +<p>"If you do that," he criticized, "who will make the +pictures?"</p> + +<p>I saw that he was in a humor to find fault with anything +I proposed, so I let him ramble on. He had a +regular orgy of imaginary disaster, running all the way +from train wrecks, in which I was killed and he was +saved only to have the bother and expense of shipping +my remains home, to fires in which my notebooks were +burned up, leaving on his hands a lot of superb but useless +drawings.</p> + +<p>After a time he suggested that we make up a list of +the things we had been warned of. I did not wish to +do it, but, acting on the theory that fever must run its +course, I agreed, so we took paper and pencil and began. +It required about two hours to get everything down, beginning +with <i>Aches</i>, <i>Actresses</i>, <i>Adenoids</i>, <i>Alcoholism</i>, +<i>Amnesia</i>, <i>Arson</i>, etc., and running on, through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[ 42]</a></span> +alphabet to <i>Zero weather</i>, <i>Zolaism</i>, and <i>Zymosis</i>.</p> + +<p>After looking over the category, my companion said:</p> + +<p>"The trouble with this list is that it doesn't present +things in the order in which they may reasonably be expected +to occur. For instance, you might get zymosis, +or attempt to write like Zola, at almost any time, yet +those two dangers are down at the bottom of the list. +On the other hand, things like actresses, alcoholism, and +arson seem remote. We must rearrange."</p> + +<p>I thought it wise to give in to him, so we set to work +again. This time we made two lists: one of general +dangers—things which might overtake us almost anywhere, +such as scarlet fever, hardening of the arteries, +softening of the brain, and "road shows" from the New +York Winter Garden; another arranged geographically, +according to our route. Thus, for example, instead of +listing Elbert Hubbard under the letter "H," we elevated +him to first place, because he lives near Buffalo, +which was our first stop.</p> + +<p>I didn't want to put down Hubbard's name at all—I +thought it would please him too much if he ever heard +about it. I said to my companion:</p> + +<p>"We have already passed Buffalo. And, besides, +there are some things which the instinct of self-preservation +causes one to recollect without the aid of any +list."</p> + +<p>"I know it," he returned, stubbornly, "but, in the interest +of science, I wish this list to be complete."</p> + +<p>So we put down everything: Elbert Hubbard, +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus076.png" width="450" height="809" alt="Chamber of Commerce representatives were with us +all the first day and until we went to our rooms, late +at night" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Chamber of Commerce representatives were with us +all the first day and until we went to our rooms, late +at night</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[ 43]</a></span> +Herbert Kaufman, Eva Tanguay, Upton Sinclair, and +all.</p> + +<p>A few selected items from our geographical list may +interest the reader as giving him some idea of the locations +of certain things we had to fear. For example, +west of Chicago we listed <i>Oysters</i>, and north of Chicago +<i>Frozen Ears</i> and <i>Frozen Noses</i>—the latter two +representing the dangers of the Minnesota winter. So +our list ran on until it reached the point where we would +cross the Great Divide, at which place the word "<i>Boosters</i>" +was writ large.</p> + +<p>I recall now that, according to our geographical arrangement, +there wasn't much to be afraid of until we +got beyond Chicago, and that the first thing we looked +forward to with real dread was the cold in Minnesota. +We dreaded it more than arson, because if some one sets +fire to your ear or your nose, you know it right away, +and can send in an alarm; but cold is sneaky. It seems, +from what they say, that you can go along the street, +feeling perfectly well, and with no idea that anything is +going wrong with you, until some experienced resident +of the place touches you upon the arm and says: "Excuse +me, sir, but you have dropped something." Then +you look around, surprised, and there is your ear, lying +on the sidewalk. But that is not the worst of it. Before +you can thank the man, or pick your ear up and dust +it off, some one will very likely come along and step on it. +I do not think they do it purposely; they are simply careless +about where they walk. But whether it happens by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[ 44]</a></span> +accident or design, whether the ear is spoiled or not, +whether or not you be wearing your ear at the time of +the occurrence—in any case there is something exceedingly +offensive, to the average man, in the idea of a total +stranger's walking on his ear.</p> + +<p>I mention this to point a moral. However prepared +we may be, in life, we are always unprepared. However +informed we may be, we are always uninformed. +We gaze up at the sky, dreading to-morrow's rain, and +slip upon to-day's banana peel. We move toward Cleveland +dreading the Minnesota winter which is yet far off, +having no thought of the "booster," whom we believe +to be still farther off. And what happens? We step +from the train, all innocent and trusting, and then, ah, +then——!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>If it be true, indeed, that the "booster" flourishes +more furiously the farther west you find him, let +me say (and I say it after having visited California, +Oregon, and Washington) that Cleveland must be newly +located upon the map. For, if "boosting" be a western +industry, Cleveland is not an Ohio city, nor even a +Pacific Slope city, but is an island out in the midst of the +Pacific Ocean.</p> + +<p>Nor is this a mere opinion of my own. Upon the mastodonic +brow of the Cleveland Chamber of Commerce +there hangs an official laurel wreath. The New York +Bureau of Municipal Research invited votes from the +secretaries of Chambers of Commerce and similar or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[ 45]</a></span>ganizations +in thirty leading cities, as to which of these +bodies had accomplished most for its city, industrially, +commercially, etc. Cleveland won.</p> + +<p>No one who has caromed against the Cleveland Chamber +of Commerce will wonder that Cleveland won. All +other Chambers of Commerce I have met, sink into +desuetude and insignificance when compared with that +of Cleveland. Where others merely "boost," Cleveland +"boosts" intensively. She can raise more bushels of +statistics to the acre than other cities can quarts. And +the more Cleveland statistics you hear, the more you +become amazed that you do not live there. It seems +reckless not to do so. The Cleveland Chamber of Commerce +can prove this to you not merely with figures, +but also with figures of speech.</p> + +<p>Take the matter of population. Everybody knows +that Cleveland is the "Sixth City" in the United States, +but not everybody knows that in 1850 she was forty-third. +The Chamber of Commerce told me that, but I +have prepared some figures of my own which will, perhaps, +give the reader some idea of Cleveland's magnitude. +Cleveland is only a little smaller than Prague, +while she has about 50,000 more people than Breslau.</p> + +<p>If that does not impress you with the city's size, listen +to this: Cleveland is actually twice as great, in population, +as either Nagoya or Riga! Who would have believed +it? The thing seems incredible! I never +dreamed that such a situation existed until I looked it +up in the "World Almanac." And some day, when I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[ 46]</a></span> +have more time, I intend to look up Nagoya and Riga in +the atlas and find out where they are.</p> + +<p>A Chamber of Commerce booklet gives me the further +information that "Cleveland is the fifth American +city in manufactures, and that she comes first in the +manufacture of steel ships, heavy machinery, wire and +wire nails, bolts and nuts, vapor stoves, electric carbons, +malleable castings, and telescopes"—a list which, by the +way, sounds like one of Lewis Carroll's compilations.</p> + +<p>The information that Cleveland is also the first city +in the world in its record, per capita, for divorce, does +not come to me from the Chamber of Commerce booklet—but +probably the fact was not known when the booklet +was printed.</p> + +<p>Besides being first in so many interesting fields, Cleveland +is the second of the Great Lake cities, and is also +second in "the value of its product of women's outer +wearing apparel and fancy knit goods."</p> + +<p>It is, furthermore, "the cheapest market in the North +for pig iron."</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus081.png" width="450" height="830" alt="It is an +Elizabethan building, with a heavy timbered +front, suggesting some ancient, hospitable, London coffee +house where wits of old were used to meet" title="" /> +<span class="caption">It is an Elizabethan building, with a heavy timbered +front, suggesting some ancient, hospitable, London coffee +house where wits of old were used to meet</span></div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[ 47]</a></span> + +<p>There are other figures I could give (saving myself a +lot of trouble, at the same time, because I only have to +copy them from a book), but I want to stop and let that +pig-iron statement sink into you as it sank into me when +I first read it. I wonder if you knew it before? I am +ashamed to admit it, but <i>I</i> did not. I didn't consider +where I could get my pig iron the cheapest. When I +wanted pig iron I simply went out and bought it, at +the nearest place, right in New York. That is, I +bought it in New York unless I happened to be traveling +when the craving came upon me. In that case I would +buy a small supply wherever I happened to be—just +enough to last me until I could get home again. I don't +know how pig iron affects you, but with me it acts peculiarly. +Sometimes I go along for weeks without even +thinking of it; then, suddenly, I feel that I must have +some at once—even if it is the middle of the night. Of +course a man doesn't care what he pays for his pig iron +when he feels like that. But in my soberer moments I +now realize that it is best to be economical in such matters. +The wisest plan is to order enough pig iron from +Cleveland to keep you for several months, being careful +to notice when the supply is running low, so that you +can order another case.</p> + +<p>Apropos of this let me say here, in response to many +inquiries as to what the nature of this work of mine +would be, that I intend it to be "useful as well as ornamental"—to +quote the happy phrase, coined by James +Montgomery Flagg. That is, I intend not only to entertain +and instruct the reader but, where opportunity +offers, to give him the benefit of good sound advice, +such as I have just given with regard to the purchasing +of pig iron.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[ 48]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>MORE CLEVELAND CHARACTERISTICS</h3> + + +<p>Because I have told you so much about the +Chamber of Commerce you must not assume +that the Chamber of Commerce was with us +constantly while we were in Cleveland, for that +is not the case. True, Chamber of Commerce representatives +were with us all the first day and until +we went to our rooms, late at night. But at +our rooms they left us, merely taking the precaution +to lock us in. No attempt was made to assist +us in undressing or to hear our prayers or tuck us +into bed. Once in our rooms we were left to our +own devices. We were allowed to read a little, if we +wished, to whisper together, or even to amuse ourselves +by playing with the fixtures in the bathroom.</p> + +<p>On the morning of the second day they came and let +us out, and took us to see a lot of interesting and edifying +sights, but by afternoon they had acquired sufficient +confidence in us to turn us loose for a couple of hours, +allowing us to roam about, at large, while they attended +to their mail.</p> + +<p>We made use of the freedom thus extended to us by +presenting several letters of introduction to Cleveland +gentlemen, who took us to various clubs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[ 49]</a></span></p> + +<p>Almost every large city in the country has one solid, +dignified old club, occupying a solid, dignified old building +on a corner near the busy part of town. The building +is always recognizable, even to a stranger. It suggests +a fine cuisine, an excellent wine cellar, and a great +variety of good cigars in prime condition. In the front +of such a club there are large windows of plate glass, +back of which the passer-by may catch a glimpse of a +trim white mustache and a silk hat. Looking at the +outside of the building, you know that there is a big, +high-ceiled room, at the front, dark in color and containing +spacious leather chairs, which should (and often +do) contain aristocratic gentlemen who have attained +years of discretion and positions of importance. One +feels cheated if, on entering, one fails to encounter a +member carrying a malacca stick and wearing waxed +mustaches, spats, and a gardenia. The Union Club of +New York is such a club; so is the Pacific Union of San +Francisco; so is the Chicago Club; and so, I fancy, from +my glimpse of it, is the Union Club of Cleveland.</p> + +<p>In the larger cities there is usually another club, somewhat +less formal in architecture, decoration, and spirit, +and given over, broadly speaking, to the younger men—though +there is often a good deal of duplication of membership +between the first mentioned type of club and the +second. The Tavern of Cleveland is of the second +category; so is the Saturn Club of Buffalo, of which I +spoke in a former chapter. Almost every good-sized +city has, likewise, its university club, its athletic club, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[ 50]</a></span> +its country club. University clubs vary a good deal in +character, but athletic clubs and country clubs are in +general pretty true to type.</p> + +<p>Besides such clubs as these, one finds, here and there, +in the United States, a few clubs of a character more unusual. +Cleveland has three unusual clubs: the Rowfant, +a book collector's club; the Chagrin Valley Hunt Club, +at Gates Mills, near the city, and the Hermit Club.</p> + +<p>Were it not for the fact that I detest the words +"artistic" and "bohemian," I should apply them to the +Hermit Club. It is one of the few clubs outside New +York, Chicago, and San Francisco possessing its own +house and made up largely of men following the arts, or +interested in them. Like the Lambs of New York, the +Hermits give shows in their club-house, but the Lambs' +is a club of actors, authors, composers, stage managers, +etc., while the Hermit Club is made up, so far as the +theater is concerned, of amateurs—amateurs having +among them sufficient talent to write and act their own +shows, design their own costumes, paint their own scenery, +compose their own music, and even play it, too—for +there is an orchestra of members. I have never seen +a Hermits' show, and I am sorry, for I have heard that +they are worth seeing. Certainly their club-house is. +It is an Elizabethan building, with a heavy timbered +front, suggesting some ancient, hospitable, London +coffee house where wits of old were used to meet. This +illusion is enhanced by the surroundings of the club, for +it stands in an alley—or perhaps I had better say a nar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[ 51]</a></span>row +lane—and is huddled down between the walls of +taller buildings.</p> + +<p>The pleasant promise of the exterior is fulfilled within. +The ground floor rooms are low and cozy, and have a +pleasant "rambling" feeling—a step or two up here or +down there. The stairway, leading to the floor above, +is narrow, with a genial kind of narrowness that seems +to say: "There is no one here with whom you'll mind +rubbing elbows as you pass." Ascending, you reach the +main room, which occupies the entire upper floor. This +room is the Hermit Club. It is here that members +gather and that the more intimate shows are given. +Large, with dark panels, and heavy beams which spring +up and lose themselves in warm shadows overhead, it is +a room combining dignity with gracious informality. +And let me add that, to my mind, such a combination +is at once rare and desirable in a club building—or, for +the matter of that, in a home or a human being. A +club which is too informal is likely to seem trivial; a +club too dignified, austere. A club should neither seem +to be a joke, nor yet a mausoleum. If it be magnificent, +it should not, at least, overwhelm one with its magnificence; +it should not chill one with its grandeur, so +that one lowers one's voice to a whisper and involuntarily +removes one's hat.</p> + +<p>In some clubs a man leaves his hat upon his head or +takes it off, as he prefers. In others custom demands +that he remove it. Some men will argue that if you +give a man his choice in that matter he feels more at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[ 52]</a></span> +home; others contend that if he takes his hat off he will, +at all events, <i>look</i> more at home, whereas, if he leaves it +on he will look more as though he were in a hotel. These +are matters of opinion. There are many pleasant clubs +which differ on this minor point. But I do not think +that any club may be called pleasant in which a man is +inclined to take off his hat instinctively because of an air +of grim formality which he encounters on entering the +door. To make an Irish bull upon this subject, one of +the nicest things that I remember of the Hermit Club is +that I don't remember whether we wore our hats while +there or not.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Chagrin Valley Hunt Club lies in a pleasant valley +which acquired its name through the error of a +pioneer (General Moses Cleveland himself, if I remember +rightly) who, when sailing up Lake Erie, landed at +this point, mistaking it for the site of Cleveland, farther +on, and was hence chagrined. Here, more than a hundred +years ago, the little village of Gates Mills was settled +by men whose buildings, left behind them, still proclaim +their New England origin. If ever I saw a Connecticut +village outside the State of Connecticut, that +village is Gates Mills, Ohio. Low white farmhouses, +with picturesque doorways and small windows divided +into many panes, straggle pleasantly along on either side +of the winding country road, and there is even an old +meeting house, with a spire such as you may see in many +a New England hamlet. +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus090.png" width="450" height="328" alt="In this charming, homelike old building, with its grandfather's clock, its Windsor chairs, and +its open wood fires, a visitor finds it hard to realize that he is in the "west"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">In this charming, homelike old building, with its grandfather's clock, its Windsor chairs, and +its open wood fires, a visitor finds it hard to realize that he is in the "west"</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[ 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>The old Gates house, which was built in 1812 by the +miller from whom the place took its name, is passing a +mellow old age as the house of the Hunt Club. In this +charming, homelike old building, with its grandfather's +clock, its Windsor chairs, and its open wood fires, a +visitor finds its hard to realize that he is actually in a +portion of the country which is still referred to, in New +York, as "the west."</p> + +<p>The Connecticut resemblance is accounted for by the +fact that all this section of the country was in the Western +Reserve, which belonged to, and was settled by, +Connecticut. Thus travel teaches us! I knew practically +nothing, until then, of the Western Reserve, and +even less of hunt clubs. I had never been in a hunt +club before, and my impressions of such institutions +had been gleaned entirely from short stories and from +prints showing rosy old rascals drinking. Probably +because of these prints I had always thought that +"horsey" people—particularly the "hunting set"—were +generally addicted to the extensive (and not merely +external) use of alcohol. As others may be of the same +impression it is perhaps worth remarking that, while +in the Hunt Club, we saw a number of persons drinking +tea, and that only two were drinking alcoholic beverages—those +two being visitors: an illustrator and +a writer from New York.</p> + +<p>I mentioned that to the M. F. H., and told him of my +earlier impression as to hunt-club habits.</p> + +<p>"Lots of people have that idea," he smiled, "but it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[ 54]</a></span> +wrong. As a matter of fact, few hunting people are +teetotalers, but those who ride straight are almost invariably +temperate. They have to be. You can't be +in the saddle six or eight hours at a stretch, riding across +country, and do it on alcohol."</p> + +<p>I also learned from the M. F. H. certain interesting +things regarding a fox's scent. Without having +thought upon the subject, I had somehow acquired the +idea that hounds got the scent from the actual tracks of +the animal they followed. That is not so. The scent +comes from the body of the fox and is left behind him +suspended in the air. And, other conditions being +equal, the harder your fox runs the stronger his scent +will be. The most favorable scent for following is what +is known as a "breast-high scent"—meaning a scent +which hangs in suspension at a point sufficiently high to +render it unnecessary for the hounds to put their heads +down to the ground. Sometimes a scent hangs low; +sometimes, on the other hand, it rises so that, particularly +in a covert, the riders, seated upon their horses, +can smell it, while the hounds cannot.</p> + +<p>But I think I have said enough about this kind of +thing. It is a dangerous topic, for the terminology and +etiquette of hunting are even more elaborate than those +of golf. Probably I have made some mistake already; indeed, +I know of one which I just escaped—I started to +write "dogs" instead of "hounds," and that is not done. +I have a horror of displaying my ignorance on matters +of this kind. For I take a kind of pride—and I think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[ 55]</a></span> +most men do—in being correct about comparatively unimportant +things. It is permissible to be wrong about +important things, such as politics, finance, and reform, +and to explain them, although you really know nothing +about them. But with fox hunting it is different. +There are some people who really <i>do</i> know about that, +and they are likely to catch you.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Two other Cleveland organizations should be mentioned.</p> + +<p>Troop A of the Ohio National Guard is known as one +of the most capable bodies of militia in the entire country. +It has been in existence for some forty years, and +its membership has always been recruited from among +the older and wealthier families of the city. The fame +of Troop A has reached beyond Ohio, for under its popular +title, "The Black Horse Troop," it has gone three +times to Washington to act as escort to Presidents of +the United States at the time of their inauguration. +Cleveland is, furthermore, the headquarters for trotting +racing. The Cleveland Gentlemen's Driving Club +is an old and exceedingly active body, and its president, +Mr. Harry K. Devereux, is also president of the National +Trotting Association.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A curious and characteristic thing which we encountered +in no other city is the Three-Cent Cult—a legacy +left to the city by the late Tom Johnson. Cleveland's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[ 56]</a></span> +street railway system is controlled by the city and +the fare is not five cents, but three. But that is +not all. A municipal lighting plant is, or soon will be, +in operation, with charges of from one to three cents +per kilowatt hour. Also the city has gone into the +dance-hall business. There, too, the usual rate is cut: +fifteen cents will buy five dances in the municipal dance +halls, instead of three. No one will attempt to dispute +that dancing, to-day, takes precedence over the mere +matter of eating, yet it is worth mentioning that the +Three-Cent Cult has even found its way into the lunch +room. Sandwiches may be purchased in Cleveland for +three cents which are not any worse than five-cent sandwiches +in other cities.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the finest thing about the Three-Cent Cult is +the fact that it runs counter to one of the most pronounced +and pitiable traits of our race: wastefulness. +Sometimes it seems that, as a people, we take less pride +in what we save than in what we throw away. We +have a "There's more where that came from!" attitude +of mind. A man with thousands a year says: "Hell! +What's a hundred?" and a man with hundreds imitates +him on a smaller scale. The humble fraction of a nickel +is despised. All honor, then, to Cleveland—the city +which teaches her people that two cents is worth saving, +and then helps them to save it. Two points, in this connection, +are interesting:</p> + +<p>One, that Cleveland has been trying to induce the +Treasury Department to resume the coinage of a three-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[ 57]</a></span>cent +piece; another, that the percentage of depositors +in savings banks in Cleveland, in proportion to the +population, is higher than in most other cities. And, +by the way, the savings banks pay 4 per cent.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>We were taken in automobiles from one end of the +city to the other. Down by the docks we saw gigantic, +strange machines, expressive of Cleveland's +lake commerce—machines for loading and unloading +ships in the space of a few hours. One type of machine +would take a regular steel coal car in its enormous +claws and turn that car over, emptying the load of +coal into a ship as you might empty a cup of flour with +your hand. Then it would set the car down again, right +side up, upon the track, only to snatch the next one and +repeat the operation.</p> + +<p>Another machine for unloading ore would send its +great steel hands down into the vessel's hold, snatch +them up filled with tons of the precious product of the +mines, and, reaching around backward, drop the load +into a waiting railroad car. The present Great Lakes +record for loading is held by the steamer <i>Corry</i>, which +has taken on a cargo of 10,000 tons of ore in twenty-five +minutes. The record for unloading is held by the +<i>George F. Perkins</i>, from which a cargo of 10,250 tons +of ore was removed in two hours and forty-five minutes.</p> + +<p>Some of the largest steamers of the Great Lakes may +be compared, in size, with ocean liners. A modern ore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[ 58]</a></span> +boat is a steel shell more than six hundred feet long, with +a little space set aside at the bows for quarters and a +little space astern for engines. The deck is a series +of enormous hatches, so that practically the entire top +of the ship may be removed in order to facilitate loading +and unloading. As these great vessels (many of which +are built in Cleveland, by the way) are laid up throughout +the winter, when navigation on the Great Lakes is +closed, it is the custom to drive them hard during +the open season. Some of them make as many +as thirty trips in the eight months of their activity, and +an idea of the volume of their traffic may be gotten +from the statement that "the iron-ore tonnage of the +Cleveland district is greater than the total tonnage of +exports and imports at New York Harbor." One of +the little books about Cleveland, which they gave me, +makes that statement. It does not sound as though it +could be true, but I do not think they would dare print +untruths about a thing like that, no matter how anxious +they might be to "boost." However, I feel it my duty to +add that the same books says: "Fifty per cent. of the +population of the United States and Canada <i>lies</i> within +a radius of five hundred miles of Cleveland."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I find that when I try to recall to my mind the picture +of a city, I think of certain streets which, for one +reason or another, engraved themselves more deeply +than other streets upon my memory. One of my clear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[ 59]</a></span>est +mental photographs of Cleveland is of endless +streets of homes.</p> + +<p>Now, although I saw many houses, large and small, +possessing real beauty—most of them along the boulevards, +in the Wade Park Allotment or on Euclid +Heights, where modern taste has had its opportunity—it +is nevertheless true that, for some curious reason connected +with the workings of the mind, those streets which +I remember best, after some months of absence, are not +the streets possessed of the most charm.</p> + +<p>I remember vividly, for instance, my disappointment +on viewing the decay of Euclid Avenue, which I had +heard compared with Delaware, in Buffalo, and which, +in reality, does not compare with it at all, being rather +run down, and lined with those architectural monstrosities +of the 70's which, instead of mellowing into respectable +antiquity, have the unhappy faculty of becoming +more horrible with time, like old painted harridans. +Another vivid recollection is of a sad monotony of +streets, differing only in name, containing blocks +and blocks and miles and miles of humble wooden +homes, all very much alike in their uninteresting duplication.</p> + +<p>These memories would make my mental Cleveland picture +somewhat sad, were it not for another recollection +which dominates the picture and glorifies the city. This +recollection, too, has to do with squalid thoroughfares, +but in a different way.</p> + +<p>Down near the railroad station, where the "red-light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[ 60]</a></span> +district" used to be, there has long stood a tract of several +blocks of little buildings, dismal and dilapidated. +They are coming down. Some of them have come +down. And there, in that place which was the home of +ugliness and vice, there now shows the beginning of the +city's Municipal Group Plan. This plan is one of the +finest things which any city in the land has contemplated +for its own beautification. In this country it +was, at the time it originated, unique; and though other +cities (such as Denver and San Francisco) are now at +work on similar improvements, the Cleveland plan remains, +I believe, the most imposing and the most complete +of its kind.</p> + +<p>When an American city has needed some new public +building it has been the custom, in the past, for the +politicians to settle on a site, and cause plans to be drawn +(by their cousins), and cause those plans to be executed +(by their brothers-in-law). This may have been "practical +politics," but it has hardly resulted in practical city +improvement.</p> + +<p>No one will dispute the convenience of having public +buildings "handy" to one another, but there may still +be found, even in Cleveland, men whose feeling for +beauty is not so highly developed as their feeling for +finance; men who shake their heads at the mention of +a group plan; who don't like to "see all that money +wasted." I met one or two such. But I will venture +the prophecy that, when the Cleveland plan is a little +farther advanced, so that the eye can realize the amazing +splendor of the thing, as it will ultimately be, there +will be no one left in Cleveland to convert.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus099.png" width="450" height="298" alt="Down by the docks we saw gigantic, strange machines, expressive of Cleveland's lake commerce—machines +for loading and unloading ships in the space of a few hours" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Down by the docks we saw gigantic, strange machines, expressive of Cleveland's lake commerce—machines +for loading and unloading ships in the space of a few hours</span> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[ 61]</a></span></p> +<p>It is a fine and unusual thing, in itself, for an American +city to be planning its own beauty fifty years ahead. +Cleveland is almost un-American in that! But when +the work done—yes, and before it is done—this single +great improvement will have transformed Cleveland +from an ordinary looking city to one of great distinction.</p> + +<p>Fancy emerging from a splendid railway station to +find yourself facing, not the little bars and dingy buildings +which so often face a station, but a splendid mall, +two thousand feet long and six hundred wide, parked in +the center and surrounded by fine buildings of even +cornice height and harmonious classical design. At one +side of the station will stand the public library; at the +other the Federal building; and at the far extremity of +the mall, the county building and the city hall.</p> + +<p>Three of these buildings are already standing. Two +more are under way. The plan is no longer a mere plan +but is already, in part, an actuality.</p> + +<p>When the transformation is complete Cleveland will +not only have remade herself but will have set a magnificent +example to other cities. By that time she +may have ceased to call herself "Sixth City"—for population +changes. But if a hundred other cities follow +her with group plans, and whether those plans be of +greater magnitude or less, it must never be forgotten +that Cleveland had the appreciation and the courage to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[ 62]</a></span> +begin the movement in America, not merely on paper +but in stone and marble, and that, without regard to +population, she therefore has a certain right, to-day, to +call herself "First City."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[ 63]</a></span></p> + + + + +<p> +MICHIGAN MEANDERINGS<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[ 64]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[ 65]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>DETROIT THE DYNAMIC</h3> + + +<p>Because Buffalo, Cleveland, and Detroit are, in +effect, situated upon Lake Erie, and because +they are cities of approximately the same size, +and because of many other resemblances between them, +they always seem to me like three sisters living amicably +in three separate houses on the same block.</p> + +<p>As I personify them, Buffalo, living at the eastern +end of the block, is the smallest sister. She has, I fear, +a slight tendency to be anemic. Her husband, who was +in the shipping business, is getting old. He has retired +and is living in contentment in the old house, sitting +all day on the side porch, behind the vines, with his +slippers cocked up on the porch rail, smoking cigars and +reading his newspapers in peace.</p> + +<p>Cleveland is the fat sister. She is very rich, having +married into the Rockefeller family. She is placid, satisfied, +dogmatically religious, and inclined to platitudes +and missionary work. Her house, in the middle of the +block, is a mansion of the seventies. It has a cupola and +there are iron fences on the roof, as though to keep the +birds from falling off. The lawn is decorated with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[ 66]</a></span> +pair of iron dogs. But there are plans in the old house +for a new one.</p> + +<p>The first two sisters have a kind of family resemblance +which the third does not fully share. Detroit +seems younger than her sisters. Indeed, you might almost +mistake her for one of their daughters. The belle +of the family, she is married to a young man who is +making piles of money in the automobile business—and +spending piles, too. Their house, at the western end of +the block, is new and charming.</p> + +<p>I am half in love with Detroit. I may as well admit +it, for you are sure to find me out. She is beautiful—not +with the warm, passionate beauty of San Francisco, +the austere mountain beauty of Denver, nor the strange, +sophisticated, destroying beauty of New York, but with +a sweet domestic kind of beauty, like that of a young +wife, gay, strong, alert, enthusiastic; a twinkle in her +eye, a laugh upon her lips. She has temperament and +charm, qualities as rare, as fascinating, and as difficult +to define in a city as in a human being.</p> + +<p>Do you ask why she is different from her sisters? I +was afraid you might ask that. They tell a romantic +story. I don't like to repeat gossip, but—They say +that, long ago, when her mother lived upon a little farm +by the river, there came along a dashing voyageur, from +France, who loved her. Mind you, I vouch for nothing. +It is a legend. I do not affirm that it is true. +But—<i>voila</i>! There is Detroit. She is different.</p> + +<p>If you will consider these three fictitious sisters as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[ 67]</a></span> +figures in a cartoon—a cartoon not devoid of caricature—you +will get an impression of my impression of +three cities. My three sisters are merely symbols, like +the figures of Uncle Sam and John Bull. A symbol is +a kind of generalization, and if you disagree with +these generalizations of mine (as I think you may, +especially if you live in Buffalo or Cleveland), let me +remind you that some one has said: "All generalizations +are false—including this one." One respect in +which my generalization is false is in picturing Detroit +as young. As a matter of fact, she is the oldest city +of the three, having been settled by the Sieur de la +Mothe Cadillac in 1701, ninety years before the first +white man built his hut where Buffalo now stands, and +ninety-five years before the settlement of Cleveland. +This is the fact. Yet I hold that there is about Detroit +something which expresses ebullient youth, and that +Buffalo and Cleveland, if they do not altogether lack +the quality of youth, have it in a less degree.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>So far as I recall, Chicago was the first American city +to adopt a motto, or, as they call it now, a "slogan."</p> + +<p>I remember long ago a rather crude bust of a helmeted +Amazon bearing upon her proud chest the words: "I +Will!" She was supposed to typify Chicago, and I +rather think she did. Cleveland's slogan is the conservative +but significant "Sixth City," but Detroit comes +out with a youthful shriek of self-satisfaction, declaring +that: "In Detroit Life is Worth Living!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[ 68]</a></span> +Doesn't that claim reflect the quality of youth? +Doesn't it remind you of the little boy who says to the +other little boy: "My father can lick your father"? +Of course it has the patent-medicine flavor, too; Detroit, +by her "slogan," is a cure-all. But that is not deliberate. +It is exaggeration springing from natural optimism +and exuberance. Life is doubtless more worth +living in Detroit than in some other cities, but I submit +that, so long as Mark Twain's "damn human race" retains +those foibles of mind, morals, and body for which +it is so justly famous, the "slogan" of the city of Detroit +guarantees a little bit too much.</p> + +<p>I find the same exuberance in the publications issued +by the Detroit Board of Commerce. Having just left +the Cleveland Chamber of Commerce, I sedulously +avoided contact with the Detroit body—one can get an +overdose of that kind of thing. But I have several +books. One is a magazine called "The Detroiter," with +the subtitle "Spokesman of Optimism." It is full of +news of new hotels and new factories and new athletic +clubs and all kinds of expansion. It fairly bursts from +its covers with enthusiasm—and with business banalities +about Detroit's "onward sweep," her "surging +ahead," her "banner year," and her "efficiency." "Be +a Booster," it advises, and no one can say that it does +not live up to its principles. Indeed, as I look it over, +I wonder if I have not done Detroit an injustice in giving +to Cleveland the blue ribbon for "boosting." The +Detroit Board of Commerce even goes so far in its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[ 69]</a></span> +"boosting" as to "boost" Detroit into seventh place +among American cities, while the "World Almanac" +(most valuable volume on the one-foot shelf of books I +carried on my travels) places Detroit ninth.</p> + +<p>Like Cleveland, I find that Detroit is first in the production +of a great many things. In fact, the more I +read these books issued by commercial bodies, the +more I am amazed at the varied things there are for +cities to be first in. It is a miserable city, indeed, which +is first in nothing at all. Detroit is first in the production +of overalls, stoves, varnish, soda and salt products, +automobile accessories, adding machines, pharmaceutical +manufactures, aluminum castings, in shipbuilding on +the Great Lakes and, above all, in the manufacture of +motor cars. And, as the Board of Commerce adds significantly, +"That's not all!"</p> + +<p>But it is enough.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The motor-car development in Detroit interested +me particularly. When I asked in Buffalo why Detroit +was "surging ahead" so rapidly in comparison with certain +other cities, they answered, as I knew they would: +"It's the automobile business."</p> + +<p>But when I asked why the automobile business should +have settled on Detroit as a headquarters instead of +some other city (as, for instance, Buffalo), they found +it difficult to say. One Buffalonian informed me that +Detroit banks had been more liberal than those of other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[ 70]</a></span> +cities in supporting the motor industry in its early days. +This was, however, vigorously denied in Detroit. +When I mentioned it to the president of one of the largest +automobile concerns he laughed.</p> + +<p>"Banks don't do business that way," he declared. +"The very thing banks do not do is to support new, untried +industries. After you have proved that you can +make both motor cars and money they'll take care of +you. Not before. On the other hand, when the banks +get confidence in any one kind of business they very +often run to the opposite extreme. That was the way +it used to be in the lumber business. Most of the early +fortunes of Detroit were made in lumber. The banks +got used to the lumber business, so that a few years ago +all a man had to do was to print 'Lumber' on his letterhead, +write to the banks and get a line of credit. Later, +when the automobile business began to boom, the same +thing happened over again: the man whose letterhead +bore the word 'Automobiles' was taken care of." The +implication was that sometimes he was taken care of a +little bit too well.</p> + +<p>"Then why did Detroit become the automobile center?" +I asked.</p> + +<p>The question proved good for an hour's discussion +among certain learned pundits of the "trade" who were +in the president's office at the time I asked it.</p> + +<p>First, it was concluded, several early motor "bugs" +happened to live in or near Detroit. Henry Ford lived +there. He was always experimenting with "horseless +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus112.png" width="450" height="702" alt="In midstream passes a continual parade of freighters ... and in their +swell you may see, teetering, all kinds of craft, from proud white yachts +to canoes" title="" /> +<span class="caption">In midstream passes a continual parade of freighters ... and in their +swell you may see, teetering, all kinds of craft, from proud white yachts +to canoes</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[ 71]</a></span> +carriages" in the early days and being laughed at for it. +Also, a man named Packard built a car at Warren, Ohio. +But the first gasoline motor car to achieve what they +call an "output" was the funny little one-cylinder Oldsmobile +which steered with a tiller and had a curved +dash like a sleigh. It is to the Olds Motor Company, +which built that car, that a large majority of the automobile +manufactories in Detroit trace their origin. Indeed, +there are to-day no less than a dozen organizations, +the heads of which were at some time connected +with the original Olds Company. This fifteen-year-old +forefather of the automobile business was originally +made in Lansing, Mich., but the plant was moved to Detroit, +where the market for labor and materials was better. +The Packard plant was also moved there, and +for the same reasons, plus the fact that the company +was being financed by a group of young Detroit +men.</p> + +<p>It was not, perhaps, entirely as an investment that +these wealthy young Detroiters first became interested +in the building of motor cars. That is to say, I do not +think they would have poured money so freely into a +scheme to manufacture something else—something less +picturesque in its appeal to the sporting instinct and the +imagination. The automobile, with its promise, was +just the right thing to interest rich young men, and it +did interest them, and it has made many of them richer +than they were before.</p> + +<p>It seems to be an axiom that, if you start a new busi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[ 72]</a></span>ness +anywhere, and it is successful, others will start in +the same business beside you. One of the pundits referred +me, for example, to Erie, Pa., where life is entirely +saturated with engine and boiler ideas simply because +the Erie City Iron Works started there and was +successful. There are now sixteen engine and boiler +companies in Erie, and all of them, I am assured, are +there either directly or indirectly because the Erie City +Iron Works is there. In other words, we sat in +that office and had a very pleasant hour's talk merely to +discover that there is truth in the familiar saying about +birds of a feather.</p> + +<p>When we got that settled and the pundits began to +drift away to other plate-glass rooms along the mile, +more or less, of corridor devoted to officials' offices, I +became interested in a little wooden box which stood +upon the president's large flat-top desk. I was told it +was a dictagraph. Never having seen a dictagraph before, +and being something of a child, I wished to play +with it as I used to play with typewriters and letter-presses +in my father's office years ago. And the president +of this many-million-dollar corporation, being a +kindly man with, of course, absolutely nothing to do but +to supply itinerant scribes with playthings, let me toy +with the machine. Sitting at the desk, he pressed a +key. Then, without changing his position, he spoke +into the air:</p> + +<p>"Fred," he said, "there's some one here who wants +to ask you a question."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[ 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then the little wooden box began to talk.</p> + +<p>"What does he want to ask about?" it said.</p> + +<p>That put it up to me. I had to think of something to +ask. I was conscious of a strange, unpleasant feeling of +being hurried—of having to reply quickly before something +happened—some breaking of connections.</p> + +<p>I leaned toward the machine, but the president waved +me back: "Just sit over there where you are."</p> + +<p>Then I said: "I am writing articles about Buffalo, +Cleveland, and Detroit. How would you compare +them?"</p> + +<p>"Well," replied the Fred-in-the-box, "I used to live +in Cleveland. I've been here four years and I wouldn't +want to go back."</p> + +<p>After that we paused. I thought I ought to say something +more to the box, but I didn't know just what.</p> + +<p>"Is that all you want to know?" it asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied hurriedly. "I'm much obliged. +That's all I want to know."</p> + +<p>Of course it really wasn't all—not by any means! +But I couldn't bring myself to say so then, so I said the +easy, obvious thing, and after that it was too late. Oh, +how many things there are I want to know! How +many things I think of now which I would ask an oracle +when there is none to ask! Things about the here and +the hereafter; about the human spirit; about practical +religion, the brotherhood of man, the inequalities of +men, evolution, reform, the enduring mysteries of space, +time, eternity, and woman!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[ 74]</a></span></p> + +<p>A friend of mine—a spiritualist—once told me of a +séance in which he thought himself in brief communication +with his mother. There were a million things to +say. But when the medium requested him to give a message +he could only falter: "Are you all right over +there?" The answer came: "Yes, all right." Then +my friend said: "I'm so glad!" And that was all.</p> + +<p>"It is the feeling of awful pressure," he explained to +me, "which drives the thoughts out of your head. That +is why so many messages from the spirit world sound +silly and inconsequential. You have the one great +chance to communicate with them, and, because it <i>is</i> +your one great chance, you cannot think of anything to +say." Somehow I imagine that the feeling must be +like the one I had in talking to the dictagraph.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Among the characteristics which give Detroit her individuality +is the survival of her oldtime aristocracy; +she is one of the few middle-western cities possessing +such a social order. As with that of St. Louis, this +aristocracy is of French descent, the Sibleys, Campaus, +and other old Detroit families tracing their genealogies +to forefathers who came out to the New World under +the flag of Louis XIV. The early habitants acquired +farms, most of them with small frontages on the river +and running back for several miles into the woods—an +arrangement which permitted farmhouses to be built +close together for protection against Indians. These +farms, handed down for generations, form the basis of +a number of Detroit's older family fortunes.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus117.png" width="450" height="291" alt="The automobile has not only changed Detroit from a quiet old town into a rich, active city, but +upon the drowsy romance of the old days it has superimposed the romance of modern business" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The automobile has not only changed Detroit from a quiet old town into a rich, active city, but +upon the drowsy romance of the old days it has superimposed the romance of modern business</span> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[ 75]</a></span> + +<p>To-day commerce takes up the downtown portion of +the river front, but not far from the center of the city +the shore line is still occupied by residences. Along +Jefferson Avenue are many homes, surrounded by delightful +lawns extending forward to the street and back +to the river. Most of these homes have in their back +yards boathouses and docks—some of the latter large +enough to berth seagoing steam yachts, of which Detroit +boasts a considerable number. Nor is the water +front reserved entirely for private use. In Belle Isle, +situated in the Detroit River, and accessible by either +boat or bridge, the city possesses one of the most unusual +and charming public parks to be seen in the entire +world. And there are many other pleasant places near +Detroit which may be reached by boat—among them +the St. Clair Flats, famous for duck shooting. All +these features combine to make the river life active and +picturesque. In midstream passes a continual parade +of freighters, a little mail boat dodging out to meet each +one as it goes by. Huge side-wheel excursion steamers +come and go, and in their swell you may see, teetering, +all kinds of craft, from proud white yachts with shining +brasswork and bowsprits having the expression of +haughty turned-up noses, down through the category of +schooners, barges, tugs, motor yachts, motor boats, +sloops, small sailboats, rowboats, and canoes. You +may even catch sight of a hydroplane swiftly skimming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[ 76]</a></span> +the surface of the river like some amphibious, prehistoric +animal, or of that natty little gunboat, captured +from the Spaniards at the battle of Manila Bay, which +now serves as a training ship for the Michigan Naval +Reserve.</p> + +<p>A good many of the young aristocrats of Detroit have +belonged to the Naval Reserve, among them Mr. Truman +H. Newberry, former Secretary of the Navy, about +whom I heard an amusing story.</p> + +<p>According to this tale, as it was told me in Detroit, Mr. +Newberry was some years ago a common seaman in the +Reserve. It seems that on the occasion of the annual +cruise of this body on the Great Lakes, a regular naval +officer is sent out to take command of the training ship. +One day, when common seaman Newberry was engaged +in the maritime occupation of swabbing down the decks +abaft the bridge, a large yacht passed majestically by.</p> + +<p>"My man," said the regular naval officer on the bridge +to common seaman Newberry below, "do you know what +yacht that is?"</p> + +<p>Newberry saluted. "The <i>Truant</i>, sir," he said respectfully, +and resumed his work.</p> + +<p>"Who owns her?" asked the officer.</p> + +<p>Again Newberry straightened and saluted.</p> + +<p>"I do, sir," he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[ 77]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>AUTOMOBILES AND ART</h3> + + +<p>Within the last few years there has come to +Detroit a new life. The vast growth of the +city, owing to the development of the automobile +industry, has brought in many new, active, able +business men and their families, whom the old Detroiters +have dubbed the "Gasoline Aristocracy." Thus +there are in Detroit two fairly distinct social groups—the +Grosse Pointe group, of which the old families form +the nucleus, and the North Woodward group, largely +made up of newcomers.</p> + +<p>The automobile has not only changed Detroit from +a quiet old town into a rich, active city, but upon the +drowsy romance of the old days it has superimposed a +new kind of romance—the romance of modern business. +Fiction in its wildest flights hardly rivals the true stories +of certain motor moguls of Detroit. Every one can +tell you these stories. If you are a novelist all you +have to do is go and get them. But, aside from stories +which are true, there have developed, in connection with +the automobile business, certain fictions more or less +picturesque in character. One of these, which has been +widely circulated, is that "90 per cent. of the automobile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[ 78]</a></span> +business of Detroit is done in the bar of the Pontchartrain +Hotel." The big men of the business resent that +yarn. And, of course, it is preposterously false. +Neither 90 per cent. nor 10 per cent. nor any appreciable +per cent. of the automobile business is done there. Indeed, +you hardly ever see a really important representative +of the business in that place. Such men are not +given to hanging around bars.</p> + +<p>I do not wish the reader to infer that I hung around +the bar myself in order to ascertain this fact. Not at +all. I had heard the story and was apprised of its untruth +by the president of one of the large motor car +companies who was generously showing me about. As +we bowled along one of the wide streets which passes +through that open place at the center of the city called +the Campus Martius, I was struck, as any visitor must +be, by the spectacle of hundreds upon hundreds of automobiles +parked, nose to the curb, tail to the street, in +solid rows.</p> + +<p>"You could tell that this was an automobile city," I +remarked.</p> + +<p>"Do you know why you see so many of them?" he +asked with a smile.</p> + +<p>I said I supposed it was because there were so many +automobiles owned in Detroit.</p> + +<p>"No," he explained. "In other cities with as many +and more cars you will not see this kind of thing. They +don't permit it. But our wide streets lend themselves +to it, and our Chief of Police, who believes in the auto<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[ 79]</a></span>mobile +business as much as any of the rest of us, also +lends himself to it. He lets us leave our cars about the +streets because he thinks it a good advertisement for the +town."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he was forced to draw up at a crossing +to let a funeral pass. It was an automobile funeral. +The hearse, black and terrible as only a hearse can be, +was going at a modest pace for a motor, but an exceedingly +rapid pace for a hearse. If I am any judge of +speed, the departed was being wafted to his final resting +place at the somewhat sprightly clip of twelve or +fifteen miles an hour. Behind the hearse trailed +limousines and touring cars. Two humble taxicabs +brought up the rear. There was a grim ridiculousness +about the procession's progress—pleasure cars throttled +down, trying to look solemn—chauffeurs continually +throwing out their clutches in a commendable effort to +keep a respectful rate of speed.</p> + +<p>Is there any other thing in the world which epitomizes +our times as does an automobile funeral? Yesterday +such a thing would have been deemed indecorous; +to-day it is not only decorous, but rather chic, provided +that the pace be slow; to-morrow—what will it +be then? Will hearses go shooting through the streets +at forty miles an hour? Will mourners scorch behind, +their horns shrieking signals to the driver of the hearse +to get out of the road and let the swiftest pass ahead, +where there isn't all that dust? I am afraid a time is +close at hand when, if hearses are to maintain that posi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[ 80]</a></span>tion +in the funeral cortège to which convention has in +the past assigned them, they will have to hold it by sheer +force of superior horsepower!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Detroit is a young man's town. I do not think the +stand-pat, sit-tight, go-easy kind of business man exists +there. The wheel of commerce has wire spokes and +rubber tires, and there is no drag upon the brake band. +Youth is at the steering wheel—both figuratively and +literally. The heads of great Detroit industries drive +their own cars; and if the fact seems unimportant, consider: +do the leading men of your city drive theirs? Or +are they driven by chauffeurs? Have they, in other +words, reached a time of life and a frame of mind which +prohibit their taking the wheel because it is not safe +for them to do so, or worse yet, because it is not dignified? +Have they that energy which replaces worn-out +tires—and methods—and ideas?</p> + +<p>I have said that the president of a large automobile +company showed me about Detroit. I don't know what +his age is, but he is under thirty-five. I don't know +what his fortune is, but he is suspected of a million, and +whatever he may have, he has made himself. I hope +he is a millionaire, for there is in the entire world only +one other man who, I feel absolutely certain, deserves +a million dollars more than he does—and a native modesty +prevents my mentioning this other's name.</p> + +<p>Looking at my friend, the president, I am always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[ 81]</a></span> +struck with fresh amazement. I want to say to him: +"You can't be the president of that great big company! +I know you sit in the president's office, but—look at +your hair; it isn't even turning gray! I refuse to +believe that you are president until you show me your +ticket, or your diploma, or whatever it is that a president +has!"</p> + +<p>Becoming curious about his exact age, I took up my +"Who's Who in America" one evening ("Who's Who" +is another valued volume on my one-foot shelf) with a +view to finding out. But all I did find out was that +his name is not contained therein. That struck me as +surprising. I looked up the heads of half a dozen other +enormous automobile companies—men of importance, +interest, reputation. Of these I discovered the name of +but one, and that one was not (as I should have rather +expected it to be) Henry Ford. (There is a Henry +Ford in my "Who's Who," but he is a professor at +Princeton and writes for the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>!)<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p>Now whether this is so because of the newness of the +automobile business, or because "Who's Who" turns up +its nose at "trade," in contradistinction to the professions +and the arts, I cannot say. Obviously, the compilation +of such a work involves tremendous difficulties, +and I have always respected the volume for the ability +with which it overcomes them; but when a Detroit +dentist (who invented, as I recollect, some new kind of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[ 82]</a></span> +filling) is included in "Who's Who," and when almost +every minor poet who squeaks is in it, and almost every +illustrator who makes candy-looking girls for magazine +covers, and almost every writer—then it seems to me +time to include, as well, the names of men who are in +charge of that industry which is not only the greatest +in Detroit, but which, more than any industry since the +inception of the telephone, has transformed our life. +The fact of the matter is, of course, that writers, in +particular, are taken too seriously, not merely by +"Who's Who" but by all kinds of publications—especially +newspapers. Only opera singers and actors can +vie with writers in the amount of undeserved publicity +which they receive. If I omit professional baseball +players it is by intention; for, as a fan might say, they +have to "deliver the goods."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> "Who's Who" for 1913-1914. The more recent volume, which has +come out since, contains a biographical sketch of Mr. Henry Ford of Detroit.</p></div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Baedeker's United States, a third volume in the condensed +library I carried in my trunk, sets forth (in +small type!) the following: "The finest private art +gallery in Detroit is that of Mr. Charles L. Freer. The +gallery contains the largest group of works by Whistler +in existence and good examples of Tryon, Dewing, and +Abbott Thayer as well as many Oriental paintings and +potteries."</p> + +<p>But in the case of the Detroit Museum of Art, +Baedeker bursts into black-faced type, and even adds an +asterisk, his mark of special commendation. Also a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[ 83]</a></span> +considerable reference is made to various collections +contained by the museum: the Scripps collection of old +masters, the Stearns collection of Oriental curiosities, +a painting by Rubens, drawings by Raphael and Michelangelo, +and a great many works attributed to ancient +Italian and Dutch masters. "The museum also contains," +says Baedeker, "modern paintings by Gari +Melchers, Munkacsy, Tryon, F. D. Millet, and +others."</p> + +<p>I have quoted Baedeker as above, because it reveals +the bald fact with regard to art in Detroit; also because +it reveals the even balder fact that our blessed old +friend Baedeker, who has helped us all so much, can, +when he cuts loose on art, make himself exquisitely ridiculous.</p> + +<p>The truth is, of course, that Mr. Freer's gallery is not +merely the "finest private gallery in Detroit"; not +merely the finest gallery of any kind in Detroit; but +that it is one of the exceedingly important collections of +the world, just as Mr. Freer is one of the world's exceedingly +important authorities on art. Indeed, any +town which contains Mr. Freer—even if he is only stopping +overnight in a hotel—becomes by grace of his +presence an important art center for the time being. +His mere presence is sufficient. For in Mr. Freer's +head there is more art than is contained in many a museum. +He was the man whom, above all others in Detroit, +we wished to see. (And that is no disparagement +of Henry Ford.)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[ 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>Once in a long, long time it is given to the average +human being to make contact for a brief space with +some other human being far above the average—a man +who knows one thing supremely well. I have met six +such men: a surgeon, a musician, an author, an actor, a +painter, and Mr. Charles L. Freer.</p> + +<p>I do not know much of Mr. Freer's history. He was +not born in Detroit, though it was there that he made +the fortune which enabled him to retire from business. +It is surprising enough to hear of an American business +man willing to retire in the prime of life. You expect +that in Europe, not here. And it is still more surprising +when that American business man begins to devote +to art the same energy which made him a success +financially. Few would want to do that; fewer could. +By the time the average successful man has wrung +from the world a few hundred thousand dollars, he is +fit for nothing else. He has become a wringer and must +remain one always.</p> + +<p>Of course rich men collect pictures. I'm not denying +that. But they do it, generally, for the same reason +they collect butlers and footmen—because tradition +says it is the proper thing to do. And I have observed +in the course of my meanderings that they are almost +invariably better judges of butlers than of paintings. +That is because their butlers are really and truly more +important to them—excepting as their paintings have +financial value. Still, if the world is full of so-called +art collectors who don't know what they're doing, let us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[ 85]</a></span> +not think of them too harshly, for there are also painters +who do not know what they are doing, and it is necessary +that some one should support them. Otherwise +they would starve, and a bad painter should not have to +do that—starvation being an honor reserved by tradition +for the truly great.</p> + +<p>Very keenly I feel the futility of an attempt to tell +of Mr. Freer in a few paragraphs. He should be dealt +with as Mark Twain was dealt with by that prince of +biographers, Albert Bigelow Paine; some one should +live with him through the remainder of his life—always +sympathetic and appreciative, always ready to +draw him out, always with a notebook. It should be +some one just like Paine, and as there isn't some one +just like Paine, it should be Paine himself.</p> + +<p>Probably as a development of his original interest in +Whistler, Mr. Freer has, of late years, devoted himself +almost entirely to ancient Oriental art—sculptures, +paintings, ceramics, bronzes, textiles, lacquers and +jades. The very rumor that in some little town in +the interior of China was an old vase finer than any +other known vase of the kind, has been enough to set +him traveling. Many of his greatest treasures he has +unearthed, bargained for and acquired at first hand, in +remote parts of the globe. He bearded Whistler in his +den—that is a story by itself. He purchased Whistler's +famous Peacock Room, brought it to this country +and set it up in his own house. He traveled on +elephant-back through the jungles of India and Java<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[ 86]</a></span> +in search of buried temples; to Egypt for Biblical manuscripts +and potteries, and to the nearer East, years ago, +in quest of the now famous "lustered glazes." He +made many trips to Japan, in early days, to study, in +ancient temples and private collections, the fine arts of +China, Corea and Japan, and was the first American +student to visit the rock-hewn caves of central China, +with their thousands of specimens of early sculpture—sculpture +ranking, Mr. Freer says, with the best sculpture +of the world.</p> + +<p>The photographs and rubbings of these objects made +under Mr. Freer's personal supervision have greatly +aided students, all over the globe. Every important +public library in this country and abroad has been presented +by Mr. Freer with fac-similes of the Biblical +manuscripts discovered by him in Egypt about seven +years ago, so far as these have been published. The +original manuscripts will ultimately go to the National +Gallery, at Washington.</p> + +<p>Mr. Freer's later life has been one long treasure hunt. +Now he will be pursuing a pair of mysterious porcelains +around the earth, catching up with them in +China, losing them, finding them again in Japan, or in +New York, or Paris; now discovering in some unheard-of +Chinese town a venerable masterpiece, painted +on silk, which has been rolled into a ball for a child's +plaything. The placid pleasures of conventional collecting, +through the dealers, is not the thing that Mr. +Freer loves. He loves the chase.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[ 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>You should see him handle his ceramics. You should +hear him talk of them! He <i>knows</i>. And though you +do not know, you know he knows. More, he is willing +to explain. For, though his intolerance is great, it is +not directed so much at honest ignorance as against +meretricious art.</p> + +<p>The names of ancient Chinese painters, of emperors +who practised art centuries ago, of dynasties covering +thousands of years, of Biblical periods, flow kindly from +his lips:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"This dish is Grecian. It was made five hundred +years before the birth of Christ. This is a Chinese +marble, but you see it has a Persian scroll in high relief. +And this bronze urn: it is perhaps the oldest +piece I have—about four thousand years—it is Chinese. +But do you see this border on it? Perfect Greek! +Where did the Chinese get that? Art is universal. +We may call an object Greek, or Roman, or Assyrian, +or Chinese, or Japanese, but as we begin to understand, +we find that other races had the same thing—identical +forms and designs. Take, for example, this painting of +Whistler's, 'The Gold Screen.' You see he uses the +Tosa design. The Tosa was used in Japan in the +eleventh and twelfth centuries, and down to about +twenty years ago. But there wasn't a single example +of it in Europe in 1864, when Whistler painted 'The +Gold Screen'; and Whistler had not been to the Orient. +Then, where did he get the Tosa design? He invented</p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[ 88]</a></span></p> +<blockquote><p>it. It came to him because he was a great artist, and +art is universal."</p></blockquote> + +<p>It was like that—the spirit of it. And you must imagine +the words spoken with measured distinctness in a +deep, resonant voice, by a man with whom art is a religion +and the pursuit of it a passion. He has a nature +full of fire. At the mention of the name of the late +J. P. Morgan, of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or +of certain Chinese collectors and painters of the distant +past, a sort of holy flame of admiration rose and kindled +in him. His contempt is also fire. A minor eruption +occurred when the automobile industry was spoken of; +a Vesuvian flare which reddened the sky and left the +commercialism of the city in smoking ruins. But it +was not until I chanced to mention the Detroit Museum +of Art—an institution of which Mr. Freer strongly +disapproves—that the great outburst came. His wrath +was like an overpowering revolt of nature. A whirlwind +of tempestuous fire mounted to the heavens and +the museum emerged a clinker.</p> + +<p>He went to our heads. We four, who saw and heard +him, left Mr. Freer's house drunk with the esthetic. +Even the flooding knowledge of our own barbarian ignorance +was not enough to sober us. Some of the +flame had gotten into us. It was like old brandy. We +waved our arms and cried out about art. For there +is in a truly big human being—especially in one old +enough to have seemed to gain perspective on the uni<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[ 89]</a></span>verse—some +quality which touches something in us that +nothing else can ever reach. It is something which is +not admiration only, nor vague longing to emulate, nor +a quickened comprehension of the immensity of things; +something emotional and spiritual and strange and indescribable +which seems to set our souls to singing.</p> + +<p>The Freer collection will go, ultimately, to the Smithsonian +Institution (the National Gallery) in Washington, +a fact which is the cause of deep regret to many +persons in Detroit, more especially since the City Plan +and Improvement Commission has completed arrangements +for a Center of Arts and Letters—a fine group +plan which will assemble and give suitable setting to a +new Museum of Art, Public Library, and other buildings +of like nature, including a School of Design and an +Orchestra Hall. The site for the new gallery of art +was purchased with funds supplied by public-spirited +citizens, and the city has given a million dollars toward +the erection of the building. Plans for the library have +been drawn by Cass Gilbert.</p> + +<p>It seems possible that, had the new art museum been +started sooner, and with some guarantee of competent +management, Mr. Freer might have considered it as an +ultimate repository for his treasures. But now it is too +late. That the present art museum—the old one—was +not to be considered by him, is perfectly obvious. Inside +and out it is unworthy. It looks as much like an +old waterworks as the new waterworks out on Jefferson +Avenue looks like a museum. Its foyer contains<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[ 90]</a></span> +some sculptured busts, forming the most amazing group +I have ever seen. The group represents, I take it, +prominent citizens of Detroit—among them, according +to my recollection, the following: Hermes, Augustus +Cæsar, Mr. Bela Hubbard, Septimus Severus, the +Hon. T. W. Palmer, Mr. Frederick Stearns, Apollo, +Demosthenes, and the Hon. H. P. Lillibridge.</p> + +<p>I do not want to put things into people's heads, but—the +old museum is not fire-proof. God speed the new +one!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[ 91]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>THE MÆCENAS OF THE MOTOR</h3> + + +<p>The great trouble with Detroit, from my point of +view, is that there is too much which should be +mentioned: Grosse Pointe with its rich setting +and rich homes; the fine new railroad station; the "Cabbage +Patch"; the "Indian Village" (so called because +the streets bear Indian names) with its examples of +modest, pleasing, domestic architecture. Then there +are the boulevards, the fine Wayne County roads, the +clubs—the Country Club, the Yacht Club, the Boat +Club, the Detroit Club, the University Club, all with +certain individuality. And there is the unique little +Yondatega Club of which Theodore Roosevelt said: +"It is beyond all doubt the best club in the country."</p> + +<p>Also there is Henry Ford.</p> + +<p>I suppose there is no individual having to do with +manufacturing of any kind whose name is at present +more familiar to the world. But in all this ocean of +publicity which has resulted from Mr. Ford's development +of a reliable, cheap car, from the stupefying +growth of his business and his fortune, and more recently +from his sudden distribution among his working +people of ten million dollars of profits from his busi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[ 92]</a></span>ness—in +all this publicity I have seen nothing that gave +me a clear idea of Henry Ford himself. I wanted +to see him—to assure myself that he was not some +fabulous being out of a Detroit saga. I wanted to +know what kind of man he was to look at and to listen +to.</p> + +<p>The Ford plant is far, far out on Woodward Avenue. +It is so gigantic that there is no use wasting words in +trying to express its vastness; so full of people, all of +them working for Ford, that a thousand or two more +or less would make no difference in the looks of things. +And among all those people there was just one man I +really wanted to see, and just one man I really wanted +not to see. I wanted to see Henry Ford and I wanted +not to see a man named Liebold, because, they say, if you +see Liebold first you never do see Ford. That is what +Liebold is for. He is the man whose business in life +it is to know where Henry Ford <i>isn't</i>.</p> + +<p>To get into Mr. Ford's presence is an undertaking. +It is not easy even to find out whether he is there. Liebold +is so zealous in his protection that he even protects +Mr. Ford from his own employees. Thus, when the +young official who had my companion and me in charge, +received word over the office telephone that Mr. Ford +was not in the building, he didn't believe it. He went +on a quiet scouting expedition of his own before he +was convinced. Presently he returned to the office in +which he had deposited us.</p> + +<p>"No; he really isn't here just now," he said. "He'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[ 93]</a></span> +be in presently. Come on; I'll take you through the +plant."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The machine shop is one room, with a glass roof, +covering an area of something less than thirty acres. +It is simply unbelievable in its size, its noise and its +ghastly furious activity. It was peopled when we were +there by five thousand men—the day shift in that one +shop alone. (The total force of workmen was something +like three times that number.)</p> + +<p>Of course there was order in that place, of course +there was system—relentless system—terrible "efficiency"—but +to my mind, unaccustomed to such things, +the whole room, with its interminable aisles, its whirling +shafts and wheels, its forest of roof-supporting +posts and flapping, flying, leather belting, its endless +rows of writhing machinery, its shrieking, hammering, +and clatter, its smell of oil, its autumn haze of smoke, +its savage-looking foreign population—to my mind it +expressed but one thing, and that thing was delirium.</p> + +<p>Fancy a jungle of wheels and belts and weird iron +forms—of men, machinery and movement—add to it +every kind of sound you can imagine: the sound of a +million squirrels chirking, a million monkeys quarreling, +a million lions roaring, a million pigs dying, a million +elephants smashing through a forest of sheet iron, a +million boys whistling on their fingers, a million others +coughing with the whooping cough, a million sinners +groaning as they are dragged to hell—imagine all of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[ 94]</a></span> +this happening at the very edge of Niagara Falls, with +the everlasting roar of the cataract as a perpetual background, +and you may acquire a vague conception of that +place.</p> + +<p>Fancy all this riot going on at once; then imagine the +effect of its suddenly ceasing. For that is what it did. +The wheels slowed down and became still. The belts +stopped flapping. The machines lay dead. The noise +faded to a murmur; then to utter silence. Our ears +rang with the quiet. The aisles all at once were full of +men in overalls, each with a paper package or a box. +Some of them walked swiftly toward the exits. Others +settled down on piles of automobile parts, or the bases +of machines, to eat, like grimy soldiers on a battlefield. +It was the lull of noon.</p> + +<p>I was glad to leave the machine shop. It dazed me. +I should have liked to leave it some time before I actually +did, but the agreeable young enthusiast who was +conducting us delighted in explaining things—shouting +the explanations in our ears. Half of them I could +not hear; the other half I could not comprehend. Here +and there I recognized familiar automobile parts—great +heaps of them—cylinder castings, crank cases, axles. +Then as things began to get a little bit coherent, along +would come a train of cars hanging insanely from +a single overhead rail, the man in the cab tooting his +shrill whistle; whereupon I would promptly retire into +mental fog once more, losing all sense of what things +meant, feeling that I was not in any factory, but in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[ 95]</a></span> +Gargantuan lunatic asylum where fifteen thousand raving, +tearing maniacs had been given full authority to +go ahead and do their damnedest.</p> + +<p>In that entire factory there was for me but one completely +lucid spot. That was the place where cars were +being assembled. There I perceived the system. No +sooner had axle, frame, and wheels been joined together +than the skeleton thus formed was attached, by +means of a short wooden coupling, to the rear end of a +long train of embryonic automobiles, which was kept +moving slowly forward toward a far-distant door. +Beside this train of chassis stood a row of men, and as +each succeeding chassis came abreast of him, each man +did something to it, bringing it just a little further toward +completion. We walked ahead beside the row of +moving partially-built cars, and each car we passed +was a little nearer to its finished state than was the one +behind it. Just inside the door we paused and watched +them come successively into first place in the line. As +they moved up, they were uncoupled. Gasoline was +fed into them from one pipe, oil from another, water +from still another.</p> + +<p>Then as a man leaped to the driver's seat, a machine +situated in the floor spun the back wheels around, causing +the motor to start; whereupon the little Ford moved +out into the wide, wide world, a completed thing, propelled +by its own power.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In a glass shed of the size of a small exposition build<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[ 96]</a></span>ing +the members of the Ford staff park their little cars. +It was in this shed that we discovered Mr. Ford. He +had just driven in (in a Ford!) and was standing beside +it—the god out of the machine.</p> + +<p>"Nine o'clock to-morrow morning," he said to me in +reply to my request for an appointment.</p> + +<p>I may have shuddered slightly. I know that my companion +shuddered, and that, for one brief instant, I +felt a strong desire to intimate to Mr. Ford that ten +o'clock would suit me better. But I restrained myself.</p> + +<p>Inwardly I argued thus: "I am in the presence +of an amazing man—a prince of industry—the Mæcenas +of the motor car. Here is a man who, they say, makes +a million dollars a month, even in a short month like +February. Probably he makes a million and a quarter +in the thirty-one-day months when he has time to get +into the spirit of the thing. I wish to pay a beautiful +tribute to this man, not because he has more money than +I have—I don't admit that he has—but because he conserves +his money better than I conserve mine. It is for +that that I take off my hat to him, even if I have to get +up and dress and be away out here on Woodward +Avenue by 9 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span> to do it."</p> + +<p>Furthermore, I thought to myself that Mr. Ford was +the kind of business man you read about in novels; one +who, when he says "nine," doesn't mean five minutes +after nine, but nine sharp. If you aren't there your +chance is gone. You are a ruined man. +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus142.png" width="450" height="260" alt="Of course there was order in that place, of course there was system—relentless +system—terrible "efficiency"—but to my mind it expressed but one +thing, and that thing was delirium" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Of course there was order in that place, of course there was system—relentless +system—terrible "efficiency"—but to my mind it expressed but one +thing, and that thing was delirium</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[ 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very well," I said, trying to speak in a natural tone, +"we will be on hand at nine."</p> + +<p>Then he went into the building, and my companion +and I debated long as to how the feat should be accomplished. +He favored sitting up all night in order to be +safe about it, but we compromised at last on sitting up +only a little more than half the night.</p> + +<p>The cold, dismal dawn of the day following found us +shaved and dressed. We went out to the factory. It +was a long, chilly, expensive, silent taxi ride. At five +minutes before nine we were there. The factory was +there. The clerks were there. Fourteen thousand one +hundred and eighty-seven workmen were there—those +workmen who divided the ten millions—everything and +every one was there with a single exception. And that +exception was Mr. Henry Ford.</p> + +<p>True, he did come at last. True, he talked with us. +But he was not there at nine o'clock, nor yet at ten. +Nor do I blame him. For if I were in the place of Mr. +Henry Ford, there would be just one man whom I should +meet at nine o'clock, and that man would be Meadows, +my faithful valet.</p> + +<p>Apropos of that, it occurs to me that there is one point +of similarity between Mr. Ford and myself: neither of +us has a valet just at present. Still, on thinking it over, +we aren't so very much alike, after all, for there is one +of us—I shan't say which—who hopes to have a valet +some day.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ford's office is a room somewhat smaller than the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[ 98]</a></span> +machine shop. It is situated in one corner of the administration +building, and I am told that there is a private +entrance, making it unnecessary for Mr. Ford to +run the gantlet of the main doorway and waiting room, +where there are almost always persons waiting to ask +him for a present of a million or so in money; or, if not +that, for four or five thousand dollars' worth of time—for +if Mr. Ford makes what they say, and doesn't work +overtime, his hour is worth about four thousand five +hundred dollars.</p> + +<p>He wasn't in the office when we entered. That gave +us time to look about. There was a large flat-top desk. +The floor was covered with an enormous, costly Oriental +rug. At one end of the room, in a glass case, was a +tiny and very perfect model of a Ford car. On the walls +were four photographs: one of Mr. James Couzens, vice-president +and treasurer of the Ford Company; another, +a life-size head of "<i>Your friend, John Wanamaker</i>," and +two of Thomas A. Edison. Under one of the latter, in +the handwriting of the inventor—handwriting which, +oddly enough, resembles nothing so much as neatly bent +wire—was this inscription:</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>To Henry Ford, one of a group of men who have +helped to make U. S. A. the most progressive nation +in the world.</i></p> + +<p> +<i>Thomas A. Edison.</i><br /></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Presently Mr. Ford came in—a lean man, of good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[ 99]</a></span> +height, wearing a rather shabby brown suit. Without +being powerfully built, Mr. Ford looks sinewy, wiry. +His gait is loose-jointed—almost boyish. His manner, +too, has something boyish about it. I got the feeling +that he was a little bit embarrassed at being interviewed. +That made me sorry for him—I had been interviewed, +myself, the day before. When he sat he hunched down +in his chair, resting on the small of his back, with his +legs crossed and propped upon a large wooden waste-basket—the +attitude of a lanky boy. And, despite his +gray hair and the netted wrinkles about his eyes, his face +is comparatively youthful, too. His mouth is wide and +determined, and it is capable of an exceedingly dry grin, +in which the eyes collaborate. They are fine, keen eyes, +set high under the brows, wide apart, and they seem to +express shrewdness, kindliness, humor, and a distinct +wistfulness. Also, like every other item in Mr. Ford's +physical make-up, they indicate a high degree of honesty. +There never was a man more genuine than Mr. Ford. +He hasn't the faintest sign of that veneer so common +to distinguished men, which is most eloquently described +by the slang term "front." Nor is he, on the other hand, +one of those men who (like so many politicians) try to +simulate a simple manner. He is just exactly Henry +Ford, no more, no less; take it or leave it. If you are +any judge at all of character, you know immediately +that Henry Ford is a man whom you can trust. I +would trust him with anything. He didn't ask me to, +but I would. I would trust him with all my money.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[ 100]</a></span> +And, considering that I say that, I think he ought to be +willing, in common courtesy, to reciprocate.</p> + +<p>He told us about the Ford business. "We've done +two hundred and five millions of business to date," he +said. "Our profits have amounted to about fifty-nine +millions. About twenty-five per cent. has been put back +into the business—into the plant and the branches. All +the actual cash that was ever put in was twenty-eight +thousand dollars. The rest has been built up out of +profits. Yes—it has happened in a pretty short time; +the big growth has come in the last six years."</p> + +<p>I asked if the rapid increase had surprised him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, in a way," he said. "Of course we couldn't be +just sure what she was going to do. But we figured we +had the right idea."</p> + +<p>"What is the idea?" I questioned.</p> + +<p>Then with deep sincerity, with the conviction of a +man who states the very foundation of all that he believes, +Mr. Ford told us his idea. His statement did +not have the awful majesty of an utterance by Mr. +Freer. He did not flame, although his eyes did seem to +glow with his conviction.</p> + +<p>"It is <i>one model</i>!" he said. "That's the secret of the +whole doggone thing!" (That is exactly what he said. +I noted it immediately for "character.")</p> + +<p>Having revealed the "secret," Mr. Ford directed our +attention to the little toy Ford in the glass case.</p> + +<p>"There she is," he said. "She's always the same. I +tell everybody that's the way to make a success. Every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[ 101]</a></span> +manufacturer ought to do it. The thing is to find out +something that everybody is after and then make that +one thing and nothing else. Shoemakers ought to do it. +They ought to get one kind of shoe that will suit everybody, +instead of making all kinds. Stove men ought to +do it, too. I told a stove man that just the other day."</p> + +<p>That, I believe, is, briefly, the business philosophy of +Henry Ford.</p> + +<p>"It just amounts to specializing," he continued. "I +like a good specialist. I like Harry Lauder—he's a +great specialist. So is Edison. Edison has done more +for people than any other living man. You can't look +anywhere without seeing something he has invented. +Edison doesn't care anything about money. I don't +either. You've got to have money to use, that's all. +I haven't got any job here, you know. I just go around +and keep the fellows lined up."</p> + +<p>I don't know how I came by the idea, but I was conscious +of the thought that Mr. Ford's money worried +him. He looks somehow as though it did. And it must, +coming in such a deluge and so suddenly. I asked if +wealth had not compelled material changes in his mode +of life.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean the way we live at home?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes; that kind of thing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that hasn't changed to any great extent," he +said. "I've got a little house over here a ways. It's +nothing very much—just comfortable. It's all we need. +You can have the man drive you around there on your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[ 102]</a></span> +way back if you want. You'll see." (Later I did see; +it is a very pleasant, very simple type of brick suburban +residence.)</p> + +<p>"Do you get up early?" I ventured, having, as I have +already intimated, my own ideas as to what I should do +if I were a Henry Ford.</p> + +<p>"Well, I was up at quarter of seven this morning," he +declared. "I went for a long ride in my car. I usually +get down to the plant around eight-thirty or nine +o'clock."</p> + +<p>Then I asked if the change had not forced him to do +a deal of entertaining.</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "We know the same people we knew +twenty years ago. They are our friends to-day. They +come to our house. The main difference is that Mrs. +Ford used to do the cooking. Lately we've kept a cook. +Cooks try to give me fancy food, but I won't stand for +it. They can't cook as well as Mrs. Ford either—none +of them can."</p> + +<p>I wish you could have heard him say that! It was +one of his deep convictions, like the "one model" idea.</p> + +<p>"What are your hobbies outside your business?" I +asked him.</p> + +<p>It seemed to me that Mr. Ford looked a little doubtful +about that. Certainly his manner, in replying, lacked +that animation which you expect of a golfer or a yachtsman +or an art collector—or, for the matter of that, a +postage-stamp collector.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have my farm out at Dearborn—the place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[ 103]</a></span> +where I was born," he replied. "I'm building a house +out there—not as much of a house as they try to make +out, though. And I'm interested in birds, too."</p> + +<p>Then, thinking of Mr. Freer, I inquired: "Do you +care for art?"</p> + +<p>The answer, like all the rest, was definite enough.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't give five cents for all the art in the +world," said Mr. Ford without a moment's hesitation.</p> + +<p>I admired him enormously for saying that. So many +people feel as he does in their hearts, yet would not dare +to say so. So many people have the air of posturing +before a work of art, trying to look intelligent, trying to +"say the right thing" before the right painting—the +right painting as prescribed by Baedeker. True, I think +the man who declares he would not give five cents for +all the art in the world thereby declares himself a barbarian +of sorts. But a good, honest, open-hearted barbarian +is a fine creature. For one thing, there is nothing +false about him. And there is nothing soft about him +either. It is the poseur who is soft—soft at the very +top, where Henry Ford is hard.</p> + +<p>I saw from his manner that he was becoming restless. +Perhaps we had stayed too long. Or perhaps he was +bored because I spoke about an abstract thing like art.</p> + +<p>I asked but one more question.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ford," I said, "I should think that when a man +is very rich he might hardly know, sometimes, whether +people are really his friends or whether they are cultivating +him because of his money. Isn't that so?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[ 104]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Ford's dry grin spread across his face. He replied +with a question:</p> + +<p>"When people come after <i>you</i> because they want to +get something out of you, don't you get their number?"</p> + +<p>"I think I do," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Well, so do I," said Mr. Ford.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[ 105]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE CURIOUS CITY OF BATTLE CREEK</h3> + + +<p>It was on a chilly morning, not much after eight +o'clock, that we left Detroit. I recall that, driving +trainward, I closed the window of the taxicab; +that the marble waiting room of the new station looked +uncomfortably half awake, like a sleeper who has kicked +the bedclothes off, and that the concrete platform outside +was a playground for cold, boisterous gusts of +wind.</p> + +<p>Our train had come from somewhere else. Entering +the Pullman car, we found it in its night-time aspect. +The narrow aisle, made narrower by its shroud of +long green curtains, and by shoes and suit cases standing +beside the berths, looked cavernous and gloomy, reminding +me of a great rock fissure, the entrance to a +cave I had once seen. Like a cave, too, it was cold with +a musty and oppressive cold; a cold which embalmed the +mingling smells of sleep and sleeping car—an odor as of +Russia leather and banana peel ground into a damp +pulp.</p> + +<p>Silently, gloomily, without removing our overcoats +or gloves, we seated ourselves, gingerly, upon the bright +green plush of the section nearest to the door, and tried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[ 106]</a></span> +to read our morning papers. Presently the train +started. A thin, sick-looking Pullman conductor came +and took our tickets, saying as few words as possible. +A porter, in his sooty canvas coat, sagged miserably +down the aisle. Also a waiter from the dining car, announcing +breakfast in a cheerless tone. Breakfast! +Who could think of breakfast in a place like that? +For a long time, we sat in somber silence, without interest +in each other or in life.</p> + +<p>To appreciate the full horror of a Pullman sleeping +car it is not necessary to pass the night upon it; indeed, +it is necessary <i>not</i> to. If you have slept in the car, or +tried to sleep, you arise with blunted faculties—the +night has mercifully anesthetized you against the scenes +and smells of morning. But if you board the car as we +did, coming into it awake and fresh from out of doors, +while it is yet asleep—then, and then only, do you realize +its enormous ghastliness.</p> + +<p>Our first diversion—the faintest shadow of a speculative +interest—came with a slight stirring of the curtains +of the berth across the way. For, even in the most +dismal sleeping car, there is always the remote chance, +when those green curtains stir, that the Queen of Sheba +is all radiant within, and that she will presently appear, +like sunrise.</p> + +<p>Over our newspapers we watched, and even now and +then our curiosity was piqued by further gentle stirrings +of the curtains. And, of course, the longer we were +forced to wait, the more hopeful we became. In a low<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[ 107]</a></span> +voice I murmured to my companion the story of the +glorious creature I had seen in a Pullman one morning +long ago: how the curtains had stirred at first, even as +these were stirring now; how they had at last been +parted by a pair of rosy finger tips; how I had seen a +lovely face emerge; how her two braids were wrapped +about her classic head; how she had floated forth into +the aisle, transforming the whole car; how she had +wafted past me, a soft, sweet cloud of pink; how she—Then, +just as I was getting to the interesting part of it, +I stopped and caught my breath. The curtains were in +final, violent commotion! They were parting at the +bottom! Ah! Slowly, from between the long green +folds, there appeared a foot. No filmy silken stocking +covered it. It was a foot. There was an ankle, too—a +small ankle. Indeed, it was so small as to be a misfit, +for the foot was of stupendous size, and very knobby. +Also it was cold; I knew that it was cold, just as I knew +that it was attached to the body of a man, and that I did +not wish to see the rest of him. I turned my head and, +gazing from the window, tried to concentrate my +thoughts upon the larger aspects of the world outside, +but the picture of that foot remained with me, dwarfing +all other things.</p> + +<p>I did not mean to look again; I was determined not +to look. But at the sound of more activity across the +way, my head was turned as by some outside force, and +I did look, as one looks, against one's will, at some horror +which has happened in the street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[ 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had come out. He was sitting upon the edge of +his berth, bending over and snorting as he fumbled for +his shoes upon the floor. Having secured them, he +pulled them on with great contortions, emitting stertorous +sounds. Then, in all the glory of his brown +balbriggan undershirt, he stood up in the aisle. His +face was fat and heavy, his eyes half closed, his hair +in tussled disarray. His trousers sagged dismally +about his hips, and his suspenders dangled down behind +him like two feeble and insensate tails. After rolling +his collar, necktie, shirt, and waistcoat into a mournful +little bundle, he produced from inner recesses a few unpleasant +toilet articles, and made off down the car—a +spectacle compared with which a homely woman, her +face anointed with cold cream, her hair done in kid +curlers, her robe a Canton-flannel nightgown, would +appear alluring!</p> + +<p>Never, since then, have I heard men jeering over +women as they look in dishabille, without wondering if +those same men have ever seen themselves clearly in the +mirrored washroom of a sleeping car.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>On the railroad journey between Detroit and Battle +Creek we passed two towns which have attained a +fame entirely disproportionate to their size: Ann Arbor, +with about fifteen thousand inhabitants, celebrated +as a seat of learning; and Ypsilanti, with about six thousand, +celebrated as, so to speak, a seat of underwear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[ 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>One expects an important college town to be well +known, but a manufacturing town with but six thousand +inhabitants must have done something in particular +to have acquired national reputation. In the case +of Ypsilanti it has been done by magazine advertising—the +advertising of underwear. If you don't think so, +look over the list of towns in the "World Almanac." +Have you, for example, ever heard of Anniston, Ala.? +Or Argenta, Ark.? Either town is about twice the size +of Ypsilanti. Have you ever heard of Cranston, R. I.; +Butler, Pa., or Belleville, Ill.? Each is about as large +as Ypsilanti and Ann Arbor put together.</p> + +<p>Then there is Battle Creek. Think of the amount of +advertising that town has had! As Miss Daisy Buck, +the lady who runs the news stand in the Battle Creek +railroad station, said to us: "It's the best advertised +little old town of its size in the whole United States."</p> + +<p>And now it is about to be advertised some more.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>We were total strangers. We knew nothing of the +place save that we had heard that it was full of health +cranks and factories where breakfast foods, coffee substitutes, +and kindred edibles and drinkables were made. +How to see the town and what to see we did not know. +We hesitated in the depot waiting room. Then fortune +guided our footsteps to the station news stand and its +genial and vivacious hostess. Yes, hostess is the word; +Miss Buck is anything but a mere girl behind the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[ 110]</a></span> +counter. She is a reception committee, an information +bureau, a guide, philosopher, and friend. Her kindly +interest in the wayfarer seems to waft forth from the +precincts of the news stand and permeate the station. +All the boys know Miss Daisy Buck.</p> + +<p>After purchasing some stamps and post cards as a +means of getting into conversation with her, we asked +about the town.</p> + +<p>"How many people are there here?" I ventured.</p> + +<p>"Thirty-five," replied Miss Buck.</p> + +<p>"<i>Thirty-five?</i>" I repeated, astonished.</p> + +<p>Though Miss Buck was momentarily engaged in selling +chewing gum (to some one else), she found time to +give me a mildly pitying look.</p> + +<p>"Thousand," she added.</p> + +<p>The "World Almanac" gives Battle Creek but twenty-five +thousand population. That, however, is no reproach +to Miss Buck; it is, upon the contrary, a reproach +to the cold-hearted statisticians who compiled +that book. And had they met Miss Buck I think they +would have been more liberal.</p> + +<p>"What is the best way for us to see the town?" I asked +the lady.</p> + +<p>She indicated a man who was sitting on a station +bench near by, saying:</p> + +<p>"He's a driver. He'll take you. He likes to ride +around."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," I replied, gallantly. "Any friend of +yours—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[ 111]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can that stuff," admonished Miss Buck in her easy, +offhand manner.</p> + +<p>I canned it, and engaged the driver. His vehicle was +a typical town hack—a mud-colored chariot, having C +springs, sunken cushions, and a strong smell of the +stable. Riding in it, I could not rid myself of the idea +that I was being driven to a country burial, and that +hence, if I wished to smoke, I ought to do it surreptitiously.</p> + +<p>Presently we swung into Main Street. I did not +ask the name of the street, but I am reasonably certain +that is it. There was a policeman on the corner. +Also, a building bearing the sign "Old National +Bank."</p> + +<p>Old! What a pleasant, mellow ring the word has! +How fine, and philosophical, and prosperous, and hospitable +it sounds. I stopped the carriage. Just out of +sentiment I thought I would go in and have a check +cashed. But they did not act hospitable at all. They +refused to cash my check because they did not know +me. Well, it was their loss! I had a little treat prepared +for them. I meant to surprise them by making +them realize suddenly that, in cashing the check, they +were not merely obliging an obscure stranger but a famous +literary man. I was going to pass the check +through the window, saying modestly: "It may interest +you to know whose check you have the honor of +handling." Then they would read the name, and I +could picture their excitement as they exclaimed and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[ 112]</a></span> +showed the check around the bank so that the clerks +could see it. The only trouble I foresaw, on that score, +was that probably they had not ever heard of me. But +I was going to obviate that. I intended to sign the +check "Rudyard Kipling." That would have given +them something to think about!</p> + +<p>But, as I have said, the transaction never got that +far.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The principal street of Battle Creek may be without +amazing architectural beauty, but it is at least +well lighted. On either curb is a row of "boulevard +lights," the posts set fifty feet apart. They are good-looking +posts, too, of simple, graceful design, each surmounted +by a cluster of five white globes. This admirable +system of lighting is in very general use +throughout all parts of the country excepting the East. +It is used in all the Michigan cities I visited. I have +been told that it was first installed in Minneapolis, but +wherever it originated, it is one of a long list of things +the East may learn from the West.</p> + +<p>After driving about for a time we drew up. Looking +out, I came to the conclusion that we had returned again +to the railway station.</p> + +<p>It was a station, but not the same one.</p> + +<p>"This is the Grand Trunk Deepo," said the driver, +opening the carriage door.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe we'll bother to get out," I said.</p> + +<p>But the driver wanted us to.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus159.png" width="450" height="548" alt="Never, since then, have I heard men jeering over women as they +look in dishabille, without wondering if those same men have ever +seen themselves clearly in the mirrored washroom of a sleeping car" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Never, since then, have I heard men jeering over women as they +look in dishabille, without wondering if those same men have ever +seen themselves clearly in the mirrored washroom of a sleeping car</span> +</div><p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[ 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You ought to look at it," he insisted. "It's a very +pretty station."</p> + +<p>So we got out and looked at it, and were glad we +did, for the driver was quite right. It was an unusually +pretty station—a station superior to the other in +all respects but one: it contained no Miss Daisy +Buck.</p> + +<p>After some further driving, we returned to the station +where she was.</p> + +<p>"I suppose we had better go to the Sanitarium for +lunch?" I asked her.</p> + +<p>"Not on your life," she replied. "If you go to the +'San,' you won't feel like you'd had anything to eat—that +is, not if you're good feeders."</p> + +<p>"Where else is there to go?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"The Tavern," she advised. "You'll get a first-class +dinner there. You might have larger hotels in +New York, but you haven't got any that's more homelike. +At least, that's what I hear. I never was in +New York myself, but I get the dope from the traveling +men."</p> + +<p>However, not for epicurean reasons, but because of +curiosity, we wished to try a meal at the Sanitarium. +Thither we drove in the hack, passing on our way the +office of the "Good Health Publishing Company" and a +small building bearing the sign, "The Coffee Parlor"—which +may signify a Battle Creek substitute for a +saloon. I do not know how coffee drinkers are regarded +in that town, but I do know that, while there, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[ 114]</a></span> +got neither tea nor coffee—unless "Postum" be coffee +and "Kaffir Tea" be tea.</p> + +<p>It was at the Sanitarium that I drank Kaffir Tea. I +had it with my lunch. It looks like tea, and would probably +taste like it, too, if they didn't let the Kaffirs steep +so long. But they should use only fresh, young, tender +Kaffirs; the old ones get too strong; they have too much +bouquet. The one they used in my tea may have been +slightly spoiled. I tasted him all afternoon.</p> + +<p>The "San" is an enormous brick building like a vast +summer hotel. It has an office which is utterly hotel-like, +too, even to the chairs, scattered about, and the +people sitting in them. Many of the people look perfectly +well. Indeed, I saw one young woman who +looked so well that I couldn't take my eyes off from her +while she remained in view. She was in the elevator +when we went up to lunch. She looked at me with a +speculative eye—a most engaging eye, it was—as +though saying to herself: "Now there's a promising +young man. I might make it interesting for him if +he would stay here for a while. But of course he'd +have to show me a physician's certificate stating that +he was not subject to fits." My companion said that +she looked at him a long while, too, but I doubt +that. He was always claiming that they looked at +him.</p> + +<p>The people who run the Sanitarium are Seventh-Day +Adventists, and as we arrived on Saturday it was the +Sabbath there—a rather busy day, I take it, from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[ 115]</a></span> +bulletin which was printed upon the back of the dinner +menu:</p> + +<p> +7.20 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span> Morning Worship in the Parlor.<br /> +7.40 to 8.40 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span> BREAKFAST.<br /> +9.45 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span> Sabbath School in the Chapel.<br /> +11 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span> Preaching Service in the Chapel.<br /> +12.30 to 2 <span class="smcap">P. M.</span> DINNER.<br /> +3.30 <span class="smcap">P. M.</span> Missionary talk.<br /> +5.30 to 6 <span class="smcap">P. M.</span> Cashier's office open.<br /> +6 to 6.45 <span class="smcap">P. M.</span> SUPPER.<br /> +6.45 <span class="smcap">P. M.</span> March for guests and patients only.<br /> +8 <span class="smcap">P. M.</span> In the Gymnasium. Basket Ball Game. Admission<br /> +25 cents.<br /> +<br /> +No food to be taken from the Dining Room.<br /> +</p> + +<p>The last injunction was not disobeyed by us. We +ate enough to satisfy our curiosity, and what we did not +eat we left.</p> + +<p>The menu at the Sanitarium is a curious thing. +After each item are figures showing the proportion of +proteins, fats, and carbohydrates contained in that article +of food. Everything is weighed out exactly. +There was no meat on the bill of fare, but substitutes +were provided in the list of entrees: "Protose with +Mayonnaise Dressing," "Nuttolene with Cranberry +Sauce," and "Walnut Roast."</p> + +<p>Suppose you had to decide between those three which +would you take?</p> + +<p>My companion took "Protose," while I elected for +some reason to dally with the "Nuttolene." Then, +neither of us liking what we got, we both tried "Wal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[ 116]</a></span>nut Roast." +Even then we would not give up. I ordered +a little "Malt Honey," while my companion called +for a baked potato, saying: "I know what a <i>potato</i> is, +anyhow!"</p> + +<p>After that we had a little "Toasted Granose" and +"Good Health Biscuit," washed down in my case by a +gulp or two of "Kaffir Tea," and in his by "Hot Malted +Nuts." I tried to get him to take "Kaffir Tea" with +me, but, being to leeward of my cup, he declined. As +nearly as we could figure it out afterward, he was far +ahead of me in proteins and fats, but I was infinitely +richer in carbohydrates. In our indigestions we stood +absolutely even.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There are some very striking things about the Sanitarium. +It is a great headquarters for Health Congresses, +Race Betterment Congresses, etc., and at these +congresses strange theories are frequently put forth. +At one of them, recently held, Dr. J. H. Kellogg, head +of the Sanitarium, read a paper in which, according to +newspaper reports, he advocated "human stock shows," +with blue ribbons for the most perfectly developed men +and women. At the same meeting a Mrs. Holcome +charged that: "Cigarette-smoking heroes in the modern +magazine are, I believe, inserted into the stories by +the editors of publications controlled by the big interests."</p> + +<p>To this Mr. S. S. McClure, the publisher, replied: +"I have never inserted cigarettes in heroes' mouths. I +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus166.png" width="450" height="371" alt=""Can that stuff," admonished Miss Buck in her easy, offhand manner" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Can that stuff," admonished Miss Buck in her easy, offhand manner</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[ 117]</a></span> +have taken them out lots of times. But generally the +authors use a pipe for their heroes."</p> + +<p>There was talk, too, about "eugenic weddings." +And a sensation was caused when a Southern college +professor made a charge that graduates of modern +women's colleges are unfitted for motherhood. The +statement, it may be added, was vigorously denied by +the heads of several leading women's colleges.</p> + +<p>Rather wild, some of this, it seems to me. But when +people gather together in one place, intent on some one +subject, wildness is almost certain to develop. One +feels, in visiting the Sanitarium, that, though many people +may be restored to health there, there is yet an air of +mild fanaticism over all. Health fanaticism. The +passionate light of the health hunt flashes in the +stranger's eye as he looks at you and wonders what is +wrong with you. And whatever may be wrong with +you, or with him, you are both there to shake it off. +That is your sole business in life. You are going to +get over it, even if you have to live for weeks on "Nuttolene" +or other products of the diet kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Nuttolene!"</p> + +<p>It is always an experience for the sophisticated palate +to meet a brand-new taste. In "Nuttolene" my palate +encountered one, and before dinner was over it met several +more.</p> + +<p>"Nuttolene" is served in a slab, resembling, as nearly +as anything I can think of, a good-sized piece of shoemaker's +wax. In flavor it is confusing. Some faint<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[ 118]</a></span> +taste about it hinted that it was intended to resemble +turkey; an impression furthered by the fact that cranberry +sauce was served on the same plate. But what it +was made of I could not detect. It was not unpleasant +to taste, nor yet did I find it appetizing. Rather, I +should classify it in the broad category of uninteresting +food. However, after such a statement, it is but fair to +add that the food I find most interesting is almost always +rich and indigestible. Perhaps, therefore, I shall +be obliged to go to Battle Creek some day, to subsist on +"Nuttolene" and kindred substances as penance for my +gastronomic indiscretions. Better men than I have +done that thing—men and women from all over the +globe. And Battle Creek has benefited them. Nevertheless, +I hope that I shall never have to go there. My +feeling about the place, quite without regard to the cures +which it effects, is much like that of my companion:</p> + +<p>At luncheon I asked him to save his menu for me, +so that I might have the data for this article. He put +it in his pocket. But he kept pulling it out again, every +little while, throughout the afternoon, and suggesting +that I copy it all off into my notebook.</p> + +<p>Finally I said to him:</p> + +<p>"What is the use in my copying all that stuff when +you have it right there in print? Just keep it for me. +Then, when I get to writing, I will take it and use what +I want."</p> + +<p>"But I'd rather not keep it," he insisted.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[ 119]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, there might be a railroad wreck. If I'm killed +I don't want this thing to be found on me. When they +went through my clothes and ran across this they'd say: +'Oh, this doesn't matter. It's all right. He's just +some poor boob that's been to Battle Creek.'"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When we got out of the hack at the station before +leaving Battle Creek, I asked the hackman how the town +got its name. He didn't know. So, after buying the +tickets, I went and asked Miss Daisy Buck.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," I said, "there was some battle here, beside +some creek, wasn't there?"</p> + +<p>But for once Miss Buck failed me.</p> + +<p>"You can search <i>me</i>," she replied. Then: "Did +you lunch at the 'San'?"</p> + +<p>We admitted it.</p> + +<p>"How did you like it?"</p> + +<p>We informed her.</p> + +<p>"What did you eat—Mercerized hay?"</p> + +<p>"No; mostly Nuttolene."</p> + +<p>She sighed. Then:</p> + +<p>"What town are you making next?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Kalamazoo," I said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Ka'zoo, eh? What line are you gen'l'men +travelling in?"</p> + +<p>"I'm a writer," I replied, "and my friend here is an +artist. We're going around the country gathering material +for a book."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[ 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>In answer to this statement, Miss Buck simply winked +one eye as one who would say: "You're some little liar, +ain't you?"</p> + +<p>"It's true," I said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure!" said Miss Buck, and let one eyelid fall +again.</p> + +<p>"When the book appears," I continued, "you will find +that it contains an interview with you."</p> + +<p>"Also a picture of you and the news stand," my companion +added.</p> + +<p>Then we heard the train.</p> + +<p>Taking up our suit cases, we thanked Miss Buck for +the assistance she had rendered us.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you're quite welcome," she replied. "I +meet all kinds here—including kidders."</p> + +<p>That was some months ago. No doubt Miss Buck +may have forgotten us by now. But when she sees +this—as, being a news-stand lady, I have reason to hope +she will—I trust she may remember, and admit that +truth has triumphed in the end.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[ 121]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>KALAMAZOO</h3> + + +<p>I had but one reason for visiting Kalamazoo: the +name has always fascinated me with its zoölogical +suggestion and even more with its rich, +rhythmic measure. Indian names containing "K's" are +almost always striking: Kenosha, Kewanee, Kokomo, +Keokuk, Kankakee. Of these, the last two, having +the most "K's" are most effective. Next comes +Kokomo with two "K's." But Kalamazoo, though it +has but one "K," seems to me to take first place among +them all, phonetically, because of the finely assorted +sound contained in its four syllables. There is a kick +in its "K," a ring in its "L," a buzz in its "Z," and a +glorious hoot in its two final "O's."</p> + +<p>I wish here to protest against the abbreviated title +frequently bestowed upon the town by newspapers in +Detroit and other neighboring cities. They call it +"Ka'zoo."</p> + +<p>Ka'zoo, indeed! For shame! How can men take so +fine a name and treat it lightly? True, it is a little long +for easy handling in a headline, but that does not justify +indignity. If headline writers cannot handle it conveniently +they should not change the name, but rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[ 122]</a></span> +change their type, or make-up. If I owned a newspaper, +and there arose a question of giving space to this +majestic name, I should cheerfully drop out a baseball +story, or the love letters in some divorce case, or even +an advertisement, in order to display it as it deserves to +be displayed.</p> + +<p>Kalamazoo (I love to write it out!) Kalamazoo, I +say, is also sometimes known familiarly as "Celery +Town"—the growing of this crisp and succulent vegetable +being a large local industry. Also, I was informed, +more paper is made there than in any other city +in the world. I do not know if that is true, I only +know that if there is not more <i>something</i> in Kalamazoo +than there is in any other city, the place is unique in my +experience.</p> + +<p>From my own observations, made during an evening +walk through the agreeable, tree-bordered streets of +Kalamazoo, I should have said that it led in quite a different +field. I have never been in any town where so +many people failed to draw their window shades, or +owned green reading lamps, or sat by those green-shaded +lamps and read. I looked into almost every +house I passed, and in all but two, I think, I saw the self-same +picture of calm, literary domesticity.</p> + +<p>One family, living in a large and rather new-looking +house on Main Street, did not seem to be at home. The +shades were up but no one was sitting by the lamp. +And, more, the lamp itself was different. Instead of a +plain green shade it had a shade with pictures in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[ 123]</a></span> +glass, and red bead fringe. Later I found out where +the people were. They were playing bridge across the +street. They must have been the people from that +house, because there were two in all the other houses, +whereas there were four in the house where bridge was +being played.</p> + +<p>I stood and watched them. The woman from across +the street—being the guest, she was in evening dress—was +dummy. She was sitting back stiffly, her mouth +pursed, her eyes staring at the cards her partner played. +And she was saying to herself (and, unconsciously, to +us, through the window): "If <i>I</i> had played that hand, +I never should have done it <i>that</i> way!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Kalamazoo has a Commercial Club. What place +hasn't? And the Commercial Club has issued a booklet. +What Commercial Club hasn't? This one bears +the somewhat fanciful title "The Lure of Kalamazoo."</p> + +<p>"The Lure of Kalamazoo" is written in that peculiarly +chaste style characteristic of Chamber of Commerce +"literature"—a style comparable only with that +of railway folders and summer hotel booklets. It +is the "Here-all-nature-seems-to-be-rejoicing" school. +Let me present an extract:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Kalamazoo is peculiarly a city of homes—homes varying in +cost from the modest cottage of the laborer to the palatial house +of the wealthy manufacturer.</p></blockquote> + +<p>The only place in which the man who wrote that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[ 124]</a></span> +slipped up, was in referring to the wealthy manufacturer's +"house." Obviously the word called for there +is "mansion." However, in justice to this man, and to +Kalamazoo, I ought to add that the town seemed to be +rather free from "mansions." That is one of the pleasantest +things about it. It is just a pretty, unpretentious +place. Perhaps he actually meant to say "house," but +I doubt it. I think he missed a trick. I think he failed +to get the right word, just as if he had been writing +about brooks, and had forgotten to say "purling."</p> + +<p>But if I saw no "mansions," I did see one building in +Kalamazoo the architecture of which was distinguished. +That was the building of the Western Michigan Normal +School—a long, low structure of classical design, +with three fine porticos.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Having a Commercial Club, Kalamazoo quite naturally +has a "slogan," too. (A "slogan," by the way, is +the war cry or gathering cry of a Highland clan—but +that makes no difference to a Commercial Club.) It +is: "In Kalamazoo We Do."</p> + +<p>This battle cry "did" very well up to less than a year +ago; then it suddenly began to languish. There was a +company in Kalamazoo called the Michigan Buggy +Company, and this company had a very sour failure +last year, their figures varying from fact to the extent +of about a million and a half dollars. Not satisfied +with dummy accounts and padded statements, they had, +also, what was called a "velvet pay roll." And, when <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[ 125]</a></span> +it all blew up, the whole of Michigan was shaken by the +shock. Since that time, I am informed, the "slogan" +"In Kalamazoo We Do" has not been in high favor.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 419px;"> +<img src="images/illus175.png" width="419" height="554" alt="She was saying to herself (and, unconsciously, to us, through the window): +"If I had played that hand, I never should have done it that way!"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">She was saying to herself (and, unconsciously, to us, through the window): +"If I had played that hand, I never should have done it that way!"</span> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Among the "lures" presented in the Commercial +Club's booklet are four hundred and fifty-six lakes +within a radius of fifty miles of the city. I didn't +count the lakes myself. I didn't count the people +either—not all of them.</p> + +<p>The "World Almanac" gives the population of the +place as just under forty thousand, but some one in +Kalamazoo—and I think he was a member of the Commercial +Club—told me that fifty thousand was the correct +figure.</p> + +<p>Now, I ask you, is it not reasonable to suppose that +the Commercial Club, being right <i>in</i> Kalamazoo, where +it can count the people every day, should be more accurate +in its figures than the Almanac, which is published +in far-away New York? Errors like this on the +part of the Almanac might be excused, once or twice, +on the ground of human fallibility or occasional misprint, +but when the Almanac keeps on cutting down the +figures given by the Commercial Clubs and Chambers +of Commerce of town after town, it begins to look like +wilful misrepresentation if not actual spitework.</p> + +<p>That, to tell the truth, was the reason I walked +around and looked in all the windows. I decided to +get at the bottom of this matter—to find out the cause<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[ 126]</a></span> +for these discrepancies, and if I caught the Almanac in +what appeared to be a deliberate lie, to expose it, here. +With this in view, I started to count the people myself. +Unfortunately, however, I did not start early enough +in the evening. When I had only a little more than +half of them counted, they began to put out their lights +and go upstairs to bed. And, oddly enough, though +they leave their parlor shades up, they have a way of +drawing those in their bedrooms. I was, therefore, +forced to stop counting.</p> + +<p>I do not attempt to explain this Kalamazoo custom +with regard to window shades. All I can say is that, +for whatever reason they follow it, their custom is not +metropolitan. New Yorkers do things just the other +way around. They pull down their parlor shades, but +leave their bedroom shades up. Any one who has lived +in a New York apartment house in summer can testify +to that. Probably it is all accounted for by the fact +that in a relatively small city, like Kalamazoo, the census +takers go around and count the people in the early +evening, whereas in New York it is necessary for those +who make the reckoning to work all night in order to—as +one might say—get all the figures.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[ 127]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>GRAND RAPIDS THE "ELECT"</h3> + + +<p>I know a man whose wife is famous for her cooking. +That is a strange thing for a prosperous +and charming woman to be famous for to-day, but +it is true. When they wish to give their friends an +especial treat, the wife prepares the dinner; and it <i>is</i> a +treat, from "pigs in blankets" to strawberry shortcake.</p> + +<p>The husband is proud of his wife's cooking, but I +have often noticed, and not without a mild amusement, +that when we praise it past a certain point he begins to +protest that there are lots of other things that she can +do. You might think then, if you did not understand +him, that he was belittling her talent as a cook.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," he says, in what he intends to be a casual +tone, "she can cook very well. But that's not all. +She's the best mother I ever saw—sees right into the +children, just as though she were one of them. She +makes most of their clothes, too. And in spite of all +that, she keeps up her playing—both piano and harp. +We'll get her to play the harp after dinner."</p> + +<p>People are like that about the cities that they live in. +They are like that in Detroit. They are afraid that in +considering the vastness of the automobile industry, +you'll overlook the fact that Detroit has a lot of other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[ 128]</a></span> +business. And in Grand Rapids they're the same; +only there, of course, it's furniture.</p> + +<p>"Yes," they say almost with reluctance, "we do make +a good deal of furniture, but we also have big printing +plants and plaster mills, and a large business in automobile +accessories, and the metal trades."</p> + +<p>They talked that way to me. But I kept right on +asking about furniture, just as, when the young husband +talks to me about his wife's harp playing, I keep right +on eating shortcake. That is no reflection on her music +(or her arms!); it is simply a tribute to her cooking.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Grand Rapids is one of those exceedingly agreeable, +homelike American cities, which has not yet grown to +the unwieldy size. It is the kind of city of which they +say: "Every one here knows every one else"—meaning, +of course, that members of the older and more +prosperous families enjoy all the advantages and disadvantages +of a considerable intimacy.</p> + +<p>To the visitor—especially the visitor from New +York, where a close friend may be bedridden a month +without one's knowing it—this sort of thing makes a +strong appeal at first. You feel that these people see +one another every day; that they know all about one +another, and like one another in spite of that. It is +nice to see them troop down to the station, fifteen +strong, to see somebody off, and it must be nice to be seen +off like that; it must make you feel sure that you have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[ 129]</a></span> +friends—a point upon which the New Yorker, in his +heart, has the gravest doubts.</p> + +<p>Consider, for example, my own case. In the course +of my residence in New York, I have lived in four different +apartment houses. In only two of these have I +had even the slightest acquaintance with any of the +other tenants. Once I called upon some disagreeable +people on the floor below who had complained about the +noise; once I had summoned a doctor who lived on the +ground floor. In the other two buildings I knew absolutely +no one. I used to see occasionally, in the elevator +of one building, a man with whom I was acquainted +years ago, but he had either forgotten me in the interim, +or he elected to do as I did; that is, to pretend he had +forgotten. I had nothing against him; he had nothing +against me. We were simply bored at the idea of talking +with each other because we had nothing in common.</p> + +<p>Any New Yorker who is honest will admit to you +that he has had that same experience. He passes people +on the street—and sometimes they are people he has +known quite well in times gone by—yet he refrains +from bowing to them, and they refrain from bowing to +him, by a sort of tacit understanding that bowing, even, +is a bore.</p> + +<p>That is a sad sort of situation. But sadder yet is +the fact that in New York we lose sight of so many people +whom we should like to see—friends of whom we +are genuinely fond, but whose evolutions in the whirlpool +of the city's life are such that we don't chance to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[ 130]</a></span> +come in contact with them. At first we try. We paddle +toward them now and then. But the very act of +paddling is fatiguing, so by and by we give it up, and +either never see them any more, or, running across +them, once in a year or two, on the street or in a shop, +lament at the broken intimacy, and make new resolves, +only to see them melt away again in the flux and flow +of New York life.</p> + +<p>I thought of all this at a Sunday evening supper party +in Grand Rapids—a neighborhood supper party at +which a dozen or more people of assorted ages sat +around a hospitable table, arguing, explaining, laughing, +and chaffing each other like members of one great +glorious family. It made me want to go and live there, +too. Then I began to wonder how long I'd really want +to live there. Would I always want to? Or would I +grow tired of that, just as I grow tired of the contrasting +coldness of New York? In short, I wondered to +myself which is the worst: to know your neighbors +with a wonderful, terrible, all-revealing intimacy, or—not +to know them at all. I have thought about it often, +and still I am not sure.</p> + +<p>The Grand Rapids "Press" fearing that I might fail to +notice certain underlying features of Grand Rapids life, +printed an editorial at the time of my visit, in which attention +was called to certain things. Said the "Press":</p> + +<blockquote><p>It isn't immediately revealed to the stranger that this is one +of the clearest-thinking communities in the country. The rec<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[ 131]</a></span>ords +of the public library show the local demand for books on +sociology, on political economy, on the relations of labor and capital, +on taxation, on art, on the literature that has some chance +of permanency. The topics discussed in the lecture halls, in the +social centers, and in the Sunday gatherings, which are so pronounced +a feature of church life here, add to the testimony. +Ida M. Tarbell noticed that on her first visit. Her impression +deepened on her second.... Without tossing any bouquets at +ourselves it can be said that we are thinking some thoughts +which only the elect in other cities dream of thinking.</p></blockquote> + +<p>I should like to make some intelligent comment on +this. I feel, indeed, that something very ponderous, +and solemn, and authoritative, and learned, and wise, +and owlish, and erudite, ought to be said.</p> + +<p>But the trouble is that I am utterly unqualified to +speak in that way. I am not one of the elect. If some +one called me that, I would knock him down if I could, +and kick him full of holes. That is because I think that +the elect almost invariably elect themselves. They are +intellectual Huertas, and as such I generally detest +them. I merely print the "Press's" statement because +I think it is interesting, sometimes, to see what a +city thinks about itself. For my own part, I should +think more of Grand Rapids if, instead of sitting tight +and thinking these extraordinary thoughts, it had done +more to carry out the plan it had for its own beautification.</p> + +<p>That is not to say that it is not a pretty city. It is. +But its beauty is of that unconscious kind which comes +from hills, and pleasant homes, and lawns, and trees.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[ 132]</a></span> +The kind of beauty that it lacks is conscious beauty, the +creation of which requires the expenditure of thought, +money, and effort. And if it does nothing else to indicate +its intellectual and esthetic soarings, I should say +that it might do well to discard the reading lamp in +favor of the crowbar, if only for long enough to take +the latter instrument, go down to the park, and see what +can be done about that chimney which rises so absurdly +there.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The lack of coherent municipal taste is all the more +a reproach to Grand Rapids for the reason that taste, +perhaps above all other qualities, is the essential characteristic +of the city's leading industry.</p> + +<p>I used to have an idea that "cheap" furniture came +from Grand Rapids. Perhaps it did. Perhaps it still +does. I do not know. But I do know that the tour I +made through the five acres, more or less, of rooms +which make up the show house of Berkey & Gay, afforded +me the best single bit of concrete proof I met, +in all my travels, of the positive growth of good taste +in this country.</p> + +<p>Just as the whole face of things has changed architecturally +in the last ten or fifteen years, furnishings +have also changed. The improved appreciation which +makes people build sightly homes makes them fill those +homes with furniture of respectable design. People +are beginning to know about the history of furniture, +to recognize the characteristics of the great English<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[ 133]</a></span> +furniture designers and to appreciate the beauty which +they handed down.</p> + +<p>We went through the warerooms with Mr. Gay, and +as I feasted my eyes upon piece after piece, set after +set, of Chippendale, Sheraton, Heppelwhite, and Adam, +I asked Mr. Gay about the renaissance which is upon +us. One thing I was particularly curious about: I +wanted to know whether the improvement in furniture +sprang from popular demand or whether it had been in +some measure forced upon the public by the manufacturers.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gay told me that the change was something +which originated with the people. "We have always +wanted to make beautiful furniture," he said, "and we +have helped all we could, but a manufacturer of furniture +cannot force either good taste or bad taste upon +those who buy. He has to offer them what they are +willing to take, for they will not buy anything else. I +know that, because sometimes we have tried to press +matters a little. Now and then we have indulged ourselves +to the extent of turning out some fine pieces, of +one design or another, a little in advance of public appreciation, +but there has never been any considerable +sale for such things." He indicated a fine Jacobean +library table of oak. "Take that piece for instance. +We made some furniture like that twenty or twenty-five +years ago, but could sell very little of it. People +weren't ready for it then. Or this Adam set—as recently +as five years ago we couldn't have hoped for any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[ 134]</a></span>thing +more than a few nibbles on that kind of thing, but +there's a big market for it now."</p> + +<p>I asked Mr. Gay if he had any theories as to +what had caused the development in popular appreciation.</p> + +<p>"It is a great big subject," he said. "I think the +magazines have done some of it. There have been +quantities of publications on house furnishing. And +the manufacturers' catalogues have helped, too. And +as wealth and leisure have increased, people have had +more time to give to the study of such things."</p> + +<p>On the train going to Chicago I fell into conversation +with a man whom I presently discerned to be a furniture +manufacturer. I don't know who he was but he +told me about the furniture exposition which is held in +Grand Rapids in January and July each year. There +are large buildings with many acres of floor space which +stand idle and empty all the year around, excepting at +the time of these great shows. Last year more than +two hundred and fifty separate manufacturers had exhibitions, +a large number of them being manufacturers +whose factories were not located in Grand Rapids, but +who nevertheless found it profitable to ship samples there +and rent space in the exhibition buildings in order to +place their wares before the buyers who gather there +from all over the country.</p> + +<p>Before we parted, this gentleman told me a story +which, though he said it was an old one, I had never +heard before.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[ 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>According to this story, there was, in Grand Rapids, +a very inquisitive furniture manufacturer, who was always +trying to find out about the business done by +other manufacturers. When he would meet them he +would question them in a way they found exceedingly +annoying.</p> + +<p>One day, encountering a rival manufacturer upon the +street, he stopped him and began the usual line of questions. +The other answered several, becoming more and +more irritated. But finally his inquisitor asked one too +many.</p> + +<p>"How many men are working in your factory now?" +he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Oh?" said the other, as he turned away, "about two-thirds +of them."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[ 136]</a></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[ 137]</a></span></p> + + + + +<p> +CHICAGO<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[ 138]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[ 139]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>A MIDDLE-WESTERN MIRACLE</h3> + + +<p>Imagine a young demigod, product of a union between +Rodin's "Thinker" and the Wingèd Victory +of Samothrace, and you will have my symbol of +Chicago.</p> + +<p>Chicago is stupefying. It knows no rules, and I +know none by which to judge it. It stands apart from +all the cities in the world, isolated by its own individuality, +an Olympian freak, a fable, an allegory, an incomprehensible +phenomenon, a prodigious paradox in +which youth and maturity, brute strength and soaring +spirit, are harmoniously confused.</p> + +<p>Call Chicago mighty, monstrous, multifarious, vital, +lusty, stupendous, indomitable, intense, unnatural, aspiring, +puissant, preposterous, transcendent—call it +what you like—throw the dictionary at it! It is all +that you can do, except to shoot it with statistics. And +even the statistics of Chicago are not deadly, as most +statistics are.</p> + +<p>First, you must realize that Chicago stands fourth +in population among the cities of the world, and second +among those of the Western Hemisphere. Next you +must realize that there are people still alive who were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[ 140]</a></span> +alive when Chicago did not exist, even as a fort in a +swamp at the mouth of the Chicago River—the river +from which, by the way, the city took its name, and +which in turn took its own name from an Indian word +meaning "skunk."</p> + +<p>I do not claim that there are many people still alive +who were alive when Chicago wasn't there at all, or +that such people are feeling very active, or that they remember +much about it, for in 102 years a man forgets +a lot of little things. Nevertheless, there <i>are</i> living +men older than Chicago.</p> + +<p>Just one hundred years ago Fort Dearborn, at the +mouth of the river, was being rebuilt, after a massacre +by the Indians. Eighty-five years ago Chicago was a +village of one hundred people. Sixty-five years ago +this village had grown into a city of approximately the +present size of Evanston—a suburb of Chicago, with +less than thirty thousand people. Fifty-five years ago +Chicago had something over one hundred thousand inhabitants. +Forty-five years ago, at the time of the +Chicago fire, the city was as large as Washington is +now—over three hundred thousand. In the ten years +which followed the disaster, Chicago was not only entirely +rebuilt, and very much improved, but also it increased +in population to half a million, or about the +size of Detroit. In the next decade it actually doubled +in size, so that, twenty-five years ago, it passed +the million mark. Soon after that it pushed Phila<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[ 141]</a></span>delphia +from second place among American cities. So +it has gone on, until to-day it has a population of two +million, plus a city of about the size of San Francisco +for full measure.</p> + +<p>There are the statistics in a capsule paragraph. I +hope you will feel better in the morning. And just to +take the taste away, here's another item which you +may like because of its curious flavor: Chicago has +more Poles than any other city except Warsaw.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>One knows in advance what a visitor from Europe +will say about New York, just as one knows what an +American humorist will say about Europe. But one +never knows what any visitor will say about Chicago. +I have heard people damn Chicago—"up hill and down" +I was about to say, but I withdraw that, for the highest +hill I remember in Chicago is that ungainly little bump, +on the lake front, which is surmounted by Saint +Gaudens' statue of General Logan.</p> + +<p>As I was saying, I have heard people rave against +Chicago and about it. Being itself a city of extremes, +it seems to draw extremes of feeling and expression +from outsiders. For instance, Canon Hannay, who +writes novels and plays under the name of George A. +Birmingham, was quoted, at the time of his recent visit +to this country, as saying: "In a little while Chicago +will be a world center of literature, music, and art.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[ 142]</a></span> +British writers will be more anxious for her verdict +than for that of London. The music of the future will +be hammered out on the shores of Lake Michigan. +The Paris Salon will be a second-rate affair."</p> + +<p>Remembering that the Canon is an Irishman and a +humorist—which is tautology—we may perhaps discount +his statement a little bit for blarney and a little +more for fun. His "prophecy" about the Salon seems +to stamp the interview with waggery, for certainly it +is not hard to prophesy what is already true—and, as +everybody ought to know by now, the Salon has for +years been second-rate.</p> + +<p>The Chicago Art Institute has by all odds the most +important art collection I visited upon my travels. +The pictures are varied and interesting, and American +painters are well represented. The presence in the institute +of a good deal of that rather "tight" and "sugary" +painting which came to Chicago at the time of the +World's Fair, is to be regretted—a fact which is, I have +no doubt, quite as well known to those in charge of the +museum as to anybody else. But as I remarked in a +previous chapter, most museums are hampered, in their +early days, by the gifts of their rich friends. It takes +a strong museum indeed to risk offending a rich man +by kicking out bad paintings which he offers. Even +the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York has not +always been so brave as to do that.</p> + +<p>"Who's Who" (which, by the way, is published in +Chicago) mentions perhaps a score of Chicago painters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[ 143]</a></span> +and sculptors, among the former Lawton S. Parker +and Oliver Dennett Grover, and among the latter +Lorado Taft.</p> + +<p>There are, however, many others, not in "Who's +Who," who attempt to paint—enough of them to give a +fairly large and very mediocre exhibition which I saw. +One thing is, however, certain: the Art Institute has +not the deserted look of most other art museums one +visits. It is used. This may be partly accounted for +by its admirable location at the center of the city—a +location more accessible than that of any other museum +I think of, in the country. But whatever the reason, +as you watch the crowds, you realize more than ever that +Chicago is alive to everything—even to art.</p> + +<p>Years ago Chicago was musical enough to support +the late Theodore Thomas and his orchestra—one of +the most distinguished organizations of the kind ever +assembled in this country. Thomas did great things for +Chicago, musically. He started her, and she has kept +on. Besides innumerable and varied concerts which +occur throughout the season, the city is one of four in +the country strong enough to support a first-rate grand +opera company of its own.</p> + +<p>About twenty-five musicians of one sort and another +are credited to Chicago by "Who's Who," the most distinguished +of them, perhaps, being Fannie Bloomfield +Zeisler, the concert pianist. But it is the writers +of Chicago who come out strongest in the fat red volume, +among followers of the arts. With sinking heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[ 144]</a></span> +I counted about seventy of these, and I may be merely +revealing my own ignorance when I add that the names +of a good two-thirds of them were new to me. But +this is dangerous ground. Without further comment +let me say that among the seventy I found such names +as Robert Herrick, Henry B. Fuller, Hamlin Garland, +Emerson Hough, Henry Kitchell Webster, Maud Radford +Warren, Opie Read, and Clara Louise Burnham—a +hatful of them which you may sort and classify according +to your taste.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Canon Hannay said he felt at home in Chicago. So +did Arnold Bennett. Canon Hannay said Chicago reminded +him of Belfast. Arnold Bennett said Chicago +reminded him of the "Five Towns," made famous in +his novels. Even Baedeker breaks away from his usual +nonpartizan attitude long enough to say with what, for +Baedeker, is nothing less than an outburst of passion: +"Great injustice is done to Chicago by those who represent +it as wholly given over to the worship of Mammon, +as it compares favorably with a great many American +cities in the efforts it has made to beautify itself by the +creation of parks and boulevards and in its encouragement +of education and the liberal arts."</p> + +<p>Baedeker is quite right about that. He might also +have added that the "Windy City" is not so windy as +New York, and that the old legend, now almost forgotten, +to the effect that Chicago girls have big feet is +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus198.png" width="450" height="664" alt="Rodin's "Thinker"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Rodin's "Thinker"</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[ 145]</a></span> +equally untrue. There is still some wind in Chicago; +thanks to it and to the present mode in dress, I was +able to assure myself quite definitely upon the size of +Chicago feet. I not only saw them upon the streets; I +saw them also at dances: twinkling, slippered feet as +small as any in the land; and, again owing to the present +mode, I saw not only pretty feet, but also—However, +I am digressing. That is enough about feet. I +fear I have already let them run away with me.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A friend of mine who visited Chicago for the first +time, a year ago, came back appreciative of her wonders, +but declaring her provincial.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say provincial?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Because you can't pick up a taxi in the street," he +said.</p> + +<p>And it is true. I was chagrined at his discovery—not +so much because of its truth, however, as because it +was the discovery of a New Yorker. I always defend +Chicago against New Yorkers, for I love the place, +partly for itself and partly because I was born and +spent my boyhood there.</p> + +<p>I know a great many other ex-Chicagoans who now live +in New York, as I do, and I have noticed with amusement +that the side we take depends upon the society in +which we are. If we are with Chicagoans, we defend +New York; if with New Yorkers, we defend Chicago. +We are like those people in the circus who stand upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[ 146]</a></span> +the backs of two horses at once. Only among ourselves +do we go in for candor.</p> + +<p>The other day I met a man and his wife, transplanted +Chicagoans, on the street in New York.</p> + +<p>"How long have you been here?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Three years," said the husband.</p> + +<p>"Why did you come?"</p> + +<p>"For business reasons."</p> + +<p>"How do you like the change?"</p> + +<p>The husband hesitated. "Well, I've done a great +deal better here than I ever did in Chicago," he said.</p> + +<p>"How do you like it?" I asked the wife.</p> + +<p>"New York gives us more advantages," she said, +"but I prefer Chicago people."</p> + +<p>"Would you like to go back?"</p> + +<p>The wife hesitated, but the husband shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, "there's something about New +York that gets into your blood. To go back to Chicago +would seem like retrograding."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Among my notes I find the record of a conversation +with a New York girl who married a Chicago man and +went out there to live.</p> + +<p>"I was very lonely at first," she said. "One day a +man came around selling pencils. I happened to see +him at the door. He said: 'I'm an actor, and I'm +trying to raise money to get back to New York.' As I +was feeling then I'd have given him anything in the +house just because that was where he wanted to go. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[ 147]</a></span> +gave him some money. 'Here,' I said, 'you take this +and go on back to New York.' 'Why,' he inquired, +'are you from New York, too?' I said I was. Then +he asked me: 'What are you doing away out here?' +'Oh,' I told him, 'this is my home now. I live here.' +He thanked me, and as he put the money in his pocket +he shook his head and said: 'Too bad! Too bad!'</p> + +<p>"That will show you how I felt at first. But when +I came to know Chicago people I liked them. And now +I wouldn't go back for anything."</p> + +<p>There is testimony from both sides.</p> + +<p>With the literary man the situation is, perhaps, a little +different. New York is practically his one big market +place. I was speaking about that the other day +with an author who used to live in Chicago.</p> + +<p>"The atmosphere out there is not nearly so stimulating +for a writer," he assured me. "Here, in New +York, even a pretty big writer is lost in the shuffle. +There, he is a shining mark. The Chicago writers +are likely to be a little bit self-conscious and naive. +They have their own local literary gods, and they're +rather inclined to sit around and talk solemnly about +'Art with a capital A.'"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Necessarily, when the adherents of two cities start +an argument, they are confined to concrete points. +They talk about opera and theaters and buildings and +hotels and stores, and seldom touch upon such subtle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[ 148]</a></span> +things as city spirit. For spirit is a hard thing to deal +with and a harder thing to prove. Yet "greatness +knows itself." Chicago unquestionably knows that it +is great, and that its greatness is of the spirit. But the +Chicagoan, debating in favor of his city, is unable to +"get that over," and is therefore obliged to fall back +upon two last, invariable defenses: the department store +of Marshall Field & Co. and the Blackstone Hotel.</p> + +<p>The Blackstone he will tell you, with an eye lit by +fanatical belief, is positively the finest hotel in the whole +United States. Mention the Ritz, the Plaza, the St. +Regis, the Biltmore, or any other hotel to him, and it +makes no difference; the Blackstone is the best. As to +Marshall Field's, he is no less positive: It is not merely +the largest but also the very finest store in the whole +world.</p> + +<p>I have never stopped at any of those hotels with +which the New Yorker would attempt to defeat the +Blackstone. But I have stopped at the Blackstone, and +it is undeniably a very good hotel. One of the most +agreeable things about it is the air of willing service +which one senses in its staff. It is an excellent manager +who can instil into his servants that spirit which +causes them to seem to be eternally on tiptoe—not for +a tip but for a chance to serve. Further, the Blackstone +occupies a position, with regard to the fashionable life +of Chicago, which is not paralleled by any single hotel +in New York. Socially it is preëminently the place.</p> + +<p>General dancing in such public restaurants as Rec<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[ 149]</a></span>tor's—the +original Rector's is in Chicago, you know—and +in the dining rooms of some hotels, was started in +Chicago, but was soon stopped by municipal regulation. +Since that time other schemes have been devised. +Dances are held regularly in the ballrooms of +most of the hotels, but are managed as clubs or semi-private +gatherings. This arrangement has its advantages. +It would have its advantages, indeed, if it did +nothing more than put the brakes on the dancing craze—as +any one can testify who has seen his friends offering +up their business and their brains as a sacrifice to +Terpsichore. But that is not what I started to say. +The advantage of the system which was in vogue at +the Blackstone, when I was there, is that, to get into +the ballroom people must be known; wherefore ladies +who still have doubts as to the propriety of dancing +in a public restaurant need not, and do not, hesitate to +go there and dance to their toes' content.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[ 150]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>FIELD'S AND THE "TRIBUNE"</h3> + + +<p>Of course we visited Marshall Field's.</p> + +<p>The very obliging gentleman who showed +us about the inconceivably enormous buildings, +rushing from floor to floor, poking in and out +through mysterious, baffling doors and passageways, +now in the public part of the store where goods are +sold, now behind the scenes where they are made—this +gentleman seemed to have the whole place in his +head—almost as great a feat as knowing the whole +world by heart.</p> + +<p>"How much time can you spare?" he asked as we +set out from the top floor, where he had shown us a +huge recreation room, gymnasium, and dining room, all +for the use of the employees.</p> + +<p>"How long should it take?"</p> + +<p>"It can be done in two hours," he said, "if we keep +moving all the time."</p> + +<p>"All right," I said—and we did keep moving. +Through great rooms full of trunks, of brass beds, +through vast galleries of furniture, through restaurants, +grilles, afternoon tea rooms, rooms full of curtains and +coverings and cushions and corsets and waists and hats<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[ 151]</a></span> +and carpets and rugs and linoleum and lamps and toys +and stationery and silver, and Heaven only knows what +else, over miles and miles of pleasant, soft, green carpet, +I trotted along beside the amazing man who not +only knew the way, but seemed even to know the clerks. +Part of the time I tried to look about me at the phantasmagoria +of things with which civilization has encumbered +the human race; part of the time I listened +to our cicerone; part of the time I walked blindly, +scribbling notes, while my companion guided my steps.</p> + +<p>Here are some of the notes:</p> + +<p>Ten thousand employees in retail store——Choral +society, two hundred members, made up of sales-people——Twelve +baseball teams in retail store; twelve +in wholesale; play during season, and, finally, for championship +cup, on "Marshall Field Day"——Lectures +on various topics, fabrics, etc., for employees, also for +outsiders: women's clubs, etc.——Employees' lunch: +soup, meat, vegetables, etc., sixteen cents——Largest +retail custom dressmaking business in the country——Largest +business in ready-made apparel——Largest +retail millinery business——Largest retail shoe business——Largest +branch of Chicago public library +(for employees)——Largest postal sub-station in +Chicago——Largest—largest—largest!</p> + +<p>Now and then when something interested me particularly +we would pause and catch our breath. Once +we stopped for two or three minutes in a fine school<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[ 152]</a></span>room, +where some stock-boys and stock-girls were having +a lesson in fractions—"to fit them for better positions." +Again we paused in a children's playroom, +where mothers left their youngsters while they went to +do their shopping, and where certain youngsters, thus +deposited, were having a gorgeous time, sliding down +things, and running around other things, and crawling +over and under still other things. Still again we +paused at the telephone switchboard—a switchboard +large enough to take care of the entire business of a +city of the size of Springfield, the capital of Illinois. +And still again we paused at the postal sub-station, where +fifty to sixty thousand dollars' worth of stamps are +sold in a year, and which does as great a postal business, +in the holiday season, as the whole city of Milwaukee +does at the same period.</p> + +<p>At one time we would be walking through a great +shirt factory, set off in one corner of that endless +building, all unknown to the shoppers who never get +behind the scenes; then we would pop out again into the +dressed-up part of the store, just as one goes from the +kitchen and the pantry of a house into the formality of +dining room and drawing room. And as we appeared +thus, and our guide was recognized as the assistant +manager of all that kingdom, with its population of ten +thousand, saleswomen would rise suddenly from seats, +little gossiping groups would disperse quickly, and floor +men, who had been talking with saleswomen, would +begin to occupy themselves with other matters. I re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[ 153]</a></span>member +coming upon a "silence room" for saleswomen—a +large, dark, quiet chamber, in which was an attendant; +also a saleswoman who was restlessly resting by +rocking herself in a chair. And as we moved through +the store we kept taking off our hats as we went behind +the scenes, and putting them on as we emerged into the +public parts. Never before had I realized how much +of a department store is a world unseen by shoppers. +At one point, in that hidden world, a vast number of +women were sewing upon dresses. I had hardly time +to look upon this picture when, rushing through a little +door, in pursuit of my active guide, I found myself in +a maze of glass, and long-piled carpets, and mahogany, +and electric light, and pretty frocks, disposed about on +forms. Also disposed about were many "perfect thirty-sixes," +with piles of taffy-colored hair, doing the "débutante +slouch" in their trim black costumes, so slinky and +alluring. Here I had a strong impulse to halt, to +pause and examine the carpets and woodwork, and +one thing and another. But no! Our guardian had +a professional pride in getting us through the store +within two hours, according to his promise. I would +gladly have allowed him an extra ten minutes if I could +have spent it in that place, but on we went—my companion +and I dragging behind a little and looking backward +at the Lorelei—I remember that, because I ran +into a man and knocked my hat off.</p> + +<p>At last we came to the information bureau, and as +there was a particularly attractive young person behind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[ 154]</a></span> +the desk, it occurred to me that this would be a fine +time to get a little information.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if I can stump that sinuous sibyl," I said.</p> + +<p>"Try it," said our conductor.</p> + +<p>So I went over to her and asked: "How large is this +store, please?"</p> + +<p>"You mean the building?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"There is fifty acres of floor space under this roof," +she said. "There are sixteen floors: thirteen stories +rising two hundred and fifty-eight feet above the street, +and three basements, extending forty-three and a half +feet below. The building takes up one entire block. +The new building devoted exclusively to men's goods is +just across Washington Street. That building is—"</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much," I said. "That's all I want +to know about that. Can you tell me the population of +Chicago?"</p> + +<p>"Two million three hundred and eighty-eight thousand +five hundred," she said glibly, showing me her +pretty teeth.</p> + +<p>Then I racked my brains for a difficult question.</p> + +<p>"Now," I said, "will you please tell me where Charles +Towne was born?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean Charles A. Towne, the lawyer; Charles +Wayland Towne, the author; or Charles Hanson +Towne, the poet?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>I managed to say that I meant the poet Towne.</p> + +<p>"He was born in Louisville, Kentucky," she informed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[ 155]</a></span> +me sweetly. She even gave me the date of his birth, too, +but as the poet is a friend of mine, I will suppress that.</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" she inquired presently, seeing that I +was merely gazing at her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you adorable creature." The first word of +that sentence is all that I really uttered. I only thought +the rest.</p> + +<p>"Very well," she replied, shutting the book in which +she had looked up the Townes.</p> + +<p>"Thanks very much," I said.</p> + +<p>"Don't mention it," said she—and went about her +business in a way that sent me about mine.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Aside from its vastness and the variety of its activities, +two things about Marshall Field's store interested +me particularly. One is the attitude maintained by the +company with regard to claims made in the advertising +of "sales." When there is a "sale" at Field's comparisons +of values are not made. It may be said that certain +articles are cheap at the price at which they are +being offered, but it is never put in the form: "Was +$5. Now $2.50." Field's does not believe in that.</p> + +<p>"We take the position," an official explained to me, +"that things are worth what they will bring. For instance, +if some manufacturer has made too many overcoats, +and we are able to get them at a bargain, or if +there is a mild winter and overcoats do not sell well, we +may place on sale a lot of coats which were meant to be +sold at $40, but which we are willing to sell at $22.50.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[ 156]</a></span> +In such a case we never advertise 'Worth $40.' We +just point out that these are exceptionally good coats +for the money. And, when we say that, it is invariably +true. This advertising is not so sensational as it could +be made, of course, but we think that in the long run it +teaches people to rely upon us."</p> + +<p>Another thing which interested me in Field's was the +appearance of the saleswomen. They do not look like +New York saleswomen. In the aggregate they look +happier, simpler, and more natural. I saw no women +behind the counters there who had the haughty, indifferent +bearing, the nose-in-the-air, to which the New +York shopper is accustomed. Among these women, no +less than among the rich, the Chicago spirit seemed to +show itself. It is everywhere, that spirit. I admit +that, perhaps, it does not go with omnipresent taxicabs. +I admit that there are more effete cities than Chicago. +The East is full of them. But that any city in the +country has more sterling simplicity, greater freedom +from sham and affectation among all classes, more +vigorous cultivation, or more well-bred wealth, I respectfully +beg to doubt.</p> + +<p>No, I have <i>not</i> forgotten Boston and Philadelphia.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>In an earlier chapter I told of a man I met upon a +train who, though he lived in Buffalo, had never +seen Niagara Falls. In Chicago it occurred to me that, +though I had worked on a newspaper, I had never stood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[ 157]</a></span> +as an observer and watched a newspaper "go through." +So, one Saturday night after sitting around the city +room of the Chicago "Tribune"—which is one of the +world's great newspapers—and talking with a group of +men as interesting as any men I ever found together, +I was placed in charge of James Durkin, the world's +most eminent office boy, who forthwith took me to the +nether regions of the "Tribune" Building.</p> + +<p>With its floor of big steel plates, its towering presses, +vast and incomprehensible, and its grimy men in overalls, +the pressroom struck me as resembling nothing so +much as the engine room of an ocean liner.</p> + +<p>The color presses were already roaring, shedding +streams of printed paper like swift waterfalls, down +which shot an endless chain of Mona Lisas—for the +Mona Lisa took the whole front page of the "Tribune" +colored supplement that week. At the bottom, where +the "folder" put the central creases in them, the paper +torrents narrowed to a disappearing point, giving the +illusion of a subterranean river, vanishing beneath the +floor. But the river didn't vanish. It was caught, and +measured, and folded, and cut, and counted by machinery, +as swift, as eye-defying, as a moving picture; +machinery which miraculously converted a cataract into +prim piles of Sunday newspapers, which were, in turn, +gathered up and rushed away to the mailing room—whither, +presently, we followed.</p> + +<p>In the mailing room I made the acquaintance of a +machine with which, if it had not been so busy, I should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[ 158]</a></span> +have liked to shake hands, and sit down somewhere for +a quiet chat. For it was a machine possessed of the +Chicago spirit: modest, businesslike, effective, and +highly intelligent. I did not interrupt it, but watched +it at its work. And this is what it did: It took Sunday +papers, one by one, from a great pile which was handed +to it every now and then, folded them neatly, wrapped +them in manila paper, sealed them up with mucilage, +squeezed them, so that the seal would hold, addressed +them to out-of-town subscribers and dropped them into +a mail sack. There was a man who hovered about, +acting as a sort of valet to this highly capable machine, +but all he had to do was to bring it more newspapers +from time to time, and to take away the mail bags when +they were full, or when the machine had finished with +all the subscribers in one town, and began on another. +Nor did it fail to serve notice of each such change. +Every time it started in on a new town it dipped its +thumb in some red ink, and made a dab on the wrapper +of the first paper, so that its valet—poor human thing—would +know enough to furnish a new mail bag. I noted +the name to which one red-dabbed paper was addressed: +<i>E. J. Henry, Bosco, Wis.</i>, and I wondered if Mr. Henry +had ever wondered what made that florid mark.</p> + +<p>It was near midnight then. All Bosco was asleep. +Was Mr. Henry dreaming? And however wonderful +his dream, could it surpass, in wonder, this gigantic +organization which, for a tiny sum, tells him, daily, +everything that happens everywhere?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[ 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>Think of the men and the machines that work for Mr. +E. J. Henry, resident of Bosco, in the Badger State! +Think of the lumbermen who cut the logs; of the Eastern +rivers down which those logs float; of the great +pulp mills which convert them into paper. Think of the +railroad trains which bring that paper to Chicago. +Think of the factories which build presses for the ultimate +defacement of that paper; and the other factories +which make the ink. Think of the reporters working +everywhere! Think of the men who laid the wires with +which the world is webbed, that news may fly; and the +men who sit at the ends of those wires, in all parts of the +globe, ticking out the story of the day to the "Tribune" +office in Chicago, where it is received by other men, who +give it to the editors, who prepare it for the linotypers, +who set it for the stereotypers, who make it into plates +for the presses, which print it upon the paper, which is +folded, addressed, and dropped into a mail bag, which +is rushed off in a motor through the midnight streets +and put aboard a train, which carries it to Bosco, where +it is taken by the postman and delivered at the residence +of Mr. E. J. Henry, who, after tearing the manila wrapper, +opening the paper, and glancing through it, remarks: +"Pshaw! There's no news to-day!" and, forthwith, +rising from the breakfast table, takes up an old +pair of shoes, wraps them in his copy of the Chicago +"Tribune," tucks them under his arm and takes them +down to the cobbler to be half-soled.</p> + +<p><i>Sic transit gloria!</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[ 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>Up-stairs, on the roof of the "Tribune" Building, in +a kind of deck-house, is a club, made up of members +of the staff, and here, through the courtesy of some of +the editors, my companion and I were invited to have +supper. When I had eaten my fill, I had a happy +thought. Here, at my mercy, were a lot of men who +were engaged in the business of sending out reporters +to molest the world for interviews. I decided to turn +the tables and, then and there, interview them—all of +them. And I did it. And they took it very well.</p> + +<p>I had heard that the "Column"—that sometimes, if +not always, humorous newspaper department, which +now abounds throughout the country, threatening to become +a pestilence—originated with the "Tribune." I +asked about that, and in return received, from several +sources, the history of "Columns," as recollected by +these men.</p> + +<p>Probably the first regular humorous column in the +country—certainly the first to attract any considerable +attention,—was conducted for the "Tribune" by Henry +Ten Eyck White, familiarly known as "Butch" White. +It started about 1885, under the heading, "Lakeside +Musings." After running this column for some five +years, White gave it up, and it was taken over, under +the same heading, by Eugene Field, who made it even +better known than it had been before.</p> + +<p>Field had started as a "columnist" on the Denver +"Tribune," where he had run his "Tribune Primer"; +later he had been brought to Chicago by Melville E.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus215.png" width="450" height="339" alt="Chicago's skyline from the docks.... A city which rebuilt itself after the fire; in the next +decade doubled its size; and now has a population of two million, plus a city of about the size +of San Francisco" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Chicago's skyline from the docks.... A city which rebuilt itself after the fire; in the next +decade doubled its size; and now has a population of two million, plus a city of about the size +of San Francisco</span> +</div><p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[ 161]</a></span> +Stone (now general manager of the Associated Press) +and Victor F. Lawson, who had together established +the Chicago "Daily News," of which Mr. Lawson is the +present editor and publisher. Field's column in the +"News" was known as "Sharps and Flats." In it appeared +his free translations of the Odes of Horace, and +much of his best known verse. Also he printed gossip +of the stage and of literary matters—the latter being +gathered by him at the meetings of a little club, "The +Bibliophiles," composed of prominent Chicagoans. +This club used to meet in the famous old McClurg bookstore.</p> + +<p>In 1890 George Ade came from Indiana, and after +having been a reporter on the Chicago "Record" for one +year, started his famous "Stories of the Street and +Town," under which heading much of his best early +work appeared. This department was illustrated by +John T. McCutcheon, another Indiana boy. At about +this time, Roswell Field, a brother of Eugene, was conducting +a column called "Lights and Shadows" in the +Chicago "Evening Post," in which paper Finley Peter +Dunne was also beginning his "Dooleys." Dunne was +born in Chicago and was a reporter on several Chicago +papers before he found his level. He got the idea for +"Dooley" from Jim McGarry, who had a saloon opposite +the "Tribune" building, and employed a bartender +named Casey, who was a foil for him. McGarry was +described to me by a "Tribune" man who knew him, +as "a crusty old cuss."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[ 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>After some years Dunne left the "Post" and became +editor of the Chicago "Journal," to which paper came +(from Vermont by way of Duluth) Bert Leston Taylor. +Taylor ran a department on the "Journal" which was +called "A Little About Everything," and one of his +"contribs" was a young insurance man, Franklin P. +Adams. Later, when Taylor left the "Journal" to take +a position on the "Tribune," Adams left the insurance +business and went at "columning" in earnest, replacing +Taylor on the "Journal." Some years since Adams +migrated to the metropolis, where he now conducts a +column called "The Conning Tower" in the New York +"Tribune."</p> + +<p>Taylor, in the meantime, had started his famous +column known as "A Line-o'-Type or Two." This he +ran for three years, after which he moved to New York +and became editor of "Puck." Before Taylor left the +"Tribune," Wilbur D. Nesbit, who had been running a +column which he signed "Josh Wink," in the Baltimore +"American," came to Chicago and started a column +called "The Top o' the Morning," which, for a time, alternated +with Taylor's "Line-o'-Type." Later Nesbit +moved over to the "Post," where he conducted a department +called "The Innocent Bystander," leaving the +"Tribune," for a time, without a "column."</p> + +<p>In the next few years two other "columns" started in +Chicago, "Alternating Currents," conducted by S. E. +Kiser, for the "Record-Herald," and "In the Wake of +the News," which was started in the "Tribune" by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[ 163]</a></span> +late "Hughey" Keough, who is still remembered as an +exceptionally gifted man. When Keough died, Hugh S. +Fullerton ran the column for a time, after which it was +taken up by R. W. Lardner, who, I believe, continues to +conduct it, although he has recently written baseball +stories which have been published in "The Saturday +Evening Post," and have attracted much attention. +Kiser also continues his column in the "Record-Herald." +Another column, which started a year or so ago is +"Breakfast Food" in the Chicago "Examiner," conducted +by George Phair, formerly of Milwaukee.</p> + +<p>The Chicago "Tribune" now has two "columns," for, +five years since, it recaptured Bert Leston Taylor, and +brought him back to revive his "Line-o'-Type." He has +been there ever since, and, so far as I know "columns," +his is the best in the United States. It has been widely +imitated, as has also been the work of the "Tribune's" +famous cartoonist, John T. McCutcheon. But something +that a "Tribune" man said to me of McCutcheon, +is no less true, I think, of Taylor: "They can imitate +his style, but they cannot imitate his mind."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[ 164]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE STOCKYARDS</h3> + + +<p>It is rather widely known, I think, that Chicago built +the first steel-frame skyscraper—the Tacoma Building—but +I do not believe that the world knows that +Kohlsaat's in Chicago was the first quick-lunch place of +its kind, or that the first "free lunch" in the country was +established, many years since, in the basement saloon +at the corner of State and Madison Streets. Considering +the skyscrapers and quick lunches and free lunches +that there are to-day, it is hard to realize that there ever +was a first one anywhere. But the origin of things +which have become national institutions, as these things +have, seems to me to be worth recording here. It may +be added that the loyal Chicagoan who told of these +things seemed to be prouder of the "free lunch" and the +quick lunch than of the skyscraper.</p> + +<p>Of two things I mentioned to him he was not proud at +all. One was the famous pair of First Ward aldermen +who have attained a national fame under their nick-names, +"Hinky Dink" and "Bathhouse John." The +other was the stockyards.</p> + +<p>"Why is it," he asked in a bored and irritated tone, +"that every one who comes out here has to go to the +stockyards?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[ 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Are you aware," I returned, "that half the bank +clearings of Chicago are traceable to the stockyards?"</p> + +<p>He answered with a noncommittal grunt.</p> + +<p>His was not the attitude of the Detroit man who +wants you to know that Detroit does something more +than make automobiles, or of the Grand Rapids man +who says: "We make lots of things here besides furniture." +He was really ashamed of the stockyards, as +a man may, perhaps, be ashamed of the fact that his +father made his money in some business with a smell +to it. And because he felt so deeply on the subject, +I had the half idea of not touching on the stockyards +in this chapter.</p> + +<p>However the news that my companion and myself +were there to "do" Chicago was printed in the papers, +and presently the stockyards began to call us up. It +didn't even ask if we were coming. It just asked <i>when</i>. +And as I hesitated, it settled the whole matter then and +there by saying it would call for us in its motor car, at +once.</p> + +<p>I may say at the outset that, to quote the phrase of +Mr. Freer of Detroit, the stockyards "has no esthetic +value." It is a place of mud, and railroad tracks, and +cattle cars, and cattle pens, and overhead runways, and +great ugly brick buildings, and men on ponies, and +raucous grunts, and squeals, and smells—a place which +causes the heart to sink with a sickening heaviness.</p> + +<p>Our first call was at the Welfare Building, where we +were shown some of the things which are being done to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[ 166]</a></span> +benefit employees of the packing houses. It was noon-time. +The enormous lunch room was well occupied. +A girl was playing ragtime at a piano on a platform. +The room was clean and airy. The women wore aprons +and white caps. A good lunch cost six cents. There +were iron lockers in the locker room—lockers such as +one sees in an athletic club. There were marble shower +baths for the men and for the women. There were two +manicures who did nothing but see to the hands of the +women working in the plant. There were notices of +classes in housekeeping, cooking, washing, house furnishing, +the preparation of food for the sick—signs +printed in English, Russian, Slovak, Polish, Bohemian, +Hungarian, Lithuanian, German, Norwegian, Swedish, +Croatian, Italian, and Greek. Obviously, the company +was doing things to help these people. Obviously it was +proud of what it was doing. Obviously I should have +rejoiced, saying to myself: "See how these poor, ignorant +foreigners who come over here to our beautiful and +somewhat free country are being elevated!" But all +I could think of was: "What a horrible place the stockyards +is! How I loathe it here!"</p> + +<p>On the North Side of Chicago there is an old and +exclusive club, dating from before the days of motor +cars, which is known as the Saddle and Cycle Club. +The lunch club for the various packing-house officials, +at the stockyards, has a name bearing perhaps some +satirical relation to that of the other club. It is called +the Saddle and Sirloin Club, and in that club I ate a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[ 167]</a></span> +piece of sirloin the memory of which will always remain +with me as something sacred.</p> + +<p>After lunching and visiting the offices of a packing +company where, we were told, an average daily business +of $1,300,000 is done—and the place looks it—we visited +the Stockyards Inn, which is really an astonishing +establishment. The astonishing quality about it is that +it is a thing of beauty which has grown up in a place as +far removed from beauty as any that I ever looked +upon outside a mining camp. A charming, low, half-timbered +building, the Inn is like something at Stratford-on-Avon; +and by some strange freak of chance the man +who runs it has a taste for the antique in furniture and +chinaware. Inside it is almost like a fine old country +house—pleasant cretonnes, grate fires, old Chippendale +chairs, mahogany tables, grandfather's clocks, pewter, +and luster ware. All this for cattlemen who bring their +flocks and herds into the yards! The only thing to +spoil it is the all-pervasive smell of animals.</p> + +<p>From there we went to the place of death.</p> + +<p>Through a small door the fated pigs enter the final +pen fifteen or twenty at a time. They are nervous, +perhaps because of the smell coming from within, perhaps +because of the sounds. A man in the pen loops +a chain around the hind foot of each successive pig, +and then slips the iron ring at the other end of the +chain over a hook at the outer margin of a revolving +drum, perhaps ten feet in diameter. As the drum revolves +the hook rises, slowly, drawing the pig backward<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[ 168]</a></span> +by the leg, and finally lifting it bodily, head downward. +When the hook reaches the top of its orbit it transfers +the animal to a trolley, upon which it slides in due +course to the waiting butcher, who dispatches it with a +knife thrust in the neck, and turns to receive the next +pig.</p> + +<p>The manners of the pigs on their way to execution +held me with a horrid fascination. Pigs look so +much alike that we assume them to be minus individuality. +That is not so. The French Revolution—of +which the stockyards reminded Dr. George Brandes, +the literary critic, who recently visited this country—scarcely +could have brought out in its victims a wider +range of characteristics than these pigs show. I have +often noticed, of course, that some people are like pigs, +but I had never before suspected that all pigs are so very +much like people. Some of them come in yelling with +fright. Others are silent. They shift about nervously, +and sniff, as though scenting death. "It's the steam +they smell," said a man in overalls beside me. Well, +perhaps it is. But I could smell death there, and I still +think the pigs can smell it, too. Some of the pigs lean +against each other for companionship in their distress. +Others merely wait with bowed heads, giving a curious +effect of porcine resignation. When they feel the tug +of the chain, and are dragged backward, some of them +set up a new and frightful squealing; others go in silence, +and with a sort of dignity, like martyrs dying for +a cause.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[ 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>As I stood there, studying the temperament of pigs, +I saw the butcher looking up at me as he wiped his long, +thin blade. He was a rawboned Slav with a pale face, +high cheek bones, and large brown eyes, holding within +their somber depths an expression of thoughtful, +dreamy abstraction. I have never seen such eyes. +Without prejudice or pity they seemed to look alike on +man and pig. Being upon the platform above him, +right side up, and free to go when I should please, I felt +safe for the moment. But suppose I were not so—suppose +I were to come along to him, hanging by one +leg from the trolley—what would he do then? Would +he stop to ask why they had sent another sort of animal, +I wondered? Or would he do his work impartially?</p> + +<p>I should not wish to take the chance.</p> + +<p>The progress of the pig is swift—if the transition +from pig to pork may be termed "progress." The carcass +travels presently through boiling water, and +emerges pink and clean. And as it goes along upon its +trolley, it passes one man after another, each with an +active knife, until, thirty minutes later, when it has undergone +the government inspection, it is headless and +in halves—mere meat, which looks as though it never +could have been alive.</p> + +<p>From the slaughter-house we passed through the +smoke-house, where ham and bacon were smoking over +hardwood fires in rows of ovens big as blocks of houses. +Then through the pickling room with its enormous hogs-heads, +giving the appearance of a monkish wine cellar.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[ 170]</a></span> +Then through the curing room with its countless piles +of dry salt pork, neatly arranged like giant bricks.</p> + +<p>The enthusiastic gentleman who escorted us kept +pointing out the beauties of the way this work was +done: the cleanliness, the system by which the rooms +are washed with steam, the gigantic scale of all the +operations. I heard, I noticed, I agreed. But all the +time my mind was full of thoughts of dying pigs. Indeed, +I had forgotten for the moment that other animals +are also killed to feed carnivorous man. However, I +was reminded of that, presently, when we came upon +another building, consecrated to the conversion of life +into veal and beef.</p> + +<p>The steers meet death in little pens. It descends +upon them unexpectedly from above, dealt out by a man +with a sledge, who cracks them between the horns with +a sound like that of a woodman's ax upon a tree. The +creatures quiver and quickly crumple.</p> + +<p>It is swift. In half a minute the false bottom of the +pen turns up and rolls them out upon the floor, inert as +bags of meal. Only after death do these cattle find +their way to an elevated trolley line, like that used for +the pigs. And, as with the pigs, they move along +speedily; shortly they are to be seen in the beef cooler, +where they hang in tremendous rows, forming strange +vistas—a forest of dead meat.</p> + +<p>The scene where calves were being killed according to +the Jewish law, for kosher meat, presented the most +sanguinary spectacle with which my eyes have ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[ 171]</a></span> +burned. Two rabbis, old bearded men, performed the +rites with long, slim, shiny blades. Literally they +waded in a lake of gore. Even the walls were covered +with it. Looking down upon them from above, we saw +them silhouetted on a sheet of pigment utterly beyond +comparison—for, without exaggeration, fire would look +pale and cold beside the shrieking crimson of that blood—glistening, +wet, and warm in the electric light.</p> + +<p>I shall not attempt to conceal the fact that I was glad +to leave the stockyards.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When, a short time later, the motor car was bearing +us smoothly down the sunlit boulevard, the Advertising +Gentleman who had conducted us through all the carnage +put an abrupt question to me.</p> + +<p>"Do you want to be original?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"I suppose all writers hope to be," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Well," he replied, tapping me emphatically upon the +knee, "I'll tell you how to do it. When you write about +the Yards, don't mention the killing. Everybody's done +that. There's nothing more to say. What you want +to do is to dwell on the other side. That's the way to +be original."</p> + +<p>"The other side?" I murmured feebly.</p> + +<p>"Sure!" he cried. "Look at this." As he spoke, he +produced from a pocket some proofs of pen-and-ink +drawings—pictures of sweet-faced girls, encased in +spotless aprons, wearing upon their heads alluring caps, +and upon their lips the smiles of angels, while, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[ 172]</a></span> +their dainty rose-tipped fingers, they packed the luscious +by-products of cattle-killing into tins—tins which +shone as only the pen of the "commercial artist" can +make tins shine.</p> + +<p>"There's your story!" he exclaimed. "The poetic +side of packing! Don't write about the slaughter-houses. +Dwell on daintiness—pretty girls in white +caps—everything shining and clean! Don't you see +that's the way to make your story original?"</p> + +<p>Of course I saw it at once. Original? Why, +original is no name for it! I could never have conceived +such originality! It isn't in me! I should no +more have thought of writing only of pretty girls and +pretty cans, after witnessing those bloody scenes, than +of describing the battle at Liège in terms of polish used +on soldiers' buttons.</p> + +<p>But original as the idea is, you perceive I have not +used it. I could not bear to. He thought of it first. +It belonged to him. If I used it, the originality would +not be mine, but his. So I have deliberately written +the story in my own hackneyed way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[ 173]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>THE HONORABLE HINKY DINK</h3> + + +<p>Has it ever struck you that our mental attitude +toward famous men varies in this respect: that +while we think of some of them as human beings +with whom we might conceivably shake hands and +have a chat, we think of others as legendary creatures, +strange and remote—beings hardly to be looked upon +by human eyes?</p> + +<p>Some years since, in the courtyard of a hotel in +Paris, I met a friend of mine. He was hurrying in the +direction of the bar.</p> + +<p>"Come on," he beckoned. "There are some people +here you'll want to meet."</p> + +<p>I followed him in and to a table at which two men +were seated. One proved to be Alfred Sutro; the other +Maurice Maeterlinck.</p> + +<p>To meet Mr. Sutro was delightful, but it was conceivable. +Not so Maeterlinck. To shake hands with him, +to sit at the same table, to see that he wore a black coat, a +stiff collar (it was too large for him), a black string tie, +a square-crowned derby hat; to see him seated in a bar +sipping beer like any man—that was not conceivable.</p> + +<p>I sat there speechless, trying to convince myself of +what I saw.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[ 174]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That man over there is actually Maeterlinck!" I kept +assuring myself. "I am looking at Maeterlinck! Now +he nods the head in which 'The Bluebird' was conceived. +Now he lifts his beer glass in the hand which indited +'Monna Vanna!'"</p> + +<p>Nor was my amazement due entirely to the surprise +of meeting a much-admired man. It was due, most of +all, to a feeling which I must have had—although I was +never before conscious of it—a feeling that no such +man as Maeterlinck existed in reality; that he was +a purely legendary being; a figure in white robes +and sandals, harping and singing in some Elysian +temple.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I experienced a somewhat similar emotion in Chicago +on being introduced to Hinky Dink. In saying that, I +do not mean to be irreverent. I only mean that I had +always thought of Hinky Dink as a fictitious personage. +He and his colleague, Bathhouse John, have figured in +my mind as a pair of absurd, imaginary figures, such as +might have been invented by some whimsical son of a +comic supplement like Winsor McCay.</p> + +<p>Now, as I soon discovered, the Hinky Dink of the +newspapers is, as a matter of fact, to a large extent fictitious. +He is a legend, built up out of countless comic +stories and newspaper cartoons. The real Hinky Dink—otherwise +Alderman Michael Kenna—is a very different +person, for whatever may be said against him—and +much is—he is a very real human being.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[ 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>I clip this brief summary of his life from the Chicago +"Record-Herald."</p> + +<blockquote><p>Born on the West Side, August 18, 1858.<br /> +Started life as a newsboy.<br /> +"Crowned" as Alderman of the First Ward in 1897.<br /> +Reëlected biennially ever since.<br /> +Owner in fief of various privileges in the First Ward.<br /> +Lord of the Workingmen's Exchange.<br /> +Overlord of floaters, voters, and other liege subjects.<br /></p></blockquote> + +<p>The Workingmen's Exchange, referred to above, is +one of two saloons operated by the Alderman, on South +Clark Street, and it is a show place for those who wish +to look upon the darker side of things. It is a very +large saloon, having one of the longest bars I ever saw; +also one of the busiest. Hardly anything but beer is +served there; beer in schooners little smaller than a +man's head. These are known locally as "babies," and, +by a curious custom, the man who removes his fingers +from his glass forfeits it to any one who takes it up. +Nor are takers lacking.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you a funny thing about this place," said my +friend the veteran police reporter, who was somewhat +apologetically doing the honors. (Police reporters are +always apologetic when they show you over a town that +has been "cleaned up.")</p> + +<p>"What?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No one has ever been killed in here," he said.</p> + +<p>I had to admit that it was a funny thing. After +looking at the faces lined up at the bar I should not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[ 176]</a></span> +have imagined it possible. Presently we crossed the +street to the Alderman's other saloon; a very different +sort of place, shining with mirrors, mahogany, and +brass, and frequented by a better class of men. Here +we met Hinky Dink.</p> + +<p>He is a slight man, so short of stature that when he +leans a little, resting his elbow on the bar, his arm runs +out horizontally from the shoulder. He wore an extremely +neat brown suit (there was even a white collarette +inside the vest!) a round black felt hat, and a +heavy watch chain, from which hung a large circular +charm with a star and crescent set in diamonds. +Though it was late at night, he looked as if he had just +been washed and brushed.</p> + +<p>His face is exceedingly interesting. His lips are +thin; his nose is sharp, coming to a rather pronounced +point, and his eyes are remarkable for what they see +and what they do not tell. They are poker eyes—gray-blue, +cold, penetrating, unrevealing. My companion +and I felt that while we were "getting" Hinky Dink, he +was not failing to "get" us.</p> + +<p>Far from being tough or vicious in his manner or conversation, +the little Alderman is very quiet. There is, +indeed, a kind of gentleness about him. His English +is, I should say, quite as good as that of the average +man, while his thinking is much above the average as +to quickness and clearness. As between himself and +Bathhouse John, the other First Ward fixture on the +Board of Aldermen, it is generally conceded that Hinky +Dink is the more able and intelligent. On this point, +however, I was unable to draw my own conclusions. +The Bathhouse was ill when I was in Chicago.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus234.png" width="450" height="699" alt="Two rabbis, old bearded men, performed the rites with long, +slim, shiny blades" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Two rabbis, old bearded men, performed the rites with long, +slim, shiny blades</span> +</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[ 177]</a></span> + +<p>In the ordinary conversation of the Honorable Hinky +Dink there is no trace of brogue, but a faint touch of +brogue manifests itself when he speaks with unwonted +vehemence—as, for example, when he told us about +the injustices which he alleged were perpetrated upon +the poor voters who live in lodging houses in his +ward.</p> + +<p>The little Alderman is famous for his reticence.</p> + +<p>"Small wonder!" said my friend the police reporter. +"Look at what the papers have handed him! I'll tell +you what happens: some city editor sends a kid reporter +to get a story about Hinky Dink. The kid comes +and sees Kenna, and doesn't get anything out of him +but monosyllables. He goes back to the office without +any story, but that doesn't make any difference. Hinky +Dink is fair game. The kid sits down to his typewriter +and fakes a story, making out that the Alderman didn't +only talk, but that he talked a kind of tough-guy dialect—'deze-here +tings'—'doze dere tings'—all that kind of +stuff. Can you blame the little fellow for not talking?"</p> + +<p>I could not.</p> + +<p>But he talked to us, and freely. The police reporter +told him we were "right." That was enough.</p> + +<p>As the "red-light district" of Chicago used to be +largely in the First Ward before it was broken up, I +asked the Alderman for his views on the segregation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[ 178]</a></span> +vice versus the other thing, whatever it may be. (Is +it dissemination?)</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what I think about it," he replied, "but +you can't print it."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" I asked, disappointed.</p> + +<p>"Well," he returned, "I believe in a segregated district, +but if I'm quoted as saying so, why the woman reformers +and everybody on the other side will take it up +and say I'm for it just because I want vice back in the +First Ward again. I don't. It doesn't make any difference +to me where you have it. Put it out by the +Drainage Canal or anywheres you like. But I believe +you can't stamp vice out; not the way people are made to-day. +They never have been able to stamp it out in all +these thousands of years. And, as long as they can't, it +looks to me like it was better to get it together all in one +bunch than to scatter it all over town.</p> + +<p>"Now I know there's a whole lot of good people that +think segregation is a bad thing. Well, it <i>is</i> a bad +thing. <i>Vice</i> is a bad thing. But there it is, all the +same. A lot of these good people don't understand +conditions. They don't understand what lots of other +men and women are really like. You got to take people +as they are and do what you can.</p> + +<p>"One thing that shocks a lot of these high-minded +folks that live in comfortable homes and never have +any trouble except when they have to get a new cook, +is the idea of commercialized vice that goes with segregation. +Of course it shocks them. But show me some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[ 179]</a></span> +way to stop it. Napoleon believed in segregation and +regulation, and a lot of other wise people have, too.</p> + +<p>"Here's the way I think they ought to handle it: +they ought to have a district regulated by the Police +Department and the Health Department. Then there +ought to be restrictions. No bright lights for one +thing. No music. No booze. Cut out those things +and you kill the place for sightseers. Then there ought +to be a law that no woman can be an inmate without +going and registering with the police, having her record +looked up, and saying she wants to enter the house. +That would prevent any possibility of white slavery. +Personally, I think there's a lot of bunk about this white-slave +talk. But this plan would fix it so a girl couldn't +be kept in a house against her will. Any keeper of a +house who let in a girl that wasn't registered would be +put out of business for good and all. Men ought not to +be allowed to have any interest, directly or indirectly, +in the management of these places.</p> + +<p>"Now, of course, there's objections to any way at all +of handling this question. The minute you say 'cut out +the booze' that opens a way to police graft. But is that +any worse than the chance for graft when the women +are just chased around from place to place by the police? +Segregation gives them some rights, anyhow.</p> + +<p>"Some people say 'segregation doesn't segregate,' +Well, that's true, too. But segregation keeps the +worst of it from being scattered all over town, doesn't +it? When you scatter these women you have them liv<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[ 180]</a></span>ing +in buildings alongside of respectable families, or, +worse yet, you run them onto the streets. That's +persecution, and they're bad enough off without +that.</p> + +<p>"Say, do you think Chicago is really any more moral +this minute because the old red-light district is shut +down? A few of the resort keepers left town, and +maybe a hundred inmates, but most of them stuck. +They're around in the residence districts now, running +what they call 'buffet flats.'"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Listening to the little Alderman I was convinced of +two things. First, I felt sure that, without thought of +self-interest, he was telling me what he really believed. +Second, as he is undeniably a man of broad experience +among unfortunates of various kinds, his views are interesting.</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd let me print what you have said," I +urged as we were leaving his saloon.</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what I'll do," I persisted. "I'll write +it out. Perhaps I can put it in such a way that people +will see that you were playing square. Then I'll send +it to you, and, if it doesn't misrepresent you, perhaps +you'll let me print it after all."</p> + +<p>"All right," he agreed as we shook hands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[ 181]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>AN OLYMPIAN PLAN</h3> + + +<p>In city planning, as in other things, Chicago has +thought and plotted on an Olympian scale, and it is +characteristic of Chicago that her plan for her own +beautification should be so much greater than the plan +of any other city in the country, as to make comparisons +unkind. For that reason I have eliminated Chicago +from consideration, when discussing the various group +plans, park and boulevard systems, and "civic centers," +upon which other American cities are at work.</p> + +<p>The Chicago plan is, indeed, too immense a thing to be +properly dealt with here. It is comparable with nothing +less than the Haussman plan for Paris, and it is +being carried forward, through the years, with the same +foresight, the same patience and the same indomitable +aspiration. Indeed, I think greater patience has been +required in Chicago, for the French people were in sympathy +with beauty at a time when the broad meaning of +the word was actually not understood in this country. +Here it has been necessary to educate the masses, to +cultivate their city pride, and to direct that pride into +creative channels. It is hardly too much to say that the +minds of American city-dwellers (and half our race in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[ 182]</a></span>habits +cities) have had to be remade, in order to +prepare them to receive such plans as the Chicago +plan.</p> + +<p>The World's Columbian Exposition, at Chicago, exerted +a greater influence upon the United States than +any other fair has ever exerted upon a country. It came +at a critical moment in our esthetic history—a moment +when the sense of beauty of form and color, which had +hitherto been dormant in Americans, was ready to be +aroused.</p> + +<p>Fortunately for us, the Chicago Fair was worthy of +the opportunity; and that it was worthy of the opportunity +was due to the late Daniel Hudson Burnham, the +distinguished architect, who was director of works for +the Exposition. In the perspective of the twenty-one +years which have passed since the Chicago Fair, the figure +of Mr. Burnham, and the importance of the work +done by him, grows larger. When the history of the +American Renaissance comes to be written, Daniel H. +Burnham and the men by whom he was surrounded at +the time the Chicago Fair was being made, will be listed +among the founders of the movement.</p> + +<p>The Fair awoke the American sense of beauty. And +before its course was run, a group of Chicago business +men, some of whom were directors of the exposition, +determined to have a plan for the entire city which +should so far as possible reflect the lessons of the Fair +in the arrangement of streets, parks and plazas, and the +grouping of buildings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[ 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>After the Fair, the Chicago Commercial Club commissioned +Mr. Burnham to proceed to re-plan the city. +Eight years were consumed in this work. The best +architects available were called in consultation. After +having spent more than $200,000, the Commercial Club +presented the plan to the city, together with an elaborate +report.</p> + +<p>To carry out the plan, the Chicago City Council, in +1909, created a Plan Commission, composed of more +than 300 men, representing every element of citizenship +under the permanent chairmanship of Mr. Charles +H. Wacker, who had previously been most active in the +work. Under Mr. Wacker's direction, and with the +aid of continued subscriptions from the Commercial +Club, the work of the Commission has gone on steadily, +and vast improvements have already been made.</p> + +<p>The Plan itself has to do entirely with the physical +rearrangement of the city. It is designed to relieve +congestion, facilitate traffic, and safeguard health.</p> + +<p>Instead of routing out the Illinois Central Railroad +which disfigures the lake front of the whole South Side, +the plan provides for the making of a parkway half a +mile wide and five miles long, beyond the tracks, where +the lake now is. This parkway will extend from Grant +Park, at the center of the city, all the way to Jackson +Park, where the World's Fair grounds were. Arrangements +have also been made for immense forest areas, to +encircle the city outside its limits, occupying somewhat +the relation to it that the Bois de Boulogne and the Bois<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[ 184]</a></span> +de Vincennes do to Paris. New parks are also to be +created within the city.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to go into further details here as to +these parks, but it should be said that, when the lake +front parkway system, above mentioned, is completed, +practically the whole front of Chicago along Lake +Michigan will be occupied by parks and lagoons, and that +Chicago expects—and not without reason—to have the +finest waterfront of any city in the world.</p> + +<p>Michigan Avenue, the city's superb central street +which already bears very heavy traffic, now has a width +of 130 feet at the heart of the city, excepting to the +north, near the river, where it becomes a narrow, squalid +street, for all that it is the principal highway between +the North and South Sides. This portion of the street +is not only to be widened, but will be made into a two-level +thoroughfare (the lower level for heavy vehicles +and the upper for light) crossing the river on a double-deck +bridge.</p> + +<p>It is a notorious fact that the business and shopping +district of Chicago is at present strangled by the elevated +railroad loop, which bounds the center of the city, +and it is essential for the welfare of the city that this +area be extended and made more spacious. The City +Plan provides for a "quadrangle" to cover three square +miles at the heart of Chicago, to be bounded on the east +by Michigan Avenue, on the north by Chicago Avenue, +on the west by Halsted Street, and on the south by +Twelfth Street. When this work is done these streets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[ 185]</a></span> +will have been turned into wide boulevards, and other +streets, running through the quadrangle, will also have +been widened and improved, principal among these being +Congress Street, which though not at present cut +through, will ultimately form a great central artery, +leading back from the lake, through the center of the +quadrangle, forming the axis of the plan, and centering +on a "civic center," which is to be built at the junction of +Congress and Halsted Streets and from which diagonal +streets will radiate in all directions.</p> + +<p>Nor does the plan end here. A complete system of exterior +roadways will some day encircle the city; the +water front along the river will be improved and new +bridges built; also two outer harbors will be developed.</p> + +<p>By an agreement with the city, no major public work +of any description is inaugurated until the Plan Commission +has passed upon its harmonious relationship with +the general scheme. The Commission further considers +the comprehensive development of the city's steam railway +and street transportation systems; very recently it +successfully opposed a railroad union depot project +which was inimical to the Plan of Chicago, and it has +generally succeeded in persuading the railroads to work +in harmony with the plan, when making immediate improvements.</p> + +<p>One of the most interesting and intelligently conducted +departments under the Commission has to do +with the education of the people of Chicago with regard +to the Plan. A great deal of money and energy has been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[ 186]</a></span> +expended in this work, with the result that city-wide +misapprehension concerning the Plan has given place +to city-wide comprehension. Lectures are given before +schools and clubs with the idea of teaching Chicago what +the plan is, why it is needed, and what great European +cities have accomplished in similar directions. Books +on the subject have been published and widely circulated, +and one of these, "Wacker's Manual," has been adopted +as a textbook by the Chicago Public Schools, with the +idea of fitting the coming generations to carry on the +work.</p> + +<p>If the plan as it stands at present has been accomplished +within a long lifetime, Chicago will have +maintained her reputation for swift action. Two or +three lifetimes would be time enough in any other city. +However, Chicago desires the fulfillment of the prophecy +she has on paper. Work is going on, and the extent +to which it will go on in future depends entirely upon +the ability of the city to finance Plan projects. And +when a thing depends upon the ability of the city of +Chicago, it depends upon a very solid and a very splendid +thing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[ 187]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>LOOKING BACKWARD</h3> + + +<p>The Chicago Club is the rich, substantial club of +the city, an organization which may perhaps be +compared with the Union Club of New York, +although the inner atmosphere of the Chicago Club +seems somehow less formal than that of its New York +prototype. However, that is true in general where +Chicago clubs and New York clubs are compared.</p> + +<p>The University Club of Chicago has a very large and +handsome building in the Gothic style, with a dining +room said to be the handsomest club dining room in the +world: a Gothic hall with fine stained-glass windows. +Between this club-house and the great Gothic piles of +the Chicago University there exists an agreeable, +though perhaps quite accidental, architectural harmony.</p> + +<p>Excepting Washington University, in St. Louis, +Chicago University is the one great American college I +have seen which seems fully to have anticipated its own +vastness, and prepared for it with comprehensive plans +for the grouping of its buildings. Architecturally it is +already exceedingly harmonious and effective, for its +great halls, all of gray Bedford stone, are beginning to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[ 188]</a></span> +be toned by the Chicago smoke into what will some day +be Oxonian mellowness. Even now, by virtue of its +ancient architecture, its great size and massiveness, it +is not without an effect of age—an effect which is, +however, violently disputed by the young trees of the +campus. Though these trees have grown as fast as +they could, they have not been able to keep up with +the growth of the great institution of learning, fertilized, +as it has been, by Mr. Rockefeller's millions. Instead +of shading the university, the campus trees are +shaded by it.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The South Shore Country Club is an astonishing +resort: a huge pavilion, by the lake, on the site of +the old World's Fair grounds. It is a pleasant place to +which to motor for meals, and is much used, especially +for dining, in the summer time. The building of this +club made me think of Atlantic City; I felt that I was +not in a club at all, but in the rotunda of some vast hotel +by the sea.</p> + +<p>I had no opportunity to visit The Little Room, a small +club reported to be Chicago's artistic holy of holies, +but I did have luncheon at the Cliff Dwellers, which is +the larger and, I believe, more active organization. +The Cliff Dwellers is a fine club, made up of writers +and artists and their friends and allies. I know of no +single club in New York where one may meet at +luncheon a group of men more alive, more interesting, +or of more varied pursuits, and I may add that I ab<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[ 189]</a></span>sorbed +while there a very definite impression that between +men following the arts, and those following business, +the line is not so sharply drawn in Chicago as in +New York.</p> + +<p>At the Cliff Dwellers I met a gentleman, a librarian, +who gave me some interesting information about the +management of libraries in Chicago.</p> + +<p>"Chicago is a business city, dominated by business +men," he said. "We have three large public libraries, +one the Chicago Public Library, belonging to the city, +and two others, the Newberry and the Crerar, established +by rich men who left money for the purpose.</p> + +<p>"The system of interlocking directorates, elsewhere +pronounced pernicious, has worked very beautifully in +affecting coöperation instead of competition between +these institutions.</p> + +<p>"About twenty years ago, at the time of the Crerar +foundation, the boards of the three libraries met and +formed a gentleman's agreement, dividing the field of +knowledge. It was then arranged that the Chicago +Public Library should take care of the majority of the +people, and that the Newberry and the Crerar should +specialize, the former in what is called the 'Humanities'—philosophy, +religion, history, literature, and the fine +arts; the latter in science, pure and applied. At that +time the Newberry Library turned over to the Crerar, +at cost, all books it possessed which properly belonged +in the scientific category. And since that time there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[ 190]</a></span> +has been practically no duplication among Chicago +libraries. That is what comes of having public-spirited +business men on library boards. They run these +public institutions as they would run their own commercial +enterprises. The Harvester Company, for example, +wouldn't duplicate its own plant right in the +same territory. That would be waste. But in many +cities possessing more than one library, duplication of +an exactly parallel kind goes on, because the libraries do +not work together. Boston affords a good example. +Between the Boston Public Library, the Athenæum, and +the library of Harvard University, there is much duplication. +Of course a university library is obliged to +stand more or less alone, but it is possible even for such +a library to coöperate to some extent with others, and, +wherever it is possible to do so, the library of the +University of Chicago does work with others in Chicago. +Even the Art Institute is in the combination."</p> + +<p>I do not quote this information because the arrangement +between the libraries of Chicago strikes me as a +thing particularly startling, but for precisely the opposite +reason: it is one of those unstartling examples of +uncommon common sense which one might easily overlook +in considering the Plan of Chicago, in gazing at +great buildings wreathed in whirling smoke, or in contemplating +that allegory of infinity which confronts one +who looks eastward from the bold front of Michigan +Avenue along Grant Park.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[ 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>The automobile, which has been such an agency for +the promotion of suburban and country life, seems +to have the habit of invading, for its own commercial +purposes, those former residence districts, in cities, +which it has been the means of depopulating. I noticed +that in Cleveland. There the automobile offered the +residents of Euclid Avenue a swift and agreeable means +of transportation to a pleasanter environment. Then, +having lured them away, it proceeded to seize upon +their former lands for showrooms, garages, and automobile +accessory shops. The same thing has happened +in Chicago on Michigan Avenue, where an "automobile +row" extends for blocks beyond the uptown extremity +of Grant Park, through a region which but a few years +since was one of fashionable residences.</p> + +<p>I do not like to make the admission, because of loyal +memories of the old South Side, but—there is no denying +it—the South Side has run down. In its struggle +with the North Side, for leadership, it has come off a +sorry second. In point of social prestige, as in the +matter of beauty, it is unqualifiedly whipped. Cottage +Grove Avenue, never a pleasant street, has deteriorated +now into something which, along certain reaches, has a +painful resemblance to a slum.</p> + +<p>It hurt me to see that, for I remember when the little +dummy line ran out from Thirty-ninth Street to Hyde +Park, most of the way between fields and woods and +little farms. I had forgotten the dummy line until I +saw the place from which it used to start. Then, back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[ 192]</a></span> +through twenty-eight or thirty years, I heard again its +shrill whistle and saw the conductor, little "Mister +Dodge," as he used to come around for fares, when we +were going out to Fifty-fifth Street to pick violets. +There are no violets now at Fifty-fifth Street. I saw +nothing there but rows of sordid-looking buildings, +jammed against the street.</p> + +<p>Everywhere, as I journeyed about the city how many +memories assailed me. When I lived in Chicago the +Masonic Temple was the great show building of the +town: the highest building in the world, it was, then. +The Art Institute was in the brown stone pile now occupied +by the Chicago Club. The turreted stone house +of Potter Palmer, on the Lake Shore Drive was the +city's most admired residence—a would-be baronial +structure which, standing there to-day, is a humorous +thing: a grandiose attempt, falling far short of being a +good castle, and going far beyond the architectural +bounds of a good house. Then there was the old Palmer +House hotel, with its great billiard and poolroom, +and its once-famous barbershop, with a silver dollar set +at the corner of each marble tile in its floor, to amaze +the rural visitor. The Palmer House is still there, +looking no older than it used to look. And most familiar +of all, the toy suburban trains of the Illinois Central +Railroad continue to puff, importantly, along the +lake front, their locomotives issuing great clouds of +steam and smoke, which are snatched by the lake wind, +and hurled like giant snowballs—dirty snowballs, full of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[ 193]</a></span> +cinders—at the imperturbable stone front of Michigan +Avenue.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus251.png" width="450" height="671" alt="As I stood there, studying the temperament of pigs, I saw the +butcher looking up at me.... I have never seen such eyes" title="" /> +<span class="caption">As I stood there, studying the temperament of pigs, I saw the +butcher looking up at me.... I have never seen such eyes</span> +</div> + +<p>Chicago has talked, for years, of causing the Illinois +Central Railroad to run its trains by electricity. No +doubt they should be run in that way. No doubt the +decline of the South Side and the ascendancy of the +North Side has been caused largely by the fact that the +South Side lakefront is taken up with tracks and trains, +while the North Side lakefront is taken up with parks +and boulevards. Still, I love the Chicago smoke. In +some other city I should not love it, but in Chicago it is +part of the old picture, and for sentimental reasons, +I had rather pay the larger laundry bills, than see it +go.</p> + +<p>One day I went down to the station at Van Buren +Street, and took the funny little train to Oakland, where +I used to live. One after the other, I passed the old, +dilapidated stations, looking more run down than ever. +Even the Oakland Station was unchanged, and its surroundings +were as I remembered them, except for signs +of a sad, indefinite decay.</p> + +<p>Strange sensations, those which come to a man when +he visits, after a long lapse of years, the places he knew +best in childhood. The changes. The things which +are unchanged. The familiar unfamiliarity. The +vivid recollections which loom suddenly, like silent ships, +from out the fog of things forgotten. In that house +over there lived a boy named Ben Ford, who moved +away—to where? And Gertie Hoyt, his cousin, lived<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[ 194]</a></span> +next door. She had a great thick braid of golden hair. +But where is Guy Hardy's house? Where is the +Lonergans'—the Lonergans who used to have the +goat and wagon? How can those houses be so +completely gone? Were they not built of timber? +And what is memory built of, that it should outlast +them? Mr. Rand's house—there it is, with its high +porch! But where are the cherry trees? Where +is the round flower bed? And what on earth have they +been doing to the neighborhood? Why have they +moved all the houses closer to the street and spoiled the +old front yards? Then the heartshaking realization +that they <i>hadn't</i> moved the houses; that the yards +were the same; that they had always been small and +cramped; that the only change was in the eye of him +who had come back.</p> + +<p>No; not the only change, but the great one. Almost +all the linden trees that formed a line beside my grandfather's +house are gone. The four which remain +aren't large trees, after all.</p> + +<p>The vacant lot next door is blotted out by a row of +cheap apartment houses. But there is the Borden +house standing stanch, solid, austere as ever, behind its +iron fence. How afraid we used to be of Mr. Borden! +Can he be living still? And has he mellowed in old +age?—for the spite fence is torn down! Next door, +there, is the house in which I went to my first party—in +a velveteen suit and wide lace collar. There was +a lady at that party; she wore a velvet dress and was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[ 195]</a></span> +the most beautiful lady that I ever saw. She is several +times a grandmother now—still beautiful.</p> + +<p>The gentleman who owns the house in which I used +to live had heard I was in town, and was so kind as to +think that it would interest me to see the place again.</p> + +<p>I never was more grateful to a man!</p> + +<p>The house was not so large as I had thought it. The +majestic "parlor" had shrunk from an enormous to a +normal room. But there was the wide hardwood banister +rail, down which I used to slide, and there was +the alcove, off the big front bedroom, where they put +me when I had the accident; and there was the place +where my crib stood. I had forgotten all about that +crib, but suddenly I saw it, with its inclosing sides of +walnut slats. However, it was not until I mounted to +the attic that the strangest memories besieged me. The +instant I entered the attic I knew the smell. In all the +world there is no smell exactly like the smell which +haunts the attic of that house. With it there came to +me the picture of old Ellen and the recollection of a +rainy day, when she set me to work in the attic, driving +tacks into cakes of laundry soap. That was the day I +fell downstairs and broke my collarbone.</p> + +<p>Leaving the house I went out to the alley. Ah! those +beloved back fences and the barns in which we used to +play. Where were the old colored coachmen who were +so good to us? Where was little Ed, ex-jockey, and +ex-slave? Where was Artis? Where was William? +William must be getting old.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[ 196]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the door of his barn I paused and, not without +some faint feeling of fear, knocked. The door opened. +A young colored man stood within. He wore a chauffeur's +cap. So the old surrey was gone! There was +a motor now.</p> + +<p>"Where's William?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"William ain't here no more," he said.</p> + +<p>"But where is he?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's most generally around the alley, some +place, or in some of the houses. He does odd jobs."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," I said and, turning, walked up the alley, +fearing lest I should not be able to find the old colored +man who, perhaps more than any one outside my family, +was the true friend of my boyhood.</p> + +<p>Then, as I moved along, I saw him far away and +recognized him by the familiar, slouching step. And +as I walked to meet him, and as we drew near to each +other in that long narrow alley, it seemed to me that +here was another allegory in which the alley somehow +represented life.</p> + +<p>How glad we were to meet! William looked older, +his close-cropped wool was whiter, he stooped a little +more, but he had the same old solemn drawl, the same +lustrous dark eye with the twinkle in it, even the same +old corncob pipe—or another like it, burned down at +the edge.</p> + +<p>We stood there for a long time, exchanging news. +Ed had gone down South with the Bakers when they +moved away. Artis was on "the force."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus257.png" width="450" height="270" alt="The bold front of Michigan Avenue along Grant Park ... great buildings wreathed in whirling smoke +and that allegory of infinity which confronts one who looks eastward" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The bold front of Michigan Avenue along Grant Park ... great buildings wreathed in whirling smoke +and that allegory of infinity which confronts one who looks eastward</span> +</div><p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[ 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The neighborhood's changed a good bit since you +was here. Lots of the old families have gone. I'm +almost a stranger around the alley myself now. I must +be a pretty tough old nut, the way I keep hangin' on." +He smiled as he said that.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Of course I'll see you when I come out to Chicago +again," I said as we shook hands at parting.</p> + +<p>William looked up at the sky, much as a man will +look for signs of rain. Then with another smile he let +his eyes drift slowly downward from the heavens.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said in his nasal drawl, "I guess I'll see +you again some time—some place."</p> + +<p>I turned and moved away.</p> + +<p>Then, of a sudden, a back gate swung open with a +violent bang against the fence, and four or five boys in +short trousers leaped out and ran, yelling, helter-skelter +up the alley.</p> + +<p>I had the curious feeling that among them was the +boy I used to be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[ 198]</a></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[ 199]</a></span></p> + + + + +<p> +"IN MIZZOURA"<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[ 200]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[ 201]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>SOMNOLENT ST. LOUIS</h3> + +<p> +"The moderation of prosperous people comes from the<br /> +calm which good fortune gives to their temper."<br /> +<br /> +—<span class="smcap">La Rochefoucauld.</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p>Some years ago, while riding westward through +the Alleghenies in an observation car of the +Pennsylvania Limited, a friend of mine fell into +conversation with an old gentleman who sat in the next +chair.</p> + +<p>"Evidently he knew a good deal about that region," +said my friend, in telling me of the incident later. "We +must have sat there together for a couple of hours. He +did most of the talking; I could see that he enjoyed talking, +and was glad to have a listener. Before he got off +he shook hands with me and said he was glad to have +had the little chat. Then, when he was gone, the trainman +came and asked me if I knew who he was. I +didn't. Come to find out, it was Andrew Carnegie."</p> + +<p>I asked my friend how Mr. Carnegie impressed him.</p> + +<p>"Oh," he replied, "I was much surprised when I found +it had been he. He seemed a nice old fellow enough, +kindly and affable, but a little commonplace. I should +never have called him an 'inspired millionaire.' I've +been reconstructing him in my mind ever since."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[ 202]</a></span></p> + +<p>I am reminded of my friend's experience by my own +meeting with the city of St. Louis; for it was not until +after I had left St. Louis that I found out "who it is." +That is, I failed to focus, while there, upon the fact that +it is America's fourth city. And now, in looking back, +I feel about St. Louis as my friend felt about the ironmaster: +I do not think it looks the part.</p> + +<p>St. Louis leads the world in shoes, stoves, and tobacco; +it is the world's greatest market for hardware, +lumber, and raw furs; it is the principal horse and mule +market in America; it builds more street and railroad +cars than any other city in the country; it distributes +more coffee; it makes more woodenware, more native +chemicals, more beer. It leads in all these things. But +what it does not do is to <i>look</i> as though it led. Physically +it is a great, overgrown American town, like Buffalo +or St. Paul. Its streets are, for the most part, +lacking in distinction. There is no center at which a +visitor might stop, knowing by instinct that he was at +the city's heart. It is a rambling, incoherent place, in +which one has to ask which is the principal retail shopping +corner. Fancy having to ask a thing like that!</p> + +<p>I do not mean by this that St. Louis is much worse, +in appearance, than some other American cities. For +American cities, as I have said before, have only recently +awakened to the need of broadly planned municipal +beauty. All I mean is that St. Louis seems to be +behind in taking action to improve herself.</p> + +<p>Almost every city presents a paradox, if you will but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[ 203]</a></span> +find it. The St. Louis paradox is that she is a fashionable +city without style. But that is not, in reality, the +paradox, it seems. It only means that being an old, +aristocratic city, with a wealthy and cosmopolitan population, +and an extraordinarily cultivated social life, St. Louis +yet lacks municipal distinction. It is a dowdy +city. It needs to be taken by the hand and led around +to some municipal-improvement tailor, some civic haberdasher, +who will dress it like the gentleman it really is.</p> + +<p>I remember a well-to-do old man who used to be like +that. His daughters were obliged to drag him down to +get new clothes. Always he insisted that the old frock +coat was plenty good enough; that he couldn't spare +time and the money for a new one. Nevertheless, he +could well afford new clothes, and so can St. Louis. +The city debt is relatively small, and there are only two +American cities of over 350,000 population which have +a lower tax-rate. These two are San Francisco and +Cleveland. And either one of them can set a good example +to St. Louis, in the matter of self-improvement. +San Francisco, with a population hardly more than half +that of St. Louis, is yet an infinitely more important-looking +city; while Minneapolis or Denver might impress +a casual visitor, roaming their streets, as being +equal to St. Louis in commerce and population, although +the Missouri metropolis is, in reality, considerably +greater than the two combined. However, in considering +the foibles of an old city we should be lenient, as in +considering those of an old man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[ 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>Old men and old cities did not enjoy, in their youth, +the advantages which are enjoyed to-day by young men +and young cities. Life was harder, and precedent, in +many lines, was wanting. Excepting in a few rare instances, +as, for example, in Detroit and Savannah, the +laying out of cities seems to have been taken care of, in +the early days, as much by cows as men. Look at Boston, +or lower New York, or St. Paul, or St. Louis. +How little did the men who founded those cities dream +of the proportions to which they would some day attain! +With cities which have begun to develop within the last +fifty or sixty years, it has been different, for there has +been precedent to show them what is possible when an +American city really starts to grow. To-day all American +cities, even down to the smallest towns, have a +sneaking suspicion that they may some day become +great, too—great, that is, by comparison with what they +are. And those which are not altogether lacking in +energy are prepared, at least in a small way, to encounter +greatness when, at last, it comes.</p> + +<p>Baedeker says St. Louis was founded as a fur-trading +station by the French in 1756. "All About St. Louis," +a publication compiled by the St. Louis Advertising +Men's League, gives the date 1764. Pierre Laclede was +the founder, and it is interesting to note that some of his +descendants still reside there.</p> + +<p>When Louis XV ceded the territory to the east of the +Mississippi to the English, he also ceded the west bank +to Spain by secret treaty. Spanish authority was established +in St. Louis in 1770, but in 1804 the town became +a part of the United States, as a portion of the Louisiana Purchase.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus268.png" width="450" height="358" alt="The dilapidation of the quarter has continued steadily from Dickens's day +to this, and the beauty now to be discovered there is that of decay and ruin" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The dilapidation of the quarter has continued steadily from Dickens's day +to this, and the beauty now to be discovered there is that of decay and ruin</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[ 205]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the old days the city had but three streets: the +Rue Royale, one block back from the levee (now Main +Street); the Rue de l'Eglise, or Church Street (now +Second); and the Rue des Granges, or Barn Street (now +Third).</p> + +<p>Though a few of the old French houses, in a woeful +state of dilapidation, may still be seen in this neighborhood, +it is now for the most part given over to commission +merchants, warehouses, and slums.</p> + +<p>Charles Dickens, writing of St. Louis in 1842, describes +this quarter:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"In the old French portion of the town the thoroughfares +are narrow and crooked, and some of the houses +are very quaint and picturesque: being built of wood, +with tumbledown galleries before the windows, approachable +by stairs or rather ladders from the street. +There are queer little barbers' shops and drinking +houses, too, in this quarter; and abundance of crazy old +tenements with blinking casements, such as may be seen +in Flanders. Some of these ancient habitations, with +high garret gable windows perking into the roofs, have +a kind of French shrug about them; and, being lopsided +with age, appear to hold their heads askew, besides, as +if they were grimacing in astonishment at the American +improvements.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[ 206]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is hardly necessary to say that these consist of +wharves and warehouses and new buildings in all directions; +and of a great many vast plans which are still +'progressing.' Already, however, some very good +houses, broad streets, and marble-fronted shops have +gone so far ahead as to be in a state of completion, and +the town bids fair in a few years to improve considerably; +though it is not likely ever to vie, in point of +elegance or beauty, with Cincinnati.... The Roman +Catholic religion, introduced here by the early French +settlers, prevails extensively. Among the public institutions +are a Jesuit college, a convent for 'the Ladies of +the Sacred Heart,' and a large chapel attached to the +college, which was in course of erection at the time of +my visit.... The architect of this building is one of +the reverend fathers.... The organ will be sent from +Belgium.... In addition to these establishments there +is a Roman Catholic cathedral.</p> + +<p>"No man ever admits the unhealthiness of the place +he dwells in (unless he is going away from it), and I +shall therefore, I have no doubt, be at issue with the +inhabitants of St. Louis in questioning the perfect salubrity +of its climate.... It is very hot...."</p></blockquote> + +<p>The cathedral of which Dickens wrote remains, perhaps +the most sturdy building in the section which +forms the old town. It is a venerable-looking pile of +gray granite, built to last forever, and suggesting, with +its French inscriptions and its exotic look, a bit of old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[ 207]</a></span> +Quebec. But for the most part the dilapidation of the +quarter has continued steadily from Dickens's day to +this, and the beauty now to be discovered there is that +of decay and ruin—pathetic beauty to charm the etcher, +but sadden the lover of improvement, whose battle cry +invariably involves the overworked word "civic."</p> + +<p>An exception to the general slovenliness of this quarter +is to be seen in the old Merchants' Exchange Hall +on Main Street. Built nearly sixty years ago, this +building, now disused and dilapidated, nevertheless +shows a façade of a distinction rare in structures of its +time. I was surprised to discover that this old hall was +not better known in St. Louis, and I cheerfully recommend +it to the notice of those who esteem the architecture +of the Jefferson Memorial, the bulky new cathedral +on Lindell Boulevard, or that residence, suggestive of +the hanging gardens of Babylon, at Hortense Place and +King's Highway. Take the old Merchants' Exchange +Hall away from dirty, cobbled Main Street, set it up, +instead, in Venice, beside the Grand Canal, and watch +the tourist from St. Louis stop his gondola to gaze!</p> + +<p>But what city has respected its ruins? Rome used +her palaces as mines for building material. St. Louis +destroyed the wonderful old mound which used to stand +at the corner of Mound Street and Broadway, forming +one of the most interesting archeological remains in the +country and, together with smaller mounds near by, giving +St. Louis her title of "Mound City."</p> + +<p>With Dickens's statements concerning the St. Louis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[ 208]</a></span> +summer climate, the publication, "All About St. Louis," +does not, for one moment, agree. In it I find an article +headed: "St. Louis has Better Weather than Other +Cities," the preamble to which contains the following +solemn truth:</p> + +<blockquote><p>The weather question is purely local and individual. +Every person forms his own opinion about the weather +by the way it affects him, wherever he happens to be.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Having made that clear, the writer becomes more +specific. He informs us that, in St. Louis, "the prevailing +winds in summer blow over the Ozark Mountains, +insuring cool nights and pleasant days." Also +that "during the summer the temperature does not run +so high, and warm spells do not last so long as in many +cities of the North." The latter statement is supported—as +almost every statement in the world, it seems to +me, can be supported—by statistics. What wonderful +things statistics are! How I wish Charles Dickens +might have seen these. How surprised he would have +been. How surprised I was—for I, too, have visited +St. Louis in the middle of the year. Yes, and so has my +companion. He went to St. Louis several years ago to +attend the Democratic National Convention, but he is +all right again now.</p> + +<p>I showed him the statistics.</p> + +<p>"Why!" he cried. "I ought to have been told of this +before!"</p> + +<p>"What for?" I demanded.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[ 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If I had had this information at the time of the convention," +he declared, "I'd have known enough not to +have been laid up in bed for six weeks with heat prostration."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Though the downtown portion of St. Louis is, as I +have said, lacking in coherence and distinction, there +are, nevertheless, a number of buildings in that section +which are, for one reason or another, notable. The old +Courthouse, on Chestnut and Market Streets, between +Fourth and Fifth, is getting well along toward its centennial, +and is interesting, both as a dignified old granite +pile and as the scene of the whipping post, and of slave +sales which were held upon its steps during the Civil +War.</p> + +<p>Not far from the old Courthouse stands another +building typifying all that is modern—the largest office +building in the world, a highly creditable structure, occupying +an entire city block, built from designs by St. +Louis architects: Mauran, Russell & Crowell. Another +building, notable for its beauty, is the Central Public +Library, a very simple, well-proportioned building of +gray granite, designed by Cass Gilbert.</p> + +<p>The St. Louis Union Station is interesting for several +reasons. When built, it was the largest station in the +world—one of the first great stations of the modern +type. It contains, under its roof, five and a half miles +of track, and though it has been surpassed, architecturally, +by some more recent stations, it is still a spec<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[ 210]</a></span>tacular +building—or rather it would be, were it not for +its setting, among narrow streets, lined with cheap +saloons, lunch rooms, and lodging houses. That any +city capable of building such a splendid terminal could, +at the same time, be capable of leaving it in such environment +is a thing baffling to the comprehension. It +must, however, be said that efforts have been made to +improve this condition. Six or seven years ago the +Civic League proposed to buy the property facing the +station and turn it into a park. St. Louis somnolence +defeated this project. The City Plan Commission now +has a more elaborate suggestion which, if accepted, will +not only place the station in a proper setting, but also +reclaim a large area, in the geographical center of the +city, which has suffered a blight, and which is steadily +deteriorating, although through it run the chief lines of +travel between the business and residence portions of +the city.</p> + +<p>This project, if put through, will be a fine step toward +the creation, in downtown St. Louis, of some outward +indication of the real importance of the city. The plan +involves the gutting of a strip, one block wide and two +miles long; the tearing out of everything between Market +and Chestnut Streets, all the way from Twelfth +Street, which is the eastern boundary of the City Hall +Square, to Grand Avenue on the west. Here it is proposed +to construct a Central Traffic Parkway, which will +pass directly in front of the station, connecting it with +both the business and residence districts, and will also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[ 211]</a></span> +pass in front of the Municipal Court Building and the +City Hall, located farther downtown. The plan involves +an arrangement similar to that of the Champs-Elysées, +with a wide central drive, parked on either side, +for swift-moving vehicles, and exterior roads for heavy +traffic.</p> + +<p>An expert in such work has said that "city planning +has few functions more important than the restoration +of impaired property values." American cities are +coming to comprehend that investment in intelligently +planned improvements, such as this, have to do not only +with city dignity and city self-respect, but that they pay +for themselves. If St. Louis wants to find that out, she +has but to visit her western neighbor, Kansas City, +where the construction of Paseo boulevard did redeem a +blighted district, transforming it into an excellent neighborhood, +doubling or trebling the value of adjacent +property, and, of course, yielding the city increased +revenue from taxes.</p> + +<p>A matter more deplorable than the setting of the station +is the unparalleled situation which exists with regard +to the Free Bridge. Though the echoes of this +scandal have been heard, more or less, throughout the +country, it is perhaps necessary to give a brief summary +of the matter as it stands at present.</p> + +<p>The three used bridges which cross the Mississippi +River at St. Louis are privately controlled toll bridges. +Working people, passing to and fro, are obliged to pay +a five-cent toll in excess of car fare. Goods are also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[ 212]</a></span> +taxed. It was with the purpose of defeating this +monopoly that the Free Bridge was constructed. But +after the body of the bridge was built, factional fights +developed as to the placing of approaches, and as a result, +the approaches have never been built. Thus, the +bridge stands to-day, as it has stood for several years, a +thing costly, grotesque, and useless, spanning the river, +its two ends jutting out, inanely, over the opposing +shores. In the meantime the city is paying interest on +the bridge bonds at the rate of something over $300 per +day. The question of approaches has come before the +city at several elections, but the people have so far failed +to vote the necessary bonds. The history of the voting +on this subject plainly shows indifference. In one election +the Twenty-eighth Ward, which is the rich and +fashionable ward, cast only 2,325 votes, on the bridge +question, out of a possible 6,732. Had the eligible +voters of this ward, alone, done their duty, the issue +would have been carried at the time, and the bridge +would now be in operation.</p> + +<p>One becomes accustomed to exhibitions of municipal +indifference upon matters involving questions like reform, +which, though they are not really abstract, often +seem so to the average voter. Reforms are, relatively +at least, invisible things. But the Free Bridge is not +invisible. Far from it! There it stands above the +stream, a grim, gargantuan joke, for every man to see—a +tin can tied to a city's tail.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus277.png" width="450" height="707" alt="The three used bridges which cross the Mississippi River at +St. Louis are privately controlled toll bridges" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The three used bridges which cross the Mississippi River at +St. Louis are privately controlled toll bridges</span> +</div> + +<p>In writing of St. Louis I feel, somehow, like a man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[ 213]</a></span> +who has been at a delightful house party where people +have been very kind to him, and who, when he goes +away, promulgates unpleasant truths about bad plumbing +in the house. Yet, of course, St. Louis is a public +place, to which I went with the avowed purpose of writing +my impressions. The reader may be glad, at +this point, to learn that some of my impressions are +of a pleasant nature. But before I reach them I +must rake a little further through this substance, +which, I am becoming very much afraid, resembles +"muck."</p> + +<p>St. Louis has, for some time, been involved in a fight +with the United Railways Company, a corporation controlling +the street car system of the city. In one quarter +I was informed that this company was paying +dividends on millions of watered stock, and that it had +been reported by the Public Service Commission as +earning more than a million a year in excess of a reasonable +return on its investment. In another quarter, +while it was not denied that the company was overburdened +with obligations representing much more than +the actual value of the present system, it was explained +that the so-called "water" represented the cost of the +early horse-car system, discarded on the advent of the +cable lines, and also the cost of the cable lines which +were, in turn, discarded for the trolley. It was furthermore +contended that, in the days before the formation +of the United Railways Company, when several +companies were striving for territory, the street rail<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[ 214]</a></span>roads +of St. Louis were overbuilt, with the result that +much money was sunk.</p> + +<p>In an article on St. Louis, recently published in +"Collier's Weekly," I made the statement that the street +car service of St. Louis was as bad as I had ever seen; +that the tracks were rough, the cars run-down and dirty, +and that an antediluvian heating system was used, +namely, a red-hot stove at one end of the car, giving +but small comfort to those far removed from it, and +fairly cooking those who sat near.</p> + +<p>This statement brought some protest from St. Louis. +Several persons wrote to me saying that the cars were +not dirty, that only a few of them were heated with +stoves, and that the tracks were in good condition. +With one of these correspondents, Mr. Walter B. +Stevens, I exchanged several letters. I informed him +that I had ridden in five different cars, that all five were +heated as mentioned, that they were dirty and needed +painting, and that I recalled distinctly the fact that +the rail-joints caused a continual jarring of the +car.</p> + +<p>Mr. Stevens replied as follows:</p> + +<p>"In your street car trip to the southwestern part of the +city you saw probably the worst part of the system. +Some of the lines, notably those in the section of the +city mentioned by you, have not been brought up to the +standard that prevails elsewhere. I have traveled on +street cars in most of the large cities of this country, +north and south, and according to my observation, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[ 215]</a></span> +lines in the central part of St. Louis, extending westward, +are not surpassed anywhere."</p> + +<p>As I have reason to know that Mr. Stevens is an exceedingly +fair-minded gentleman, I am glad of the opportunity +to print his statement here. I must add, however, +that I think a street car system on which a stranger, +taking five different cars, finds them all heated by stoves, +leaves something to be desired. Let me say further +that I might not have been so critical of the St. Louis +street railways and its cars, had I not become acquainted, +a short time before, with the Twin City Rapid +Transit Company, which operates the street railways +of Minneapolis and St. Paul: a system which, as a casual +observer, I should call the most perfect of its kind I +have seen in the United States.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"What is the matter with St. Louis?" I inquired of a +wide-awake citizen I met.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the Drew Question," he suggested with a smile.</p> + +<p>"The Drew Question?" I repeated blankly.</p> + +<p>"You don't know about that? Well, the question you +asked was put to the city, some years ago, by Alderman +Drew, so instead of asking it outright any more, we refer +to it as 'the Drew Question,' Every one knows what +it means."</p> + +<p>The man who asks that question in St. Louis will receive +a wide variety of answers.</p> + +<p>One exceedingly well-informed gentleman told me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[ 216]</a></span> +that St. Louis had the "most aggressive minority" he +had ever seen. "Start any movement here," he declared, +"and, whatever it may be, you immediately encounter +strong objection."</p> + +<p>In other quarters I learned of something called "The +Big Cinch"—an intangible, reactionary sort of dragon, +said to be built of big business men. It is charged that +this legendary monster has put the quietus upon various +enterprises, including the construction of a new and +first-class hotel—something which St. Louis needs. In +still other quarters I was informed that the city's long-established +wealth had placed it in somewhat the position +of Detroit before the days of the automobile, and +that much of the money and many of the big business +enterprises were controlled by elderly men; in short, +that what is needed is young blood, or, as one man put +it, "a few important funerals."</p> + +<p>"It is conservatism," explained another. "The trouble +with St. Louis is that nobody here ever goes crazy." +And said still another: "About one-third of the population +of St. Louis is German. It is German lethargy that +holds the city back."</p> + +<p>Whatever truth may lurk in these several statements, +I do not, personally, believe in the last one. If the Germans +are sometimes stolid, they are upon the other hand +honest, thoughtful, and steady. And when it comes to +lethargy—well, Chicago, the most active great city in +the country, has a large German population. And, for +the matter of that, so has Berlin! Some of the best citi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[ 217]</a></span>zens +St. Louis has are Germans, and one of her most public-spirited +and nationally distinguished men was born in +Prussia—Mr. Frederick W. Lehmann, former Solicitor +General of the United States and ex-president of the +American Bar Association. Mr. Lehmann (who +served the country as a commissioner in the cause +of peace with Mexico, at the Niagara Falls conference) +drew up a city charter which was recommended by the +Board of Freeholders of St. Louis in 1910. This charter +was defeated. However, another charter, embodying +many even more progressive elements than those +contained in the charter proposed by Mr. Lehmann, has +lately been accepted by the city, and there can be little +doubt that the earlier proposals paved the way for this +one. The new charter had not been passed at the time +of my visit. The St. Louis newspapers which I have +seen since are, however, most sanguine in their prophecies +as to what will be accomplished under it. All seem +to agree that its acceptance marks the awakening of the +city.</p> + +<p>German emigration to St. Louis began about 1820 +and increased at the time of the rebellion of 1848, so +that, like Milwaukee, St. Louis has to-day a very strong +German flavor. By the terms of the city charter all +ordinances and municipal legal advertising are printed +in both English and German, and the "Westliche Post" +of St. Louis, a German newspaper founded by the late +Emil Pretorius and now conducted by his son, is a powerful +organ. The great family beer halls of the city<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[ 218]</a></span> +add further Teutonic color, and the Liederkranz is, I +believe, the largest club in the city. This organization +is not much like a club according to the restricted English +idea; it suggests some great, genial public gathering +place. The substantial German citizens who arrive +here of a Sunday night, when the cook goes out, do not +come alone, nor merely with their sons, but bring their +entire families for dinner, including the mother, the +daughters, and the little children. There is music, of +course, and great contentment. The place breathes of +substantiality, democracy, and good nature. You feel +it even in the manner of the waiters, who, being first of +all human beings, second, Germans, and waiters only in +the third place, have an air of personal friendliness with +those they serve.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Aside from his municipal and national activities, Mr. +Lehmann has found time to gather in his home one of +the most complete collections of Dickens's first editions +and related publications to be found in the whole world. +It is, indeed, on this side—the side of cultivation—that +St. Louis is most truly charming. She has an old, exclusive, +and delightful society, and a widespread and +pleasantly unostentatious interest in esthetic things. In +fact, I do not know of any American city, to which St. +Louis may with justice be compared, possessing a larger +body of collectors, nor collections showing more individual +taste. The most important private collections +in the city are, I believe, those of Mr. William K. Bixby,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[ 219]</a></span> +who owns a great number of valuable paintings by old +masters, and a large collection of rare books and manuscripts. +As a book collector, Mr. Bixby is widely known +throughout the country, and he has had, if I mistake +not, the honor of being president of that Chicago club +of bibliolatrists, known as the "Dofobs," or "damned +old fools over books."</p> + +<p>An exhibition of paintings owned in St. Louis is held +annually in the St. Louis Museum of Art, and leaves no +doubt as to the genuineness of the interest of St. Louis +citizens in painting. Nor can any one, considering the +groups of canvases loaned to the museum for the annual +exhibition, doubt that certain art collectors in St. Louis +(Mr. Edward A. Faust, for example) are buying not +only names but paintings.</p> + +<p>The Art Museum is less accessible to the general citizen +than are museums in some other cities. Having +been originally the central hall of the group of buildings +devoted to art at the time of the Louisiana Purchase +Exposition, it stands in that part of Forest Park which +was formerly the Fair ground. Posed, as it is, upon a +hill, in a commanding and conspicuous position, it reveals, +somewhat unfortunately, the fact that it is the +isolated fragment of a former group. Nevertheless, it +must take a high place among the secondary art museums +of the United States. For despite the embarrassment +caused by the possession of a good deal of mediocre +sculpture, a legacy from the World's Fair, which is +packed in its central hall; and despite the inheritance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[ 220]</a></span> +from twenty or twenty-five years since, of vapid canvases +by Bouguereau, Gabriel Max, and other painters +of past popularity, whose works are rapidly coming to +be known for what they are—despite these handicaps, +the museum is now distinctly in step with the march of +modern art. The old collection is being weeded out, and +good judgment is being shown in the selection of new +canvases. Like the Albright Gallery in Buffalo, the St. +Louis Museum of Art is rapidly acquiring works by +some of the best American painters of to-day, having +purchased within the last four or five years canvases by +Redfield, Loeb, Symons, Waugh, Dearth, Dougherty, +Foster, and others.</p> + +<p>Another building saved from the World's Fair is the +superb central hall of Washington University, a red +granite structure in the English collegiate style, designed +by Cope & Stewardson. The dozen or more buildings +of this university are very fine in their harmony, and +are pronounced by Baedeker "certainly the most successful +and appropriate group of collegiate buildings in +the New World."</p> + +<p>It is curious to note in this connection that there are +eight colleges or universities in the United States in +which the name of "Washington" appears; among them, +Washington University at St. Louis; Washington College +at Chestertown, Md.; George Washington University +at Washington, D. C.; Washington State College at +Pullman, Wash., and the University of Washington at +Seattle. +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus288.png" width="450" height="276" alt="The skins are handled in the raw state ... with the result that the floor of the exchange is made slippery +by animal fats, and that the olfactory organs encounter smells not to be matched in any zoo" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The skins are handled in the raw state ... with the result that the floor of the exchange is made slippery +by animal fats, and that the olfactory organs encounter smells not to be matched in any zoo</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[ 221]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE FINER SIDE</h3> + + +<p>Before making my transcontinental pilgrimage +I used to wonder, sometimes, just where the line +dividing East from West in the United States +might be. When I lived in Chicago, and went out to +St. Louis, I felt that I was going, not merely in a westerly +direction, but that I was actually going out into the +"West." I knew, of course, that there was a vast +amount of "West" lying beyond St. Louis, but I had no +real conception—and no one who has not seen it can +have—of what a stupendous, endless, different kind of +land it is. St. Louis west? It is not west at all. To be +sure, it is the frontier, the jumping-off place, but it is no +more western in its characteristics than the city of +Boulogne is English because it faces England, just +across the way. From every point of view except +that of geography, Chicago is more western +than St. Louis. For Chicago has more "wallop" +than St. Louis, and "wallop" is essentially a western +attribute. "Wallop" St. Louis has not. What she +has is civilization and the eastern spirit of laissez-faire. +And that of St. Louis which is not of the +east is of the south. Her society has a strong southern<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[ 222]</a></span> +flavor, many of her leading families having come originally +from Kentucky and Virginia. The Southern +"colonel" type is to be found there, too—black, broad-brimmed +hat, frock coat, goatee, and all—and there is a +negro population big enough to give him his customary +background.</p> + +<p>Much negro labor is employed for the rougher kind +of work; colored waiters serve in the hotels, and many +families employ colored servants. As is usual in cities +where this is true, the accent of the people inclines somewhat +to be southern. Or, perhaps, it is a blending of +the accent of the south with the sharper drawl of the +west. Then, too, I encountered there men bearing +French names (which are pronounced in the French +manner, although the city's name has been anglicized, +being pronounced "Saint Louiss") who, if they did not +speak with a real French accent, had, at least, slight +mannerisms of speech which were unmistakably of +French origin. I noted down a number of French +family names I heard: Chauvenet, Papin, Vallé, Desloge, +De Menil, Lucas, Pettus, Guion, Chopin, Janis, +Benoist, Cabanné, and Chouteau—the latter family descended, +I was told, from Laclede himself. And again, +I heard such names as Busch, Lehmann, Faust, and +Niedringhaus; and still again such other names as Kilpatrick, +Farrell, and O'Fallon—for St. Louis, though a +Southern city, and an Eastern city, and a French city, +and a German city, by being also Irish, proves herself +American.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[ 223]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is in all that has to do with family life that St. +Louis comes off best. She has miles upon miles of prosperous-looking, +middle-class residence streets, and the +system of residence "places" in her more fashionable +districts is highly characteristic. These "places" are in +reality long, narrow parkways, with double drives, +parked down the center, and bordered with houses at +their outer margins. The oldest of them is, I am told, +Benton Place, on the South Side, but the more attractive +ones are to the westward, near Forest Park. Of these +the first was Vandeventer Place, which still contains +some of the most pleasant and substantial residences of +the city, and it may be added that while some of the +newer "places" have more recent and elaborate houses +than those on Vandeventer Place, the general average of +recent domestic architecture in St. Louis is behind that +of many other cities. Portland Place seemed, upon the +whole, to have the best group of modern houses. Westmoreland +and Kingsbury Places also have agreeable +homes. But Washington Terrace is not so fortunate; +its houses, though they plainly indicate liberal expenditure +of money, are often of that "catch-as-catch-can" +kind of architecture which one meets with but too frequently +in the middle west. If St. Louis is western in +one thing more than another it is the architecture of +her houses. Not that they lack solidity but that on the +average they are not to be compared, architecturally, +with houses of corresponding modernness in such cities +as Chicago or Detroit. The more I see of other cities<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[ 224]</a></span> +the more, indeed, I appreciate the new domestic architecture +of Detroit. And I cannot help feeling that it is +curious that St. Louis should be behind Detroit in this +particular when she is, as a city, so far superior in her +evident understanding and love of art.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, St. Louis has one architect whom she +cannot honor too highly—Mr. William B. Ittner, who, +as a designer of schools, stands unsurpassed.</p> + +<p>If ever I have seen a building perfect for its purpose, +that building is the Frank Louis Soldan High School, +designed by this man. It is the last word in schools; a +building for the city of St. Louis to be proud of, and +for the whole country to rejoice in. It has everything a +school can have, including that quality rarest of all in +schools—sheer beauty. It is worth a whole chapter in +itself, from its great auditorium, which is like a very +simple opera house, seating two thousand persons, to +its tiled lunch rooms with their "cafeteria" service. +An architect could build one school like that, it seems to +me, and then lie down and die content, feeling that his +work was done. But Mr. Ittner apparently is not satisfied +so easily as I should be, for he goes gaily on building +other schools. If there isn't one to be built in St. +Louis at the moment (and the city has an extraordinary +number of fine school buildings), he goes off to some +other city and puts a school up there. And for every +one he builds he ought to have a crown of gold.</p> + +<p>Mr. John Rush Powell, the principal of the high +school, was so good as to take my companion and me +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus294.png" width="450" height="279" alt="St. Louis needs to be taken by the hand and led around to some municipal-improvement tailor, +some civic haberdasher" title="" /> +<span class="caption">St. Louis needs to be taken by the hand and led around to some municipal-improvement tailor, +some civic haberdasher</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[ 225]</a></span> +over the building. We envied Mr. Powell the privilege +of being housed in such a palace, and Mr. Powell, in his +turn, tried to talk temperately about the wonders of +his school, and was so polite as to let us do the raving.</p> + +<p>Do you remember, when you went to school, the long +closet, or dressing room, where you used to hang your +coat and hat? The boys and girls of the Soldan School +have steel lockers in a sunlit locker room. Do you remember +the old wooden floors? These boys and girls +have wooden floors to walk on, but the wood is quarter-sawed +oak, and it is laid in asphalt over concrete, which +makes the finest kind of floor. Do you remember the +ugly old school building? The front of this one looks +like Hampden Court Palace, brought up to date. Do +you remember the big classroom that served almost +every purpose? This school has separate rooms for +everything—a greenhouse for the botanists, great +studios, with skylights, for those who study art, a music +hall, and private offices, beside the classrooms, for instructors. +Oh, you ought to see this school yourself, +and learn how schools have changed! You ought to +see the domestic science kitchen with its twenty-four +gas ranges and the model dining room, where the girls +give dinner parties for their parents; the sewing room +and fitting rooms, and the laundries, with sanitary equipment +and electric irons—for every girl who takes the +domestic-science course must know how to do fine +laundry work, even to the washing of flannels.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[ 226]</a></span></p> + +<p>You should see the manual-training shops, and the +business college, and the textile work, and the kilns for +pottery, and the very creditable drawings and paintings +of the art students (who clearly have a competent +teacher—again an unusual thing in schools), and the +simple beauty of the corridors, so free from decoration, +and the library—like that of a club—and the lavatories, +as perfect as those in fine hotels, and the pictures on the +classroom walls—good prints of good things, like +Whistler's portrait of his mother, instead of the old +hideosities of Washington and Longfellow and Oliver +Wendell Holmes, which used to hang on classroom walls +in our school days. Oh, it is good to merely breathe the +air of such a school—and why shouldn't it be, since the +air is washed, and screened, and warmed, and fanned +out to the rooms and corridors? Just think of that one +thing, and then try to remember how schools used to +smell—that rather zoölogical odor of dirty little boys +and dirty little slates. That was one thing which struck +me very forcibly about this school: it didn't smell like +one. Yet, until I went there, I should have wagered +that if I were taken blindfold to a school, led inside, and +allowed a single whiff of it, I should immediately detect +the place for what it was. Ah, memories of other days! +Ah, sacred smells of childhood! Can it be that the +school smell has gone forever from the earth—that it +has vanished with our youth—that the rising generation +may not know it? There is but little sadness in the +thought.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[ 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>Having thus dilated upon the oldtime smell of +schools, I find myself drifting, perhaps through an association +of ideas, to another subject—that of furs; raw +furs.</p> + +<p>The firm of Funsten Brothers & Co. have made St. +Louis the largest primary fur market in the world. +They operate a fur exchange which, though a private +business, is conducted somewhat after the manner of a +produce exchange. That is to say, the sales are not +open to all buyers, but to about thirty men who are, in +effect, "members," it being required that a member be a +fur dealer with a place of business in St. Louis. These +men are jobbers, and they sell in turn to the manufacturers.</p> + +<p>Funsten Brothers & Co. work direct with trappers, +and are in correspondence, I am informed, with between +700,000 and 800,000 persons, engaged in trapping and +shipping furs, in all parts of the world. Their business +has been considerably increased of late years by the installation +of a trappers' information bureau and supply +department for the accommodation of those who send +them furs, and also by the marketing of artificial animal +baits. In this way, and further by making it a rule to +send checks in payment for furs received from trappers, +on the same day shipments arrive, this company has +built up for itself an enormous good will at the original +sources of supply.</p> + +<p>The furs come from every State in the Union, from +every Province in Canada, and from Alaska, being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[ 228]</a></span> +shipped in, during the trapping season, at the rate of +about two thousand lots a day, these lots containing anywhere +from five to five hundred pelts each.</p> + +<p>The lots are sorted, arranged in batches according to +quality, and auctioned off at sales, which are held three +days a week. Even Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Florida, +and Texas supply furs, but the furs from the north +are in general the most valuable. This is not true, however, +of muskrat, the best of which comes from the central +and eastern States.</p> + +<p>The sales are conducted in the large hall of the exchange, +where the lots of furs are displayed in great +piles. The skins are handled in the raw state, having +been merely removed from the carcass and dried before +shipment, with the result that the floor of the exchange +is made slippery by animal fats, and that the olfactory +organs encounter smells not to be matched in any zoo—or +school—the blended fragrance of raccoon, mink, +opossum, muskrat, ermine, ringtail, house cat, wolf, +red fox, gray fox, cross fox, swift fox, silver fox, +badger, otter, beaver, lynx, marten, bear, wolverine, +fisher—a great orchestra of odors, in which the "air" +is carried most competently, most unqualifiedly, by that +master virtuoso of mephitic redolence, the skunk.</p> + +<p>I was told that about sixty-five per cent of all North +American furs pass through this exchange; also I received +the rather surprising information that the greatest +number of skins furnished by this continent comes +from within a radius of five hundred miles of St. Louis.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[ 229]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was in this Fur Exchange that the first auction of +government seal skins ever held by the United States +on its own territory, occurred last year. Before that +time it had been the custom of the government to send +Alaskan sealskins to Europe, where they were cured +and dyed. Such of these skins as were returned to the +United States, after having undergone curing and dyeing, +came back under a duty of 20 per cent., or more recently, +by an increase in the tariff—30 per cent. And +all but a very few of the skins did come back. It was by +action of Secretary of Commerce Redfield that the seal +sale was transferred from London to St. Louis, and a +member of the firm of Funsten Brothers & Co. informed +me that the ultimate result will be that seal coats now +costing, say, $1,200, may be bought for about $400 three +years hence, when the seals will no longer be protected +according to the present law.</p> + +<p>Some interesting information with regard to sealing +was published in the St. Louis "Republic" at the time of +the sale. Quoting Mr. Philip B. Fouke, president of the +Funsten Co., the "Republic" says:</p> + +<p>"Under the present policy of the Government the +United States will get the dyeing, curing, and manufacturing +establishments from London, Amsterdam, Nizhni +Novgorod, and other great centers. The price of sealskins +will be reduced two-thirds to the wearer. Seals +have been protected for the past two years, and will be +protected for three years more, but during the period of +protection it is necessary for the Government hunters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[ 230]</a></span> +to kill some of the 'bachelor seals'—males, without +mates, who fight with other male seals for the possession +of the females, destroying the young, and causing much +trouble. Also a certain amount of seal meat must go to +the natives for food.</p> + +<p>"Each female produces but one pup a year, and each +male demands from twenty to one hundred females. +Fights between males for the possession of the females +are fearful combats.</p> + +<p>"In addition to protecting the seals on the Pribilof +Islands, the United States has entered into an agreement +with Japan, Russia, and England, that there shall +be no sealing in the open seas for fifteen years. This +open sea, or pelagic sealing did great harm. Only the +females leave the land, where they can be protected, and +go down to the open sea. Consequently the poachers +got many females, destroying the young seals as well as +the mothers, cutting off the source of supply, and leaving +a preponderance of 'bachelors,' or useless males."</p> + +<p>What a chance for the writer of sex stories! Why +dally with the human race when seals are living such a +lurid life? Here is a brand-new field: The heroine a +soft-eyed female with a hide like velvet; the hero a dashing, +splashing male. Sweet communions on the rocks +at sunset, and long swims side by side. But one night +on the cliffs, beneath the moon comes the blond beast of +a bachelor, a seal absolutely unscrupulous and of +the lowest animal impulses. Then the climax—the Jack +London stuff: the fight on the edge of the cliff; the cry,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[ 231]</a></span> +the body hurtling to the rocks below. And, of course, +a happy ending—love on a cake of ice.</p> + +<p>Old John Jacob Astor, founder of the Astor fortune, +was a partner in the American Fur Company of St. +Louis of which Pierre Chouteau was president. A letter +written to Chouteau by Astor just before his retirement +from the fur business gives as the reason for his +withdrawal the following:</p> + +<blockquote><p>I very much fear beaver will not sell very well very +soon unless very fine. It appears that they make hats +of silk in place of beaver.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Beaver was at that time the most valuable skin, and +had been used until then for the making of tall hats; but +the French were beginning to make silk hats, and Astor +believed that in that fact was presaged the downfall of +the beaver trade.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Club life in St. Louis is very highly developed. There +are of course the usual clubs which one expects to find +in every large city: The St. Louis Club, a solid old organization; +the University Club, and a fine new Country +Club, large and well designed. Also there is a Racquet +Club, an agreeable and very live institution now holding +the national championship in double racquets, which is +vested in the team of Davis and Wear. The Davis of +this pair is Dwight F. Davis, an exceedingly active and +able young man who, aside from many other interests,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[ 232]</a></span> +is a member of the City Plan Commission, commissioner +in charge of the very excellent parks of St. Louis, and +giver of the famous Davis Cup, emblematic of the +world's team tennis championship.</p> + +<p>But the characteristic club note of St. Louis is struck +by the very small, exclusive clubs. One is the Florissant +Valley Country Club, with a pleasant, simple club-house +and a very charming membership. But the most +famous little club of the city, and one of the most famous +in the United States, is the Log Cabin Club. I do not +believe that in the entire country there is another like +it. The club is on the outskirts of the city, and has its +own golf course. Its house is an utterly unostentatious +frame building with a dining room containing a single +table at which all the members sit at meals together, like +one large family. The membership limit is twenty-five, +and the list has never been completely filled. There were +twenty-one members, I was told, at the time we were +there, and besides being, perhaps, the most prominent men +in the city, these gentlemen are all intimates, so that the +club has an air of delightful informality which is hardly +equaled in any other club I know. The family spirit is +further enhanced by the fact that no checks are signed, +the expense of operation being divided equally among +the members. Here originated the "Log Cabin game" +of poker, which is now known nationally in the most exalted +poker circles. I should like to explain this game +to you, telling you all the hands, and how to bet on them, +but after an evening of practical instruction, I came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[ 233]</a></span> +away quite baffled. Missouri is, you know, a poker +State. Ordinary poker, as played in the east, is a game +too simple, too childlike, for the highly specialized +Missouri poker mind. I played poker twice in Missouri—that +is, I tried to play—but I might as well have +tried to juggle with the lightnings of the gods. No man +has the least conception of that game until he goes out +to Missouri. There it is not merely a casual pastime; +it is a rite, a sacrament, a magnificent expression of a +people. The Log Cabin game is a thing of "kilters," +skip-straights, around-the-corner straights, and other +complications. Three of a kind is very nearly worthless. +Throw it away after the draw if you like, pay a +dollar and get a brand-new hand.</p> + +<p>But those are some simple little points to be picked up +in an evening's play, and a knowledge of the simple little +points of such a game is worse than worthless—it is expensive. +To really learn the Log Cabin game, you must +give up your business, your dancing, and your home +life, move out to St. Louis, cultivate Log Cabin members +(who are the high priests of poker) and play with +them until your family fortune has been painlessly extracted. +And however great the fortune, it is a small +price to pay for such adept instruction. When it is +gone you will still fall short of ordinary Missouri poker, +and will be as a mere babe in the hands of a Log Cabin +member, but you will be absolutely sure of winning, +<i>anywhere outside the State</i>.</p> + +<p>It seems logical that the city, which is beyond doubt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[ 234]</a></span> +the poker center of the universe, should also have attained +to eminence in drinks. It was in St. Louis that +two great drinks came into being. In the old days of +straight whisky, the term for three fingers of red +liquor in a whisky glass was a "ball." But there came +from Austria a man named Enno Sanders, who established +a bottling works in St. Louis, and manufactured +seltzer. St. Louis liked the seltzer and presently it became +the practice to add a little of the bubbling water +to the "ball." This necessitated a taller glass, so men +began to call for a "<i>high</i> ball."</p> + +<p>The weary traveler may be glad to know that the +highball has not been discontinued in St. Louis.</p> + +<p>Another drink which originated in St. Louis is the +gin rickey. Colonel Rickey was born in Hannibal, Mo., +of which town I shall write presently. Later he moved +to St. Louis and invented the famous rickey, which immortalized +his name—preserving it, as it were, in alcohol. +The drink was first served in a bar opposite the +old Southern Hotel—a hotel which, by the way, I regretted +to see standing empty and deserted at the time +of my last visit, for, in its prime, it was a hotel among +hotels.</p> + +<p>I have tried to lead gradually, effectively to a climax. +From clubs, which are pleasant, I progressed to poker, +which is pleasanter; from poker I stepped ahead to highballs +and gin rickeys. And now I am prepared to reach +my highest altitude. I intend to tell the very nicest thing +about St. Louis. And the nicest thing about St. Louis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[ 235]</a></span> +is the nicest thing that there can be about a place.</p> + +<p>It discounts primitive street cars, an ill-set railway +station, and an unfinished bridge. It sinks the parks, +the botanical gardens, the art museum into comparative +oblivion. Small wonder that St. Louis seems to ignore +her minor weaknesses when she excels in this one thing—as +she must know she does.</p> + +<p>The nicest thing about St. Louis is St. Louis girls.</p> + +<p>In the first place, fashionable young women in St. +Louis are quite as gratifying to the eye as women anywhere. +In the second place, they have unusual poise. +This latter quality is very striking, and it springs, I +fancy, from the town's conservatism and solidity. The +young girls and young men of the St. Louis social group +have grown up together, as have their parents and +grandparents before them. They give one the feeling +that they are somehow rooted to the place, as no New +Yorker is rooted to New York. The social fabric of +St. Louis changes little. The old families live in the +houses they have always lived in, instead of moving +from apartment to apartment every year or two. One +does not feel the nervous tug of social and financial +straining, of that eternal overreaching which one senses +always in New York.</p> + +<p>One day at luncheon I found myself between two very +lovely creatures—neither of them over twenty-two or +twenty-three; both of them endowed with the aplomb of +older, more experienced, women—who endeared themselves +to me by talking critically about the works of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[ 236]</a></span> +Meredith—and Joseph Conrad—and Leonard Merrick. +Fancy that! Fancy their being pretty girls yet having +worth-while things to say—and about those three men!</p> + +<p>And when the conversation drifted away from books +to the topic which my companion and I call "life stuff," +and when I found them adept also in that field, my appreciation +of St. Louis became boundless.</p> + +<p>It just occurs to me that, in publishing the fact that +St. Louis girls have brains I may have unintentionally +done them an unkindness.</p> + +<p>Once I asked a young English bachelor to my house +for a week-end.</p> + +<p>"I want you to come this week," I said, "because the +prettiest girl I know will be there."</p> + +<p>"Delighted," he replied.</p> + +<p>"She's a most unusual girl," I went on, "for, besides +being a dream of loveliness, she's clever."</p> + +<p>"Oh," he said, "if she's clever, let me come some other +time. I don't like 'em clever. I like 'em pretty and +stupid."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[ 237]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>HANNIBAL AND MARK TWAIN</h3> + + +<p>If black slaves are no longer bought and sold there, +if the river trade has dwindled, if the railroad and +the factory have come, bringing a larger population +with them, if the town now has a hundred-thousand-dollar +city hall, a country club, and "fifty-six passenger +trains daily," it is, at all events, a pleasure to +record the fact that Hannibal, Missouri, retains to-day +that look of soft and shambling picturesqueness suitable +to an old river town, and essential to the "St. Petersburg" +of fiction—the perpetual dwelling place of those +immortal boys, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.</p> + +<p>Should this characterization of the town fail to meet +with the approval of the Hannibal Commercial Club, I +regret it, for I honor the Commercial Club because of +its action toward the preservation of a thing so uncommercial +as the boyhood home of Mark Twain. But, +after all, the club must remember that, in its creditable +effort to build up a newer and finer Hannibal, a Hannibal +of brick and granite, it is running counter to the +sentimental interests of innumerable persons who, +though most of them have never seen the old town and +never will, yet think of it as given to them by Mark +Twain, with a peculiar tenderness, as though it were a +Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn among the cities—a ragged,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[ 238]</a></span> +happy boy of a town, which ought never, never to grow +up.</p> + +<p>There is no more charming way of preserving the +memory of an artist than through the preservation of +the house in which he lived, and that is especially true +where the artist was a literary man and where the house +has figured in his writings. What memorial to Thomas +Bailey Aldrich, for example, could equal the one in +Portsmouth, N. H., where is preserved the house in +which the "Bad Boy" of the "Diary" used to live, even +to the furniture and the bedroom wall paper mentioned +in the book? And what monuments to Washington +Irving could touch quite the note that is touched by that +old house in Tarrytown, N. Y., or that other old house in +Irving Place, in the city of New York, where the Authors' +League of America now has its headquarters?</p> + +<p>With the exception of Stratford-on-Avon, I do not +know of a community so completely dominated by the +memory of a great man of letters as is the city of Hannibal +by the memory of Mark Twain. There is, indeed, +a curious resemblance to be traced between the two +towns. I don't mean a physical resemblance, for no +places could be less alike than the garden town where +Shakespeare lived and the pathetic wooden village of +the early west in which nine years of Mark Twain's +boyhood were spent. The resemblance is only in the +majestic shadows cast over them by their great men.</p> + +<p>Thus, the hotel in Stratford is called The Shakespeare +Hotel, while that in Hannibal is The Mark Twain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[ 239]</a></span> +Stratford has the house in which Shakespeare was born; +Hannibal the house in which Mark Twain lived—the +house of Tom Sawyer. Stratford has the cottage of +Anne Hathaway; Hannibal that of Becky Thatcher. +And Hannibal has, furthermore, one possession which +lovers of the delightful Becky will hope may long be +spared to it—it possesses, in the person of Mrs. Laura +Hawkins Frazer, who is now matron of the Home for +the Friendless, the original of Becky.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It is said that a memorial tablet, intended to mark +the birthplace of Eugene Field in St. Louis, was placed, +not only upon the wrong house, but upon a house in the +wrong street. Mark Twain unveiled the tablet; one +can fancy the spirits of these two Missouri literary men +meeting somewhere and smiling together over that. +But if the shade of Mark Twain should undertake to +chaff that of the poet upon the fact that mortals had +erred as to the location of his birthplace, the shade of +Field would not be able to retort in kind, for—thanks +partly to the fact that Mark Twain was known for a +genius while he was yet alive, and partly to the indefatigable +labors of his biographer, Albert Bigelow +Paine—a vast fund of accurate information has been +preserved, covering the life of the great Missourian, +from the time of his birth in the little hamlet of Florida, +Mo., to his death in Reading, Conn. No; if the shade +of Field should wish to return the jest, it would prob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[ 240]</a></span>ably +call the humorist's attention to a certain memorial +tablet in the Mark Twain house in Hannibal. But of +that presently.</p> + +<p>I have said that the Commercial Club honored Mark +Twain's memory. That is true. But the Commercial +Club would not be a Commercial Club if it did not also +wish the visitor to take into consideration certain other +matters. In effect it says to him: "Yes, indeed, Mark +Twain spent the most important part of his boyhood +here. But we wish you to understand that Hannibal is +a busy, growing town. We have the cheapest electric +power in the Mississippi Valley. We offer free factory +sites. We—"</p> + +<p>"Yes," you say, "but where is the Mark Twain +house?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—" says Hannibal, catching its breath. "Go +right on up Main to Hill Street; you'll find it just around +the corner. Any one will point it out to you. There's +a bronze tablet in the wall. But put this little pamphlet +in your pocket. It tells all about our city. You can +read it at your leisure."</p> + +<p>You take the pamphlet and move along up Main +Street. And if there is a sympathetic native with you +he will stop you at the corner of Main and Bird—they +call it Wildcat Corner—and point out a little wooden +shanty adjoining a near-by alley, where, it is said, Mark +Twain's father, John Marshall Clemens, had his office +when he was Justice of the Peace—the same office in +which Samuel Clemens in his boyhood saw the corpse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[ 241]</a></span> +lying on the floor, by moonlight, as recounted in "The +Innocents Abroad."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus311.png" width="450" height="521" alt="We came upon the "Mark Twain House".... And to think that, +wretched as this place was, the Clemens family were forced to leave it +for a time because they were too poor to live there!" title="" /> +<span class="caption">We came upon the "Mark Twain House".... And to think that, +wretched as this place was, the Clemens family were forced to leave it +for a time because they were too poor to live there!</span> +</div> + +<p>It was at Wildcat Corner, too, that the boys conducted +that famous piece of high finance: trading off +the green watermelon, which they had stolen, for a ripe +one, on the allegation that the former had been purchased.</p> + +<p>Also near the corner stands the building in which +Joseph Ament had the office of his newspaper, the +"Missouri Courier," where young Sam Clemens first +went to work as an apprentice, doing errands and learning +to set type; and there are many other old buildings +having some bearing on the history of the Clemens +family, including one at the corner of Main and Hill +Streets, in the upper story of which the family lived for +a time, a building somewhat after the Greek pattern so +prevalent throughout the south in the early days. Once, +when he revisited Hannibal after he had become famous, +Mark Twain stopped before that building and +told Mr. George A. Mahan that he remembered when +it was erected, and that at the time the fluted pilasters +on the front of it constituted his idea of reckless extravagance—that, +indeed, the ostentation of them +startled the whole town.</p> + +<p>Turning into Bird Street and passing the old Pavey +Hotel, we came upon the "Mark Twain House," a tiny +box of a cottage, its sagging front so taken up with five +windows and a door that there is barely room for the +little bronze plaque which marks the place. At one side<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[ 242]</a></span> +is an alley running back to the house of Huckleberry +Finn, on the next street (Huck, as Paine tells us, was +really a boy named Tom Blankenship), and in that alley +stood the historic fence which young Sam Clemens +cajoled the other boys into whitewashing for him, as +related in "Tom Sawyer."</p> + +<p>Inside the house there is little to be seen. It is occupied +now by a custodian who sells souvenir post cards, +and has but few Mark Twain relics to show—some +photographs and autographs; nothing of importance. +But, despite that, I got a real sensation as I stood in +the little parlor, hardly larger than a good-sized closet, +and realized that in that miserable shanty grew up the +wild, barefoot boy who has since been called "the greatest +Missourian" and "America's greatest literary man," +and that in and about that place he gathered the impressions +and had the adventures which, at the time, he +himself never dreamed would be made by him into +books—much less books that would be known as classics.</p> + +<p>In the front room of the cottage a memorial tablet is +to be seen. It is a curious thing. At the top is the +following inscription:</p> + +<blockquote><p> +THIS BUILDING PRESENTED TO THE<br /> +CITY OF HANNIBAL,<br /> +MAY 7, 1912,<br /> +BY<br /> +MR. AND MRS. GEORGE A. MAHAN<br /> +AS A MEMORIAL TO<br /> +MARK TWAIN<br /></p></blockquote> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[ 243]</a></span> + +<p>Beneath the legend is a portrait bust of the author in +bas relief. At the bottom of the tablet is another inscription. +From across the room I saw that it was +set off in quotation marks, and assuming, of course, that +it was some particularly suitable extract from the works +of the most quotable of all Americans, I stepped across +and read it. This is what it said:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"MARK TWAIN'S LIFE TEACHES THAT +POVERTY IS AN INCENTIVE RATHER +THAN A BAR: AND THAT ANY BOY, +HOWEVER HUMBLE HIS BIRTH AND +SURROUNDINGS, MAY BY HONESTY +AND INDUSTRY ACCOMPLISH GREAT +THINGS."</p> +<p> +—<span class="smcap">George A. Mahan.</span><br /> +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>That inscription made me think of many things. It +made me think of Napoleon's inscription on the statue +of Henri IV, and of Judge Thatcher's talk with Tom +Sawyer, in the Sunday school, and of Mr. Walters, the +Sunday school superintendent, in the same book, and of +certain moral lessons drawn by Andrew Carnegie. +And not the least thing of which it made me think was +the mischievous, shiftless, troublesome, sandy-haired +young rascal who hated school and Sunday school and +yet became the more than honest, more than industrious +man, commemorated there.</p> + +<p>If I did not feel the inspiration of that place while +considering the tablet, the back yard gave me real de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[ 244]</a></span>light. +There were the old outhouses, the old back stair, +the old back fence, and the little window looking down +on them—the window of Tom Sawyer, beneath which, +in the gloaming, Huckleberry Finn made catcalls to +summon forth his fellow buccaneer. And here, below +the window, was the place where Pamela Clemens, +Sam's sister, the original of Cousin Mary in "Tom +Sawyer," had her candy pull on that evening when a +boy, in his undershirt, came tumbling from above.</p> + +<p>And to think that, wretched as this place was, the +Clemens family were forced to leave it for a time because +they were too poor to live there! Of a certainty +Mark Twain's early life was as squalid as his later life +was rich. However, it was always colorful—he saw +to that, straight through from the barefoot days to +those of the white suits, the Oxford gown, and the +European courts.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus317.png" width="450" height="370" alt="At one side is an alley running back to the house of Huckleberry Finn, and +in that alley stood the historic fence which young Sam Clemens cajoled the +other boys into whitewashing for him" title="" /> +<span class="caption">At one side is an alley running back to the house of Huckleberry Finn, and +in that alley stood the historic fence which young Sam Clemens cajoled the +other boys into whitewashing for him</span> +</div> + +<p>Not far back of the house rises the "Cardiff Hill" of +the stories; in reality, Holliday's Hill, so called because +long ago there lived, up at the top, old Mrs. Holliday, +who burned a lamp in her window every night as a mark +for river pilots to run by. It was down that hill that +the boys rolled the stones which startled churchgoers, +and that final, enormous rock which, by a fortunate freak +of chance, hurdled a negro and his wagon instead of +striking and destroying them. Ah, how rich in racy +memories are those streets! Somewhere among them, +in that part of town which has come to be called "Mark-Twainville," +is the very spot, unmarked and unknown,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[ 245]</a></span> +where young Sam Clemens picked up a scrap of newspaper +upon which was printed a portion of the tale of +Joan of Arc—a scrap of paper which, Paine says, gave +him his first literary stimulus. And somewhere else, +not far from the house, is the place where Orion Clemens, +Sam's elder brother, ran the ill-starred newspaper +on which Sam worked, setting type and doing his first +writing. It was, indeed, in Orion's paper that Sam's famous +verse, "To Mary in Hannibal," was published—the +title condensed, because of the narrow column, to +read: "To Mary in H—l."</p> + +<p>Along the crest of the bluffs, overlooking the river, +the city of Hannibal has made for itself a charming +park, and at the highest point in this park there is to be +unveiled, in a short time, a statue of Samuel Langhorne +Clemens, which, from its position, will command a view +of many leagues of mile-wide Mississippi. It is peculiarly +fitting that the memorial should be stationed in +that place. Mark Twain loved the river. Even though +it almost "got" him in his boyhood (he had "nine narrow +escapes from drowning") he adored it; later, when +his youthful ambition to become a river pilot was attained, +he still adored it; and finally he wrote his love +of it into that masterpiece, "Life on the Mississippi," +of which Arnold Bennett has said: "I would sacrifice +for it the entire works of Thackeray and George Eliot."</p> + +<p>Looking up the river from the spot where the statue +will be placed, one may see Turtle Island, where Tom +and Huck used to go and feast on turtle's eggs—rowing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[ 246]</a></span> +there in that boat which, after they had so "honestly and +industriously" stolen it, they painted red, that its former +proprietor might not recognize it. Below is Glascox +Island, where Nigger Jim hid. Glascox Island is often +called Tom Sawyer's Island, or Mark Twain's Island, +now. Not far below the island is the "scar on the hill-side" +which marks the famous cave.</p> + +<p>"For Sam Clemens," says Paine in his biography, +"the cave had a fascination that never faded. Other +localities and diversions might pall, but any mention of +the cave found him always eager and ready for the +three-mile walk or pull that brought them to the mystic +door."</p> + +<p>I suggested to my companion that, for the sake of +sentiment, we, too, approach the cave by rowing down +the river. And, having suggested the plan, I offered +to take upon myself the heaviest responsibility connected +with it—that of piloting the boat in these unfamiliar +waters. All I required of him was the mere +manual act of working the oars. To my amazement he +refused. I fear that he not only lacks sentiment, but +that he is becoming lazy.</p> + +<p>We drove out to the cave in a Ford car.</p> + +<p>Do you remember when Tom Sawyer took the boys +to the cave at night, in "Huckleberry Finn"?</p> + +<p>"We went to a clump of bushes," says Huck, "and +Tom made everybody swear to keep the secret, and then +showed them a hole in the hill, right in the thickest part +of the bushes. Then we lit candles and crawled in on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[ 247]</a></span> +our hands and knees. We went about two hundred +yards, and then the cave opened up. Tom poked about +among the passages, and pretty soon ducked under a +wall where you wouldn't 'a' noticed there was a hole. +We went along a narrow place and got into a kind of +room, all damp and sweaty and cold, and there we +stopped. Tom says: 'Now we'll start this band of +robbers and call it Tom Sawyer's Gang. Everybody +that wants to join has got to take an oath and write his +name in blood.'"</p> + +<p>That is the sort of cave it is—a wonderful, mysterious +place, black as India ink; a maze of passageways +and vaulted rooms, eaten by the waters of long ago +through the limestone cliffs; a seemingly endless cavern +full of stalactites and stalagmites, looking like great +conical masses of candle grease; a damp, oppressive +labyrinth of eerie rock formations, to kindle the most +bloodcurdling imaginings.</p> + +<p>As we moved in, away from the daylight, illuminating +our way, feebly, with such matches as we happened to +have with us, and with newspaper torches, the man who +had driven us out there told us about the cave.</p> + +<p>"They ain't no one ever explored it," he said. "'S +too big. Why, they's a lake in here—quite a big lake, +with fish in it. And they's an arm of the cave that +goes away down underneath the river. They say they's +wells, too—holes with no bottoms to 'em. Prob'ly +that's where them people went to that's got lost in the +cave."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[ 248]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Have people gotten lost in here?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," he said cheerfully. "They say there's +some that's gone in and never come out again. She's +quite a cave."</p> + +<p>I began to walk more gingerly into the blackness.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," I said to him presently, "there are toads +and snakes and such things here?"</p> + +<p>He hastened to set my mind at rest on that.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord bless you, yes!" he declared. "Bats, +too."</p> + +<p>"And I suppose some of those holes you speak of are +full of snakes?"</p> + +<p>"Most likely." His voice reverberated in the darkness. +"But I can't be sure. Nobody that's ever been +in them holes ain't lived to tell the tale."</p> + +<p>By this time we had reached a point at which no +glimmer of light from the mouth of the cave was visible. +We were feeling our way along, running our hands +over the damp rocks and putting our feet before us with +the utmost caution. I knew, of course, that it would +add a good deal to my story if one of our party fell into +a hole and was never again heard from, but the more I +thought about it the more advisable it seemed to me that +I should not be that one. I had an engagement for dinner +that evening, and besides, if I fell in, who would +write the story? Certainly the driver of the auto-hack, +for all his good will, could hardly do it justice; whereas, +if he fell in I could at a pinch drive the little Ford back +to the city.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[ 249]</a></span></p> + +<p>I dropped behind. But when I did that he stopped.</p> + +<p>"I just stopped for breath," I said. "You can keep +on and I'll follow in a minute."</p> + +<p>"No," he answered, "I'll wait for you. I'm out of +breath, too. Besides, I don't want you to get lost in +here."</p> + +<p>At this juncture my companion, who had moved a +little way off, gave a frightful yell, which echoed horribly +through the cavern.</p> + +<p>I could not see him. I did not know what was the +matter. Never mind! My one thought was of him. +Perhaps he had been attacked by a wildcat or a serpent. +Well, he was my fellow traveler, and I would stand by +him! Even the chauffeur of the hack seemed to feel +the same way. Together we turned and ran toward +the place whence we thought the voice might have come—that +is to say, toward the mouth of the cave. But +when we reached it he wasn't there.</p> + +<p>"He must be back in the cave, after all," I said to the +driver.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he agreed.</p> + +<p>"Now, I tell you," I said. "We mustn't both go in +after him. One of us ought to stay here and call to the +others to guide them out. I'll do that. I have a good +strong voice. And you go in and find out what's the +matter. You know the cave better than I do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no I don't," said the man.</p> + +<p>"Why certainly you do!" I said.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't never into the cave before," he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[ 250]</a></span> +"Leastways not nowhere near as far as we was this +time."</p> + +<p>"But you live right here in Hannibal," I insisted. +"You <i>must</i> know more about it than I do. I live in +New York. What could I know about a cave away +out here in Missouri?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you know just as much as I do, anyhow," he +returned doggedly.</p> + +<p>"Look here!" I said sharply. "I hope you aren't a +coward? The idea! A great big fellow like you, too!"</p> + +<p>However, at that juncture, our argument was stopped +by the appearance of the missing man. He strolled into +the light in leisurely fashion.</p> + +<p>"What happened?" I cried.</p> + +<p>"Happened?" he repeated. "Nothing happened. +Why?"</p> + +<p>"You yelled, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I wanted to hear the echoes."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Before leaving Hannibal that afternoon, we had the +pleasure of meeting an old school friend of Samuel +Clemens's, Colonel John L. RoBards—the same John +RoBards of whom it is recorded in Paine's work that +"he wore almost continually the medal for amiability, +while Samuel Clemens had a mortgage on the medal for +spelling."</p> + +<p>Colonel RoBards is still amiable. He took us to his +office, showed us a scrap-book containing clippings in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[ 251]</a></span> +which he was mentioned in connection with Mark +Twain, and told us of old days in the log schoolhouse.</p> + +<p>Seeing that I was making notes, the Colonel called +my attention politely to the spelling of his name, requesting +that I get it right. Then he explained to me the reason +for the capital B, beginning the second syllable.</p> + +<p>"I may say, sir," he explained in his fine Southern +manner, "that I inserted that capital B myself. At +least I converted the small B into a capital. I am a +Kentuckian, sir, and in Kentucky my family name +stands for something. It is a name that I am proud to +bear, and I do not like to be called out of it. But up +here I was continually annoyed by the errors of careless +persons. Frequently they would fail to give the accent +on the final syllable, where it should be placed, sir—Ro<i>Bards</i>; +that is the way it should be pronounced—but +even worse, it happened now and then that some one +called me by the plebeian appellation, Roberts. That +was most distasteful to me, sir. <i>Most</i> distasteful. +For that reason I use the capital B for emphasis."</p> + +<p>I was glad to assure the Colonel that in these pages +his name would be correctly spelled, and I call him to +witness that I spoke the truth. I repeat, the name is +RoBards. And it is borne by a most amiable gentleman.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mr. F. W. Hixson of St. Louis has in his possession +an autograph book which belonged to his mother when +she was a young girl (Ann Virginia Ruffner), residing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[ 252]</a></span> +in Hannibal. In this book, Sam Clemens wrote a verse +at the time when he was preparing to leave the town +where he had spent his youth. I reproduce that boyish +bit of doggerel here, solely for the value of one word +which it contains:</p> + +<blockquote><p> +Good-by, good-by,<br /> +I bid you now, my friend;<br /> +And though 'tis hard to say the word,<br /> +To destiny I bend.<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Never, in his most perfect passages, did Samuel +Clemens hit more certainly upon the one right word +than when in this verse he wrote the second word in the +last line.</p> + +<p>And what a destiny it was! +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus328.png" width="450" height="284" alt="Never outside of Brittany and Normandy have I seen roads so full of animals as those of Pike County" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Never outside of Brittany and Normandy have I seen roads so full of animals as those of Pike County</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[ 253]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>PIKE AND POKER</h3> + + +<p>It was before we left St. Louis that I received a letter +inviting us to visit in the town of Louisiana, +Mo. I quote a portion of it:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Louisiana is in Pike County, a county famous for its big red +apples, miles of rock roads, fine old estates, Rhine scenery, +capons, rare old country hams, and poker. Pike County means +more to Missouri than Missouri does to Pike.</p> + +<p>Do you remember "Jim Bludso of the 'Prairie Belle'"?</p> + +<blockquote><p> +<i>He weren't no saint—them engineers<br /> +Is pretty much all alike—<br /> +One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill<br /> +And another one here in Pike.</i><br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>We can show you "the willer-bank on the right," where +Bludso ran the 'Prairie Belle' aground and made good with his +life his old promise:</p> + +<blockquote><p> +<i>I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank<br /> +Till the last galoot's ashore.</i><br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>We can also show you the home of Champ Clark, and the +largest nursery in the world, and a meadow where, twenty-five +years ago, a young fellow threw down his hayfork and said to +his companion: "Sam, I'm going to town to study law with +Champ Clark. Some day I'm going to be Governor of this +State." He was Elliott W. Major, and he is Governor to-day.</p></blockquote> + +<p>The promise held forth by this letter appealed to +me. It is always interesting to see whether a man like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[ 254]</a></span> +Champ Clark lives in a house with ornamental iron +fences on the roof and iron urns in the front yard; likewise +there is a sort of fascination for a man of my extensive +ignorance, in hearing not merely how the Governor +of Missouri decided to become Governor, but in +finding out his name. Then those hams and capons—how +many politicians can compare for interest with a +tender capon or a fine old country ham? And perhaps +more alluring to me than any of these was the idea of +going to visit in a strange State, and a strange town, +and a strange house—the house of a total stranger.</p> + +<p>We accepted.</p> + +<p>Our host met us with his touring car and proceeded +to make good his promises about the nursery, and the +scenery, and the roads, and the estates, and as we bowled +along he told us about "Pike." It is indeed a great +county. And the fact that it was originally settled by +Virginians, Kentuckians, and Carolinians still stamps +it strongly with the qualities of the South. Though +north of St. Louis on the map, it is south of St. Louis +in its spirit. Indeed, Louisiana is the most Southern +town in appearance and feeling that we visited upon our +travels. The broad black felt hats one sees about the +streets, the luxuriant mustaches and goatees—all these +things mark the town, and if they are not enough, you +should see "Indy" Gordon as she walks along puffing +at a bulldog pipe black as her own face.</p> + +<p>Never outside of Brittany and Normandy have I seen +roads so full of animals as those of Pike County. From<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[ 255]</a></span> +the great four-horse teams, drawing produce to and +from the beautiful estate called "Falicon," to the mule +teams and the saddle horses and the cows and pigs and +chickens and dogs, all the quadrupeds and bipeds domesticated +by mankind were there upon the roads to meet +us and to protest, by various antics, against the invasion +of the motor car. Dogs hurled themselves at the car as +though to suicide; chickens extended themselves in +shrieking dives across our course; pigs arose from the +luxurious mud with grunts of frantic disapproval, and +cantered heavily into the fields; cows trotted lumberingly +before us, their hind legs and their fore legs moving, it +seemed, without relation to each other; a goat ran round +and round the tree to which he was attached; mules +pointed their ears to heaven, and opened their eyes wide +in horror and amazement; beautiful saddle horses bearing +countrymen, or rosy-cheeked young women from +the farms, tried to climb into the boughs of wayside +trees for safety, and four-horse teams managed to get +themselves involved in a manner only rivaled by a ball +of yarn with which a kitten is allowed to work its own +sweet will.</p> + +<p>Our host took all these matters calmly. When a mule +protested at our presence on the road, it would merely +serve as a reminder that, "Pike County furnished most +of the mules for the Spanish war"; or, when a saddle +horse showed signs of homicidal purpose, it would draw +the calm observation, "Pike is probably the greatest +county in the whole United States for saddle horses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[ 256]</a></span> +'Missouri King,' the undefeated champion saddle horse +of the world, was raised here."</p> + +<p>So we progressed amid the outraged animals.</p> + +<p>My feeling as I alighted at last on the step before our +host's front door was one of definite relief. For dinner +is the meal I care for most, and man, with all his faults, +the animal I most enjoy.</p> + +<p>The house was genial like its owner—it was just the +sort of house I like; large and open, with wide halls, +spacious rooms, comfortable beds and chairs, and ash +trays everywhere.</p> + +<p>"I've asked some men in for dinner and a little game," +our host informed us, as he left us to our dressing.</p> + +<p>Presently we heard motors arriving in the drive, beneath +our windows. When we descended, the living +room was filled with men in dinner suits. (Oh, yes; +they wear them in those Mississippi River towns, and +they fit as well as yours does!)</p> + +<p>When we had been introduced we all moved to the +dining room.</p> + +<p>At each place was a printed menu with the heading +"At Home Abroad"—a hospitable inversion of the general +title of these chapters—and with details as follows:</p> + +<p>A COUNTRY DINNER</p> + +<blockquote><p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Old Pike County ham,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pike County capons</span><br /> +and other Pike County essentials,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">with Pike County Colonels.</span><br /></p></blockquote> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[ 257]</a></span> + +<p>At the bottom of the card was this—shall I call it +warning?</p> + +<blockquote><p>Senator Warner once said to Colonel Roosevelt: "<i>Pike +County babies cut their teeth on poker chips</i>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>I have already said that Pike is a county with a Southern +savor, but I had not realized how fully that was true +until I dined there. I will not say that I have never +tasted such a dinner, for truth I hold even above politeness. +All I will say is that if ever before I had met with +such a meal the memory of it has departed—and, I may +add, my memory for famous meals is considered good +to the point of irritation.</p> + +<p>The dinner (save for the "essentials") was entirely +made up of products of the county. More, it was even +supervised and cooked by county products, for two particularly +sweet young ladies, members of the family, +were flying around the kitchen in their pretty evening +gowns, helping and directing Molly.</p> + +<p>Molly is a pretty mulatto girl. Her skin is like a +smooth, light-colored bronze, her eye is dark and gentle, +like that of some domesticated animal, her voice drawls +in melodious cadences, and she has a sort of shyness +which is very fetching.</p> + +<p>"Ah cain't cook lak they used to cook in the ole days," +she smiled in response to my tribute to the dinner, later. +"The Kuhnel was askin' jus' th' othah day if ah could +make 'im some ash cake, but ah haid to tell 'im +ah couldn't. Ah've seen ma gran'fatha make it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[ 258]</a></span> +lots o' times, but folks cain't make it no mo', now-a-days."</p> + +<p>Poor benighted Northerner that I am, I had to ask +what ash cake was. It is a kind of corn cake, Molly +told me, the parent, so to speak, of the corn dodger, and +the grandparent of hoecake. It has to be prepared carefully +and then cooked in the hot ashes—cooked "jes so," +as Molly said.</p> + +<p>Having learned about ash cake, I demanded more +Pike County culinary lore, whereupon I was told, partly +by my host, and partly by Molly, about the oldtime wedding +cooks.</p> + +<p>Wedding cooks were the best cooks in the South, +supercooks, with state-wide reputations. When there +was a wedding a dinner was given at the home of the +bride, for all the wedding guests, and it was in the +preparation of this repast that the wedding cook of the +bride's family showed what she could do. That dinner +was on the day of the wedding. On the next day the +entire company repaired to the home of the groom's +family, where another dinner was served—a dinner in +which the wedding cook belonging to this family tried +to outdo that of the day before. This latter feast was +known as the "infair." But all these old Southern customs +seem to have departed now, along with the wedding +cooks themselves. The latter very seldom came +to sale, being regarded as the most valuable of all slaves. +Once in a while when some leading family was in +financial difficulties and was forced to sell its wedding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[ 259]</a></span> +cook she would bring as much as eight or ten times the +price of an ordinary female slave.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>After dinner, when we moved out to the living room, +we found a large, green table all in place, with the chips +arranged in little piles. But let me introduce you to +the players.</p> + +<p>First, there was Colonel Edgar Stark, our host, genial +and warm-hearted over dinner; cold and inscrutable behind +his spectacles when poker chips appeared.</p> + +<p>Then Colonel Charlie Buffum, heavily built, but with +a similar dual personality.</p> + +<p>Then Colonel Frank Buffum, State Highway Commissioner; +or, as some one called him later in the evening, when the chips began +to gather at his place, State +"highwayman."</p> + +<p>Then Colonel Dick Goodman, banker, raconteur, and +connoisseur of edibles and "essentials."</p> + +<p>Then Colonel George S. Cake, who, when not a +Colonel, is a Commodore: commander of the "Betsy," +flagship of the Louisiana Yacht Club, and the most famous craft +to ply the Mississippi since the "Prairie +Belle." (Don't "call" Colonel Cake when he raises you +and at the same time raises his right eyebrow.)</p> + +<p>Then Colonel Dick Hawkins, former Collector of the +Port of St. Louis, and more recently (since there has +been so little in St. Louis to collect) a gentleman farmer. +(Colonel Hawkins always wins at poker. The +question is not "Will he win?" but "How much?")<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[ 260]</a></span></p> + +<p>Only two men in the game were not, so far as I discovered, +Colonels.</p> + +<p>One, Major Dave Wald, has been held back in title +because of time devoted to the pursuit of literature. +Major Wald has written a book. The subject of the +book is Poker. As a tactician, he is perhaps unrivaled +in Missouri. He will look at a hand and instantly declare +the percentage of chance it stands of filling in the +draw, according to the law of chance. One hand will +be, to Major Wald, a "sixteen-time hand"; another a +"thirty-two time hand," and so on—meaning that the +player has one chance in sixteen, or in thirty-two, of +filling.</p> + +<p>The other player was merely a plain "Mister," like +ourselves—Mr. John W. Matson, the corporation +lawyer. At first I felt sorry for Mr. Matson. It +seemed hard that the rank of Colonel had been denied +him. But when I saw him shuffle and deal, I was no +longer sorry for him, but for myself. With the possible +exception of General Bob Williams (who won't +play any more now that he has been appointed postmaster), +and Colonel Clarence Buell, who used to play +in the big games on the Mississippi boats, Mr. Matson +can shuffle and deal more rapidly and more accurately +than any man in Missouri.</p> + +<p>Colonel Buell was present, as was Colonel Lloyd Stark, +but neither played. Colonel Buell had intended +to, but on being told that my companion and I were from +New York he declined to "take the money." The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[ 261]</a></span> +Colonel—but to say "the Colonel" in Pike County is +hardly specific—Colonel Buell, I mean, is the same gentleman +who fought the Indians, long ago, with Buffalo +Bill, and who later acted as treasurer of the Wild West +Show on its first trip to Europe. Some one informed +me that the Colonel—Colonel Buell, I mean—was a +capitalist, but the information was beside the mark, for +I had already seen the diamond ring he wears—a most +remarkable piece of landscape gardening.</p> + +<p>During the evening Colonel Buell, who stood for an +hour or two and watched the play, spoke of certain +things that he had seen and done which, as I estimated +it, could not have been seen or done within the last +sixty years. "How old is Colonel Buell?" I asked another +Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Colonel," asked the Colonel, "how old are you?"</p> + +<p>"Colonel," replied the Colonel, "I am exactly in my +prime."</p> + +<p>"I know that, Colonel," said the Colonel, "but what +is your age?"</p> + +<p>"Colonel," returned the Colonel suavely, "I have forgotten +my exact age. But I know that I am somewhere +between eighty and one hundred and forty-two."</p> + +<p>It was Mr. Matson's deal. He dealt. The cards +passed through the air and fell, one on the other, in +neat piles. (If you prefer it, Mr. Matson can drop a +fan-shaped hand before you, all ready to pick up.) And +from the time that the first hand was played I knew that +here, as in St. Louis, my companion and I were babes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[ 262]</a></span> +among the lions. I do not know how he played, but I +do know that I played along as best I could, only trying +not to lose too much money at once.</p> + +<p>But why rehearse the pathetic story? I spoke in a +former chapter of Missouri poker, and Pike County is a +county in Missouri. Bet on a good pat hand and some +one always holds a better one. Bluff and they call you. +Call and they beat you. There is no way of winning +from Missouri. Missouri poker players are mahatmas. +They have an occult sense of cards. Babes at their +mothers' breasts can tell the difference between a +straight and a flush long before they have the power of +speech. Once, while in Pike County, I asked a little +boy how many brothers and sisters he had. "One +brother and three sisters," he replied, and added: "A +full house."</p> + +<p>The Missouri gentlemen, so gay, so genial, at the dinner +table, take on a frigid look when the cards and chips +appear. They turn from gentle, kindly human beings +into relentless, ravening wolves, each intent upon the +thought of devouring the other. And when, over a +poker game, some player seems to enter into a pleasant +conversation, the other players know that even that is a +bluff—a blind to cover up some diabolic plot.</p> + +<p>Once during the game, for instance, Colonel Hawkins +started in to tell me something of his history. And I, +bland simpleton, believed we were conversing <i>sans</i> ulterior +motive.</p> + +<p>"I used to be in politics," he said. "Then I was in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[ 263]</a></span> +the banking business. But I've gone back to farming +now, because it is the only honest business in the world. +In fact—"</p> + +<p>But at that juncture the steely voices of half the other +players at the table interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Ante!" they cried. "Ante, farmer!"</p> + +<p>Whereupon Colonel Hawkins, who by that time had +to crane his neck to see the table over his pile of chips—a +pile of chips like the battlements of some feudal lord—anted +suavely.</p> + +<p>By midnight Colonel Buell, who had stood behind me +for a time and watched my play, showed signs of fatigue +and anguish. And a little later, after having seen me +try to "put it over" with three sixes, he sighed heavily +and went home—a fine, slender, courtly figure, straight +as a gun barrel, walking sadly out into the night. Next +Major Wald ceased to play for himself, but began to +take an interest in my hand. Under his supervision +during the last fifteen minutes of the game I made a +tiny dent in Colonel Hawkins's stacks of chips. But it +is only just to Colonel Hawkins to say that, by that time, +the Missourians were so sorry for us that they were +making the most desperate efforts not to win from us +any more than they could help.</p> + +<p>When the game broke up, Major Wald and Colonel +Hawkins showed concern about our future.</p> + +<p>"How far are you young men going, did you say?" +asked Colonel Hawkins.</p> + +<p>"To the Pacific Coast," I answered.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[ 264]</a></span></p> + +<p>At that the two veteran poker players looked at each +other solemnly, in silence, and shook their heads.</p> + +<p>"All the way to the coast, eh?" demanded Major +Wald. Then: "Do you expect to play cards much as +you go along?"</p> + +<p>I wished to uphold the honor of New York as best I +could, so I tried to reply gamely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," I said. "Whenever anybody wants a +game they'll find us ready."</p> + +<p>Again I saw them exchange glances.</p> + +<p>"You tell him, Major," said Colonel Hawkins, walking +away.</p> + +<p>"Young man," said Major Wald, placing his hand +kindly on my shoulder, "I played poker before you were +born. I know a good deal about it. You wouldn't take +offense if I gave you a pointer about your game?"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," I said, thinking I was about to +hear the inner secrets of Missouri poker, "I shall be +most grateful."</p> + +<p>"If I advise you," he pursued, "will you agree to follow +my advice?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the Major, "don't you play poker any +more while you're in the West. Wait till you get back +to New York."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Seeing the houses of the players next day as I drove +about the county, I suspected that even these had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[ 265]</a></span> +built around the game of poker, for each house has +ample accommodations for the "gang" in case the game +lasts until too late to go home. In the winter the games +occur at the houses of the different Colonels, and there +is always a dinner first. But it is in summer that the +greatest games occur, for then it is the immemorial custom +for the Colonels (and Major Wald and Mr. Matson, +too, of course) to charter a steamer and go out on the +river. These excursions sometimes last for the better +part of a week. Sometimes they cruise. Sometimes +they go ashore upon an island and camp. "We take a +tribe of cooks and a few cases of 'essentials,'" one of +the Colonels explained to me, "and the game never stops +at all."</p> + +<p>My companion and I were tired. The mental strain +had told upon us. Soon after the Colonels, the Major, +and Mr. Matson went, we retired. It seemed to me +that I had hardly closed my eyes when I heard a faint +rap at my bedroom door. But I must have slept, for +there was sunlight streaming through the window.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" I called.</p> + +<p>The voice of our host replied.</p> + +<p>"Breakfast will be ready any time you want it," he +declared. "Will you have your toddy now?"</p> + +<p>Ah! Pike is a great county!</p> + +<p>And what do you suppose we had for breakfast? +At the center of the table was a pile of the most beautiful +and enormous red apples—fragrant apples, giving +a sweet, appetizing scent which filled the room. I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[ 266]</a></span> +thought before that I knew something about apples, but +when I tasted these I became aware that no merely good +apple, no merely fine apple, would ever satisfy my taste +again. These apples, which are known as the "Delicious," +are to all other apples that I know as Missouri +poker is to all other poker. They are in a class absolutely +alone, and, in case you get some on a lucky day, +I want to tell you how to eat them with your breakfast. +Don't eat them as you eat an ordinary apple, but either +fry them, with a slice of bacon, or cut them up and take +them as you do peaches—that is, with cream and sugar. +Did you ever see an apple with flesh white and firm, yet +tender as a pear at the exact point of perfect ripeness? +Did you ever taste an apple that seemed actually to melt +upon your tongue? That is the sort of apple we had +for breakfast.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[ 267]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>OLD RIVER DAYS</h3> + + +<p>Later we motored to the town of Clarksville, +some miles down the river—a town which huddles +along the bank, as St. Louis must have in +her early days. Being a small, straggling village which +has not, if one may judge from appearances, progressed +or even changed in fifty years, Clarksville out-Hannibals +Hannibal. Or, perhaps, it is to-day the kind of town +that Hannibal was when Mark Twain was a boy. In +its decay it is theatrically perfect.</p> + +<p>Our motor stopped before the bank, and we were introduced +to the editor of the local paper, which is called +"The Piker."</p> + +<p>The bank is, in appearance, contemporary with the +town. The fittings are of the period of the Civil War—walnut, +as I recall them. And there are red glass signs +over the little window grilles bearing the legends +"Cashier" and "President."</p> + +<p>In the back room we met the president, Mr. John O. +Roberts, a gentleman over eighty years of age, who can +sit back, with his feet upon his desk, smoke cigars, and, +from a cloud of smoke, exude the most delightful stories +of old days on the Mississippi. For Mr. Roberts was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[ 268]</a></span> +clerk on river boats more than sixty years ago, in the +golden days of the great stream. There, too, we had +the good fortune to meet Professor M. S. Goodman, +who was born in Missouri in 1837, and founded the +Clarksville High School in 1865. The professor has +written the history of Pike County—but that is a big +story all by itself.</p> + +<p>In the old days Pike County embraced many of the +other present counties, and, running all the way from +the Mississippi to the Missouri River, was as large as a +good-sized State. Pike has colonized more Western +country than any other county in Missouri; or, as Professor +Goodman put it, "The west used to be full of +Pike County men who had pushed out there with their +guns and bottles."</p> + +<p>"Yes," added Mr. Roberts in his dry, crackling tone, +"and wherever they went they always wanted office."</p> + +<p>I asked Mr. Roberts about the famous poker games +on the river boats.</p> + +<p>"I antedate poker," he said. "The old river card +game was called 'Brag.' It was out of brag that the +game of poker developed. A steward on one of the +boats once told me that he and the other boys had picked +up more than a hundred dollars from the floor of a room +in which Henry Clay and some friends had been playing +brag."</p> + +<p>Golden days indeed!—and for every one. The steamboat +companies made fabulous returns on their investments.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus345.png" width="450" height="270" alt="Mr. Roberts is a wonder—nothing less. There's a book in him, and +I hope that somebody will write it, for I should like to read that book" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Mr. Roberts is a wonder—nothing less. There's a book in him, and +I hope that somebody will write it, for I should like to read that book</span> +</div><p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[ 269]</a></span></p> + +<p>"In '54 and '55," said Mr. Roberts, "I worked for +the St. Louis & Keokuk Packet Company, a line owning +three boats, which weren't worth over $75,000. That +company cleaned up as much as $150,000 clear profit in +one season. And, of course, a season wasn't an entire +year, either. It would open about March first and end +in December or, in a mild winter, January.</p> + +<p>"But I tell you we used to drive those boats. We'd +shoot up to the docks and land our passengers and mail +and freight without so much as tying up or even stopping. +We'd just scrape along the dock and then be +off again.</p> + +<p>"The highest fare ever charged between St. Louis +and Keokuk was $4 for the 200 miles. That included +a berth, wine, and the finest old Southern cooking a man +ever tasted. The best cooks I've ever seen in my life +were those old steamboat cooks. And we gave 'em good +stuff to cook, too. We bought the best of everything. +You ought to see the steaks we had for breakfast! The +officers used to sit at the ladies' end of the table and +serve out of big chafing dishes. I tell you those were +<i>meals</i>!</p> + +<p>"There was lots going on all the time on the river. +I remember one trip I made in '52 in the old 'Di Vernon'—all +the boats in the line were named for characters +in Scott's novels. We were coming from New Orleans +with 350 German immigrants on deck and 100 Californians +in the cabin. The Californians were sports +and they had a big game going all the time. We had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[ 270]</a></span> +two gamblers on board, too—John McKenzie and his +partner, a man named Wilburn. They used to come on +to the boats at different places, and make out to be farmers, +and not acquainted with each other, and there was +always something doing when they got into the game.</p> + +<p>"Well, this time cholera broke out among the immigrants +on the deck. They began dying on us. But we +had a deckload of lumber, so we were well fixed to handle +'em. We took the lumber and built coffins for 'em, +and when they'd die we'd put 'em in the coffins and save +'em until we got enough to make it worth stopping to +bury 'em. Then we'd tie up by some woodyard and be +loading up with wood for the furnaces while the burying +was going on. Some twenty-five or thirty of 'em died +on that trip, and we planted 'em at various points along +the way. And all the while, up there in the cabin, the +big game was going on—each fellow trying to cheat the +other.</p> + +<p>"After we got to St. Louis there was a report that +we'd buried a man with $3,500 sewed into his clothes. +Of course we didn't know which was which or where +we'd buried this man. Well, sir, that started the greatest +bunch of mining operations along the river bank between +New Orleans and St. Louis that anybody ever +saw! Every one was digging for that German. Far +as I heard, though, they never found a dollar of +him."</p> + +<p>Some one in Clarksville (in my notes I neglected to +set down the origin of this particular item) told me that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[ 271]</a></span> +the term "stateroom" originated on the Mississippi +boats, where the various rooms were named after the +States of the Union, a legend which, if true, is worth +preserving.</p> + +<p>Another interesting item relates to the origin of the +slang term "piker," which, whatever it may have meant +originally, is used to-day to designate a timid, close-fisted +gambler, a "tightwad" or "short sport."</p> + +<p>When one inquires as to the origin of this term, Pike +County, Missouri, begins to remember that there is another +Pike County—Pike County, Illinois, just across +the river, which, incidentally, is I think, the "Pike" referred +to in John Hay's poem.</p> + +<p>A gentleman in Clarksville explained the origin of +the term "piker" to me thus:</p> + +<p>"In the early days men from Pike County, Missouri, +and Pike County, Illinois, went all through the West. +They were all good men. In fact, they were such a +fine lot that when any crooks would want to represent +themselves as honest men they would say they were from +Pike. As a result of this all the bad men in the West +claimed to be from our section, and in that way Pike got +a bad name. So when the westerners suspected a man +of being crooked, they'd say: 'Look out for him; he's +a Piker.'"</p> + +<p>In St. Louis I was given another version. There I +was told that long ago men would come down from +Pike to gamble. They loved cards, but oftentimes +hadn't enough money to play a big game. So, it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[ 272]</a></span> +said, the term "Piker" came to indicate more or less the +type it indicates to-day.</p> + +<p>No bit of character and color which we met upon our +travels remains in my mind more pleasantly than the +talk we had with those fine old men around the stove +in the back room of the bank of Mr. John O. Roberts, +there at Clarksville. Mr. Roberts is a wonder—nothing +less. There's a book in him, and I hope that somebody +will write it, for I should like to read that book.</p> + +<p>As we were leaving the bank another gentleman came +in. We were introduced to him. His name proved also +to be John O. Roberts—for he was the banker's son.</p> + +<p>"Yes," the elder Mr. Roberts explained to me, "and +there's another John O. Roberts, too—my grandson. +We're all John O. Robertses in this family. We perpetuate +the name because it's an honest name. No +John O. Roberts ever went to the penitentiary—or to +the legislature."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[ 273]</a></span></p> + + + + +<p> +THE BEGINNING OF THE WEST<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[ 274]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[ 275]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>KANSAS CITY</h3> + + +<p>If you will take a map of the United States and fold +it so that the Atlantic and Pacific coast lines overlap, +the crease at the center will form a line which +runs down through the Dakotas, Nebraska, and Kansas. +That is not, however, the true dividing line between +East and West. If I were to try to draw the true line, +I should begin at the north, bringing my pencil down +between the cities of St. Paul and Minneapolis, leaving +the former to the east, and the latter to the west, and I +should follow down through the middle of Minnesota, +Iowa, and Missouri, so that St. Louis would be included +on the eastern map and Kansas City and Omaha on the +western.</p> + +<p>My companion and I had long looked forward to the +West, and had speculated as to where we should first +meet it. And sometimes, as we traveled on, we doubted +that there really was a West at all, and feared that the +whole country had become monotonously "standardized," +as was recently charged by a correspondent of the +London "Times."</p> + +<p>I remember that we discussed that question on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[ 276]</a></span> +train, leaving St. Louis, wondering whether Kansas +City, whither we were bound, would prove to be but one +more city like the rest—a place with skyscrapers and +shops and people resembling, almost exactly, the skyscrapers +and shops and people of a dozen other cities we +had seen.</p> + +<p>Morning in the sleeping car found us less concerned +about the character of cities than about our coffee. +Coffee was not to be had upon the train. In cheerless +emptiness we sat and waited for the station.</p> + +<p>While my berth was being turned into its daytime +aspect, I was forced to accept a seat beside a stranger: +a little man with a black felt hat, a weedy mustache of +neutral color, and an Elk's button. I had a feeling that +he meant to talk with me; a feeling which amounted to +dread. Nothing appeals to me at seven in the morning; +least of all a conversation. At that hour my enthusiasm +shows only a low blue flame, like a gas jet turned down +almost to the point of going out. And in the feeble light +of that blue flame, my fellow man becomes a vague +shape, threatening unsolicited civilities. I do not like +the hour of seven in the morning anywhere, and if there +is one condition under which I loathe it most, it is before +breakfast in a smelly sleeping car. I saw the little man +regarding me. He was about to speak. And there I +was, absolutely at his mercy, without so much as a newspaper +behind which to shield myself.</p> + +<p>"Are you from New York?" he asked.</p> + +<p>With about the same amount of effort it would take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[ 277]</a></span> +to make a long after-dinner speech, I managed to enunciate +a hollow: "Yes."</p> + +<p>"I thought so," he returned.</p> + +<p>It seemed to me that the remark required no answer. +He waited; then, presently, vouchsafed the added information: +"I knew it by your shoes."</p> + +<p>Mechanically I looked at my shoes; then at his. I +felt like saying: "Why? Because my shoes are polished?" +But I didn't. All I said was, "Oh."</p> + +<p>"That's a New York last," he explained. "Long and +flat. You can't get a shoe like that out in this section. +Nobody'd buy 'em if we made 'em." Then he added: +"I'm in the shoe line, myself."</p> + +<p>He paused as though expecting me to state my "line." +However, I didn't. Very likely he thought it something +shameful. After a moment's silence, he asked: +"Travel out this way much?"</p> + +<p>"Never," I said.</p> + +<p>"Never been in Kansas City?"</p> + +<p>I shook my head.</p> + +<p>"Well," he volunteered, "it's a great town. Greatest +farm implement market in the world." (He drawled +"world" as though it were spelled with a double R.) +"Very little manufacturing but a great distributing +point. All cattle and farming out here. Everything +depends on the crops. Different from the East."</p> + +<p>I looked out of the window.</p> + +<p>It <i>was</i> different from the East. Even through the +smoky fog I saw that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[ 278]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Kansas City!" called the negro porter.</p> + +<p>I arose with a sigh, said good-by to the little man, and +made my way from the car.</p> + +<p>The heavy mist was laden with a smoky smell like +that of an incipient London fog. Through it I discerned, +dimly, a Vesuvian hill, piling up to the left, while, +to the right, a maze of tracks and trains lost themselves +in the gray blur. Immediately before me stood as disreputable +a station as I ever saw, its platforms oozing +mud, and its doorways oozing immigrants and other +forlorn travelers. Of all the people there, I observed +but two who were agreeable to the eye: a young girl, +admirably modish, and her mother. But even looking +at this girl I remained depressed. "<i>You</i> don't belong +here," I wished to say to her, "that's clear enough. No +one like you could live in such a place. You needn't +think <i>I</i> live here, either; for I don't! Most decidedly I +don't!"</p> + +<p>We got into a taxi, my companion and I, and the taxi +started immediately to climb with us, like a mountain +goat, ascending a steep hill in leaps, over an atrocious +pavement, and between vacant lots and shabby buildings +which seemed to me to presage an undeveloped town and, +worse yet, a bad hotel.</p> + +<p>My companion must have thought as I did, for I remember +his saying in a somber tone: "I guess we're +in for it this time, all right!"</p> + +<p>Those are the first words that I recall his having +spoken that morning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[ 279]</a></span></p> + +<p>After ascending for some time, we began to coast +down again, still through unprepossessing thoroughfares, +until at last we slid up in the mud to the door +of the Hotel Baltimore—one of the busiest hotels in the +whole United States.</p> + +<p>On sight of the hotel I took a little heart. Breakfast +was near and the hostelry looked promising. It +was, indeed, the first building that I saw in Kansas City, +that seemed to justify "City."</p> + +<p>The coffee at the Baltimore proved good. We saw +that we were in a large and capably conducted caravansary—a +metropolitan hotel with a dining room like +some interior in the capitol of Minnesota, and a Pompeian +room, the very look of which bespoke a cabaret +performance at a later hour. From the window where +we sat at breakfast we saw wagons with brakes set, +descending the hill, and streams of people hurrying on +their way to work: sturdy-looking men and healthy-looking +girls, the latter stamped with that cheap yet +indisputable style so characteristic of the young American +working woman—a sort of down-at-the-heels showiness +in dress, which, combined with an elaborate coiffure +and a fine, if slightly affected carriage, makes her at +once a pretty and pathetic object.</p> + +<p>In Kansas City one is well within the borders of the +land of silver dollars. Dollar bills are scarce. Pay for +a cigar with a $5 bill, and your change is more than likely +to include four of those silver cartwheels which, though +merely annoying in ordinary times, must be a real source<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[ 280]</a></span> +of danger when the floods come, as one understands +they sometimes do in Kansas City. Not only are small +bills scarce but, I fancy, the humble copper cent is viewed +in Kansas City with less respect than in the East. I +base this conclusion upon the fact that a dignified old +negro, wearing a bronze medal suspended from a ribbon +tied about his neck, charged me five cents at the door of +the dining room for a one-cent paper—a rate of extortion +surpassing that of New York hotel news stands. +However, as that paper was the Kansas City "Star," I +raised no objection; for the "Star" is a great newspaper. +But of that presently.</p> + +<p>Later I found fastened to the wall of my bathroom +something which, as I learned afterward, is quite common +among hotels in the West, but which I have never +seen in an eastern hotel—a slot machine which, for a +quarter, supplies any of the following articles: tooth +paste, listerine, cold cream, bromo lithia, talcum powder, +a toothbrush, a shaving stick, or a safety razor.</p> + +<p>Counterbalancing this convenience, however, I found +in my room but one telephone instrument, although +Kansas City is served by two separate companies. This +proved annoying; calls coming by the Missouri & Kansas +Telephone Company's lines reached me in my room, +but those coming over the wires of the Home Telephone +Company had to be answered downstairs, whither I was +summoned twice that morning—once from my bath and +once while shaving. I had not been in Kansas City half +a day before discovering that monopoly—at least in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[ 281]</a></span> +case of the telephone—has its very definite advantages. +A double system of telephones is a nuisance. Even +where, as for instance in Portland, Oregon, there are +two instruments in each room, one never knows which +bell is ringing. Duplication is unnecessary, and where +there are two companies, lack of duplication is annoying. +Every home or office in Kansas City provided with but +one instrument is cut off from communication with +many other homes and offices having the other service, +while those having both instruments have to pay the +price of two.</p> + +<p>It always amuses me to hear criticisms by foreigners +of the telephone as perfected in this country. And our +sleeping cars and telephones are the things they invariably +do criticize. As to the sleeping car there may +be some justice in complaints, although it seems to me +that, under the conditions for which it is designed, the +Pullman car would be hard to improve upon. It is the +necessity of going to bed while traveling by rail that is +at the bottom of the trouble. But when a foreigner +criticizes the American telephone the very thing he +criticizes is its perfection. If we had bad telephone +service, and didn't use the telephone much, it +would be all right, according to the European point +of view. But as it is, they say we are the instrument's +"slaves."</p> + +<p>That was the complaint of Dr. George Brandes, the +Danish literary critic. "The telephone is the worst instrument +of torture that ever existed," he declared.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[ 282]</a></span> +"The medieval rack and thumb-screws were playthings +compared with it."</p> + +<p>Arnold Bennett, in his "Your United States," tells +of having permanently removed the receiver from the +telephone in his bedroom in a Chicago hotel. His action, +he declares, caused agitation, not merely in the +hotel, but throughout the city.</p> + +<p>"In response to the prayer of a deputation from the +management," he writes, "I restored the receiver. On +the horrified face of the deputation I could read the unspoken +query: 'Is it conceivable that you have been in +this country a month without understanding that the +United States is primarily nothing but a vast congeries +of telephone cabins?'"</p> + +<p>Now, the thing which Mr. Bennett, Dr. Brandes, and +many other distinguished visitors from Europe seem to +fail to comprehend is this: that, being distinguished visitors, +and therefore sought after, they are the telephone's +especial victims, and consequently gain a wrong impression +of it. They themselves use it little as a means of +calling others; others use it much as a means of calling +them. Furthermore, being strangers to this highly perfected +instrument, they are also, quite naturally +strangers to telephonic subtleties. Mr. Bennett proved +his entire lack of knowledge of the new science of telephone +tact when he tried to stop the instrument by removing +the receiver. Any American could have told +him that all he need have done was to notify the operator, +at the switchboard, downstairs, not to permit him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[ 283]</a></span> +to be disturbed until a certain hour. Or, if he had +wished to do so, he could have asked her to sift his messages, +giving him only those she deemed desirable. He +would have found her, I feel sure, as capable, on that +score, as a well-trained private secretary, for, among +the many effective services of the telephone, none is +finer than that given by those capable, intelligent, quick-thinking +young women who act as switchboard operators +in large hotels and offices. I am glad of this opportunity +to make my compliments to them.</p> + +<p>If an American wishes to appreciate the telephone, as +developed in this country, he has but to try to use the +telephone in Europe. In London the instrument is a +ridiculous, cumbersome affair, looking as much like an +enormous metal inkwell as any other thing—the kind of +inkwell in which some emperor might dip his pen before +signing his abdication. To call, you wind the crank +violently for a time, then taking up the receiver and +mouthpiece which are attached to the main instrument +by a cord, you begin calling: "Are you there, miss? +Are you there? I say, miss, <i>are</i> you there?" And the +question is quite reasonable, for half the time "miss" +does not seem to be there. In Paris it is worse. Once, +while residing in that city, I had a telephone in my apartment. +It was intended as a convenience, but it turned +out to be an irritating kind of joke. The first time I +tried to call my house, from the center of town, it took +me three times as long to get the connection as it took +me to get New York from Kansas City. In the begin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[ 284]</a></span>ning +I thought myself the victim of ill luck, but I soon +came to understand that was not the case—or, rather, +that the ill luck was of a kind experienced by all users of +the telephone in Paris. The service there is simply +chaotic. It is actually true that I once dispatched a +messenger on a bicycle, calling my house on the phone, +immediately afterward, and that the messenger had arrived +with the note, after having ridden a good two +miles, through traffic, by the time I succeeded in talking +over the wire. However, in the interim I had talked +with almost every other residence in Paris.</p> + +<p>The telephones in France and England are controlled +by the government. If that accounts for the service +given, then I hope the government in this country will +never take them over. Bureaucracy makes the Continental +railroads inferior to ours, and I have no doubt it +is equally responsible for telephone conditions. Bureaucracy, +as I have experienced it, feels itself intrenched +in office, and is consequently likely to be indifferent +to complaint and to the requirements of +progress. When I called New York from Kansas +City I was talking within ten minutes, and when, +later on, I called New York from Denver, it took but +little longer, and I heard, and made myself heard, almost +as though conversing with some one in the next +room. As I reflect upon the countless services performed +for me by the telephone, upon these travels, and +upon the very different sort of service I should have had +abroad, I bless the American Telephone and Telegraph<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[ 285]</a></span> +Company with fervent blessings. And if I said about +it all the things I really think, I fear the reader might +suspect me of having received a bribe. For I am aware +that, in speaking well of any corporation I am flying in +the face of precedent and public opinion.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Toward noon, the pall of smoke and fog which had +blanketed the city, vanished on a fresh breeze from the +prairies, and my companion and I, much inspirited, set +forth on foot to see what the downtown streets of Kansas +City had to offer. We had gone hardly a block before +we realized that our earlier impressions of the place +had been ill-founded. We had arrived in the least +agreeable portion of the city, and had not, hitherto, seen +any of the built-up, well-paved streets. "Petticoat +Lane"—the fashionable shopping district on Eleventh +Street between Main Street and Grand Avenue—has a +metropolitan appearance, and the wider avenues, with +their well-built skyscrapers, tell a story of substantiality +and progress. But the most striking thing to us, upon +that walk, lay not in the great buildings already standing, +but in the embryonic structures everywhere. All +over Kansas City old buildings are coming down to make +place for new ones; hills of clay are being gouged away +and foundations dug; steel frames are shooting up. +Never, before or since, have I sensed, as I sensed that +day, a city's growth. It seemed to me that I could feel +expansion in the very ground beneath my feet. Look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[ 286]</a></span>ing +upon these multifarious activities was like looking +through an enormous magnifying glass at some gigantic +ant hill, where thousands upon thousands of workers +were rushing about, digging, carrying, constructing, all +in breathless haste. Nor was the incidental music lacking; +the air was ringing with the symphony of work—the +music of brick walls falling, of drills digging at the +earth, and of automatic riveters clattering their swift, +metallic song, high up among the tall, steel frames, +where presently would stand desks, and filing cabinets, +and typewriter machines.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever feel a city growing so?" I asked of my +companion.</p> + +<p>"Grow!" he repeated. "Why it has grown so fast +they haven't had time to name their streets."</p> + +<p>The statement appeared true. We had looked for +street signs at all corners, but had seen none. Later, +however, we discovered that the streets did have names. +But as there are no signs, I conclude that the present +names are only tentative, and that when Kansas City +gets through building, she will name her streets in sober +earnest, and mark them in order that strangers may +more readily find their way.</p> + +<p>The "slogan" of Kansas City suggests that of Detroit. +Detroit says: "In Detroit life is worth living." +Kansas City is less boastful, but more aspiring. "Make +it a good place to live in," she says.</p> + +<p>As nearly as I can like the "slogan" of any city, I like +that one. I like it because it is not vainglorious, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[ 287]</a></span> +because it does not attempt cheap alliteration. It is not +"smart-alecky" at all, but has, rather, the sound of something +genuinely felt. And I believe it is felt. There is +every evidence that Kansas City's "slogan" is a promissory +note—a note which, it may be added, she is paying +off in a handsome manner, by improving herself rapidly +in countless ways.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the first of her improvements to strike the +visitor is her system of parks. I am informed that the +parked boulevards of Kansas City exceed in mileage +those of any other American city. These boulevards, +connecting the various parks and forming circuits running +around and through the town, do go a long way +toward making it "a good place to live in." Kansas +City has every right to be proud, not only of her parks, +but of herself for having had the intelligence and energy +to make them. What if assessments have been high? +Increased property values take care of that; the worst +of the work and the expense is over, and Kansas City +has lifted itself by its own bootstraps from ugliness to +beauty. How much better it is to have done the whole +thing quickly—to have made the gigantic effort and attained +the parks and boulevards at what amounts to one +great municipal bound—than to have dawdled and +dreamed along as St. Louis and so many other cities +have done.</p> + +<p>The Central Traffic Parkway of St. Louis is, as has +been said in an earlier chapter, still on paper only. But +the Paseo, and West Pennway, and Penn Valley Park,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[ 288]</a></span> +in Kansas City, are all splendid realities, created in an +amazingly brief space of years. To make the Paseo +and West Pennway, the city cut through blocks and +blocks, tearing down old houses or moving them away, +with the result that dilapidated, disagreeable neighborhoods +have been turned into charming residence districts. +In the making of Penn Valley Park, the same +thing occurred: the property was acquired at a cost of +about $800,000, hundreds of houses were removed, +drives were built, trees planted. The park is now a +show place; both because of the lesson it offers other +cities, and the splendid view, from its highest point, +of the enterprising city which created it.</p> + +<p>Another spectacular panorama of Kansas City is to +be seen from Observation Point on the western side of +town, but the finest views of all (and among the finest +to be seen in any city in the world) are those which unroll +themselves below Scaritt Point, the Cliff Drive, and +Kersey Coates Drive. Much as the Boulevard Lafayette +skirts the hills beside the Hudson River, these drives +make their way along the upper edge of the lofty +cliffs which rise majestically above the Missouri River +bottoms. Not only is their elevation much greater than +that of the New York boulevard, but the view is infinitely +more extensive and dramatic, though perhaps +less "pretty." Looking down from Kersey Coates +Drive, one sees a long sweep of the Missouri, winding +its course between the sandy shores which it so loves to +inundate. Beyond, the whole world seems to be spread +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus368.png" width="450" height="379" alt="Looking down from Kersey Coates Drive, one sees ... the appalling +web of railroad tracks, crammed with freight cars, which seen through a +softening haze of smoke, resemble a relief map—strange, vast, and pictorial" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Looking down from Kersey Coates Drive, one sees ... the appalling +web of railroad tracks, crammed with freight cars, which seen through a +softening haze of smoke, resemble a relief map—strange, vast, and pictorial</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[ 289]</a></span> +out—farms and woodland, reaching off into infinity.</p> + +<p>Below, in the nearer foreground, at the bottom of the +cliff, is the mass of factories, warehouses and packing +houses, and the appalling web of railroad tracks, +crammed with freight cars, which form the Kansas City +industrial district, and which, reduced by distance, and +seen through a softening haze of smoke, resemble a relief +map—strange, vast, and pictorial. Beyond, more +distant and more hazy, lies the adjoining city, Kansas +City, Kas., all its ugliness converted into beauty by the +smoke which, whatever sins it may commit against +white linen, spreads a poetic pall over the scenes of industry—yes, +and over the "wettest block," that solid +wall of saloons with which the "wet" state of Missouri +so significantly fortifies her frontier against the "dry" +state, Kansas.</p> + +<p>So far, Kansas City has been too busy with her money-making +and her physical improvement, to give much +thought to art. However, the day will come, and very +soon, when the question of mural decoration for some +great public building will arise. And when that day does +come I hope that some one will rise up and remind the +city that the decorations which, figuratively, adorn her +own walls, may well be considered as a subject for mural +paintings. I should like to see a great room which, instead +of being surrounded by a frieze of symbolic figures, +very much like every other frieze of symbolic figures +in the land, should show the splendid sweep of the +Missouri River, and the great maze of the freight yards,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[ 290]</a></span> +and the wonderful vistas to be seen from the cliffs, and +the rich, rolling farm land beyond. How much better +that would be than one of those trite things representing +Justice or Commerce, as a female figure, enthroned, with +Industry, a male figure, brown and half-naked, wearing +a leather apron, and beating on an anvil, at one side, and +Agriculture, working with a hoe, at the other. Yes, +how much better it would be; and how much harder to +find the painter who could do it as it should be done.</p> + +<p>In view of the enormous activity with which Kansas +City has pursued the matter of municipal improvement, +and in view of the contrasting somnolence of St. Louis, +it is amusing to reflect upon the somewhat patronizing +attitude assumed by the latter toward the former. Being +the metropolis of Missouri, St. Louis has the air, +sometimes, of patting Kansas City on the back, in the +same superior manner that St. Paul assumed, in times +gone by, toward Minneapolis. It will be remembered, +however, that one day St. Paul woke up to find herself +no longer the metropolis of Minnesota. Young +Minneapolis had come up behind and passed her in +the night. As I have said before, Kansas City bears +more than one resemblance to Minneapolis. Like +Minneapolis, she is a strong young city, vying for State +supremacy with another city which is old, rich, and conservative. +Will the history of the Minnesota cities be +repeated in Missouri? If some day it happens so, I +shall not be surprised.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[ 291]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>ODDS AND ENDS</h3> + + +<p>The quality in Kansas City which struck Baron +d'Estournelles de Constant, the French statesman +and peace advocate, was the enormous +growth and vitality of the place. "Town Development" +quotes the Baron as having called Kansas City a "<i>cité +champignon</i>," but I am sure that in saying that he had +in mind the growth of the mushroom rather than its +fiber; for though Kansas City grew from nothing to a +population of 250,000 within a space of fifty years, her +fiber is exceptionally firm, and her prosperity, having +been built upon the land, is sound.</p> + +<p>That feeling of nearness to the soil that I met there +was new to me. I felt it in many ways. Much of the casual +conversation I heard dealt with cattle raising, farming, +the weather, and the promise as to crops. Business +men and well-to-do women in the shopping districts resemble +people one may see in any other city, but away +from the heart of town one encounters numerous +farmers and their wives who have driven into town in +their old buggies, farm wagons, or little motors to shop +and trade, just as though Kansas City were some little +county seat, instead of a city of the size of Edinburgh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[ 292]</a></span></p> + +<p>In earlier chapters I have referred to likenesses between +cities and individuals. Cities not only have traits +of character, like men, but certain regions have their +costumes. Collars, for example, tend to become lower +toward the Mississippi River, and black string ties appear. +Missouri likes black suits—older men in the +smaller towns seem to be in a perpetual state of mourning, +like those Breton women whose men are so often +drowned at sea that they never take the trouble to remove +their black.</p> + +<p>Western watch chains incline to massiveness, and are +more likely than not to have dangling from them large +golden emblems with mysterious devices. Likewise the +western buttonhole is almost sure to bloom with the +insignia of some secret order.</p> + +<p>Many western men wear diamond rings—pieces of +jewelry which the east allots to ladies or to gamblers +and vulgarians. When I inquired about this I heard a +piece of interesting lore. I was informed that the diamond +ring was something more than an adornment to +the western man; that it was, in reality, the survival +of a fashion which originated for the most practical +reasons. A diamond is not only convenient to carry +but it may readily be converted into cash. So, in the +wilder western days, men got into the way of wearing +diamond rings as a means of raising funds for gambling +on short notice, or for making a quick getaway from +the scene of some affray.</p> + +<p>Whether they are entirely aware of it or not, the well-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[ 293]</a></span>dressed +men of eastern cities are, in the matter of costume, +dominated to a large extent by London. The +English mode, however, does not reach far west. +Clothing in the west is all American. Take, for example, +coats. The prevailing style, at the moment, +in London and in the eastern cities of this country +happens to run to a snugness of fit amounting to +actual tightness. Little does this disturb the western +man. His coat is cut loose and is broad across the +shoulders. And let me add that I believe his vision is +"cut" broader, too. Westerners, far more than easterners, +it seems to me, sense the United States—the size +of it and what it really is. Time and again, talking +with them, it has come to me that their eyes are focused +for a longer range: that, looking off toward the horizon, +they see a thousand miles of farms stretched out before +them or a thousand miles of mountain peaks.</p> + +<p>And even as coats and comprehension seem to widen +in the west, so hats and hearts grow softer. The derby +plays an unimportant part. In Chicago, to be sure, it +makes a feeble effort for supremacy, but west of there +it dies an ignominious death beneath an avalanche of +soft felt hats. Felt hats around Chicago seem, however, +to lack full-blown western opulence. Compared with +hats in the real middle west, they are stingy little +headpieces. When we were in Chicago that city seemed +to be the center of a section in which a peculiar style of +hat was prominent—a blue felt with a velvet band. But +that, of course, was merely a passing fashion. Not so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[ 294]</a></span> +the hats a little farther west. The Mississippi River +marks the beginning of the big black hat belt. The big +black hat is passionately adored in Missouri and Kansas. +It never changes; never goes out of fashion. And it +may be further noted that many of these somber, monumental, +soft black hats, with their high crowns and widespread +brims, have been sent from these two western +states to Washington, D. C.</p> + +<p>At Kansas City there begins another hat belt. The +Missouri hat remains, but its supremacy begins to be +disputed by an even larger hat, of similar shape but different +color. The big black, tan or putty-color hat begins +to show at Kansas City. Also one sees, now and +again, upon the streets a cowboy hat with a flat brim. +When I mentioned that to a Kansas City man he didn't +seem to like it. With passionate vehemence he declared +that cowboy hats were never known to adorn the heads +of Kansas City men—that they only came to Kansas +City on the heads of itinerant cattlemen. Well, that is +doubtless true. But I did not say the Mayor of Kansas +City wore one. I only said I saw such hats upon the +street. And—however they got there, and wherever +they came from—those hats looked good to me!</p> + +<p>Some of the bronzed cattlemen one sees in Kansas +City, though they yield to civilization to the extent of +wearing shirts, have not yet sunk to the slavery of collars. +They do not wear "chaps" and revolvers, it is +true, but they are clearly plainsmen, and some of them +sport colored handkerchiefs about their necks, knotted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[ 295]</a></span> +in the back, and hanging in loose folds in front. Once +or twice, upon my walks, I saw an Indian as well, though +not a really first-class moving-picture Indian. That is +too much to expect. Such Indians as one may meet in +Kansas City are civilized and citified to a sad degree. +Nor are the Mexicans, many of whom are employed as +laborers, up to specifications as to picturesqueness.</p> + +<p>I feel it particularly necessary to state these truths, +disillusioning though they may be to certain youthful +readers who may treasure fond hopes of finding, in +Kansas City, something of that wild and woolly fascination +which the cinematograph so often pictures. True, +a large gray wolf was killed by a Kansas City policeman +last winter, after it had run down Linwood Boulevard, +biting people, but that does not happen every day, and +it is recorded that the youth who recently appeared on +the Kansas City streets, dressed in "chaps" and carrying +a revolver with which he shot at the feet of pedestrians, +to make them dance, declared himself, when taken up by +the police, to have recently arrived from Philadelphia, +where he had obtained his ideas of western manners +from the "movies."</p> + +<p>I mention this incident because, after having labeled +Kansas City "Western," I wish to leave no loopholes +for misunderstanding. The West of Bret Harte and +Jesse James is gone. All that is left of it is legend. +When I speak of a western city I think of a city young, +not altogether formed, but full of dauntless energy. +And when I speak of western people I think of people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[ 296]</a></span> +who possess, in larger measure than any other people I +have met, the solid traits of character which make human +beings admirable.</p> + +<p>Kansas City is said to be more American than any +other city of its size in the United States. Eighty per +cent. of its people are American born, of either native or +foreign parents. Its inhabitants are either pioneers, descendants +of pioneers, or young people who have moved +there for the sake of opportunity. This makes for +sturdy stock as inevitably as close association with the +soil makes for sturdy simplicity of character. The +western man, as I try to visualize him as a type, is genuine, +generous, direct, whole-hearted, sympathetic, energetic, +strong, and—I say it not without some hesitation—sometimes +a little crude, with a kind of crudeness +which has about it something very lovable. I fear that +Kansas City may not like the word "crude," even as I +have qualified it, but, however she may feel, I hope she +will not charge the use of it to eastern snobbishness in +me, for that is a quality that I detest as much as anybody +does—a quality compared with which crudeness becomes +a primary virtue. No; when I say "crude" I say +it respectfully, and I am ready to admit in the same +breath that I dislike the word myself, because it seems +to imply more than I really wish to say, just as such a +word as "unseasoned" seems to imply less.</p> + +<p>You see, Kansas City is a very young and very great +center of business. It is still engrossed in making +money, but, being so exceptionally sturdy, it has found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[ 297]</a></span> +time, outside of business hours, as it were, to create its +parks and boulevards—much as some young business +man comes home after a hard day's work and cuts the +grass in his front yard, and waters it, and even plants a +little garden for his wife and children and himself. He +attends to the requirements of his business, his family, +his lawn and garden, and to his duties as a citizen. And +that is about all that he has time to do. He has the +Christian virtues, but none of the un-Christian sophistications. +Art, to him, probably signifies a "fancy head" +by Harrison Fisher; literature, a book by Harold Bell +Wright or Gene Stratton Porter; music, a sentimental +ballad or a ragtime tune played on the Victor; architecture—well, +I think that means his own house.</p> + +<p>And what is his own house like? If he be a young +and fairly successful Kansas City business man, it is, +first of all, probably a solid, well-built house. Very +likely it is built of brick and is "detached"—just barely +detached—and faces a parked boulevard or a homelike +residence street which is lined with other solid little +houses, like his own. Now, while the homes of this +class are, I think, better built and more attractive than +homes of corresponding cost in some older cities—Cleveland, +for example—and while the streets are pleasanter, +there is a sort of standardized look about +these houses which is, I think, unfortunate. The thing +they lack is individuality. Whole rows of them suggest +that they were all designed by the same altogether +honest, but somewhat inartistic, architect, who, having<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[ 298]</a></span> +hit on one or two good plans, kept repeating them, ad +infinitum, with only minor changes, such as the use of +vari-colored brick, for "character." True, they are +monuments to the esthetic, compared with the old +brownstone blocks of New York City, or the Queen +Anne blocks of cities such as Cleveland, but it must be +remembered that New York's brownstone period, and +the wooden Queen Anne period, date back a good many +years, whereas these Kansas City houses are new. +And it is in our new houses that we Americans have +had a chance to show (and are showing) the improvement +in our national taste. I do not complain that the +domestic architecture of Kansas City represents no improvement; +I complain only that the improvement +shown is not so great as it should be—that Kansas City +residences, of all classes, inexpensive and expensive, +in town and in the suburban developments, are generally +characterized by solidity, rather than architectural +merit. The less expensive houses lack distinction +in about the same way that rows of good ready-made +overcoats may be said to lack it, when compared with +overcoats made to order by expensive tailors. The +more costly houses are for the most part ordinary—and +some of them are worse than that.</p> + +<p>I am well aware of the fact that the foregoing statements +are altogether likely to surprise and annoy Kansas +City, for if there is one thing, beyond her parks and +boulevards, upon which she congratulates herself peculiarly, +it is her homes. I could detect that, both in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[ 299]</a></span> +pride with which the homes were shown to me and in +the sad silences with which my very mildly critical comments +on some houses, were received. Nevertheless, it +is quite true that Kansas City very evidently needs a +good domestic architect or two; and if she does not pardon +me just now for saying so, I must console myself +with the thought that, ten or fifteen years hence, she +will admit that what I said was true.</p> + +<p>Kansas City ought to be a good place for architects. +There is a lot of money there, and, as I have already +said, a great amount of building is in progress. One +of the most interesting real estate developments I have +ever seen is taking place in what is called the Country +Club District, where a tract of 1,200 acres, which, only +five or six years ago, was farm land, has been attractively +laid out and very largely built up on ingenious, +restricted lines. In the portion of this district known +as Sunset Hill, no house costing less than $25,000 may +be erected. As a matter of fact, a number of houses on +Sunset Hill show an investment, in building alone, of +from $50,000 to $100,000. In other portions of the +tract restrictions are lower, and still lower, until finally +one comes to a suburban section closely built up with +homes, some of which cost as little as $3,000—which is +the lowest restriction in the entire district.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I visited the new Union Station, which will be in +operation this winter. It is as fine as the old station is +atrocious. I was informed that it cost between six and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[ 300]</a></span> +seven millions, and that it is exceeded in size only by +the Grand Central and Pennsylvania terminals in New +York. The waiting room will, however, be the largest +in the world. The gentleman who showed me the station +gave me the curious information that Kansas City +does the largest Pullman business of any American city, +and that it also handles the most baggage. He attributed +these facts to the great distances to be traveled +in that part of the country and also to the prosperity of +the farmers.</p> + +<p>"You see," he said, "Kansas City has the largest undisputed +tributary trade territory of any city in the +country. We are not, in reality, a Missouri city so +much as a Kansas one. Indeed Kansas City was originally +intended to be in Kansas and was really diverted +into Missouri when the government survey established +the line between the two states. We reach out into +Missouri for some business, but Kansas is our real territory, +as well as Oklahoma and Arkansas. We get a +good share of business from Nebraska and Iowa, too. +These facts, plus the fact that we are in the very center +of the great American feed lot, account for our big +bank clearings. In bank clearings we come sixth, St. +Louis being fifth, Pittsburgh seventh, and Detroit +eighth. And we are not to be compared in population +with any of those cities.</p> + +<p>"Almost all our greatest activities have to do with +farms and produce. We are first as a market place for +hay and yellow pine; second as a packing center and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[ 301]</a></span> +mule market; third in lumber, flour, poultry, and eggs, +in the volume of our telegraph business, and in automobile +sales. And, of course, you probably know that +we lead in the sale of agricultural implements and in +stockers and feeders."</p> + +<p>At that my companion, who, because he resided for a +long time in Albany, N. Y., prides himself upon his +knowledge of farming, broke in.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," said he, "that instead of drawing stockers +and feeders with horses, they use gasoline motors +now-a-days?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said the Kansas City man, "they walk."</p> + +<p>"Walk?" exclaimed my companion. "They <i>have</i> +made an advance in agricultural implements since my +day if they have succeeded in making them <i>walk</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I'm not speaking of agricultural implements," said +our informant. "I'm speaking of stockers and feeders."</p> + +<p>"What are stockers and feeders?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Cattle," he said. "There are three kinds of cattle +marketed here; first, fat cattle, for slaughter; second, +stockers, which are young cows used for stocking farms +and ranches; third, feeders, or grassfed steers, which +are sold to be fattened on grain, for killing. In stockers +and feeders we lead the world; in fat cattle we are second +only to Chicago."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[ 302]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>COLONEL NELSON'S "STAR"</h3> + + +<p>"What do you expect to see in Kansas City?" +I was asked by the president of a trust +company.</p> + +<p>"I want to see the new Union Station," I said, "and +I hope also to meet Colonel Nelson."</p> + +<p>He smiled. "One's as big as the other," was his +comment.</p> + +<p>That is a mild statement of the case. The power of +Colonel Nelson is something unique, and his newspaper, +the Kansas City "Star," is, I believe, alone in the position +it holds among American dailies.</p> + +<p>Like all powerful newspapers, it is the expression of +a single individuality. The "Star" expresses Colonel +William Rockhill Nelson as definitely as the New York +"Sun" used to express Charles A. Dana, as the New +York "Tribune" expressed Horace Greeley, as the +"Herald" expressed Bennett, as the Chicago "Tribune" +expressed Medill, as the "Courier-Journal" expresses +Watterson, as the Pulitzer papers continue to express +the late Joseph Pulitzer, and as the Hearst papers express +William Randolph Hearst.</p> + +<p>Besides circulating widely throughout Kansas, +Oklahoma, Arkansas, and western Missouri, the "Star"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[ 303]</a></span> +so dominates Kansas City that last year it sold, in the +city, many thousand papers a day in excess of the number +of houses there. Other papers have been started +to combat it, but without appreciable effect. The +"Star" continues upon its majestic course, towing the +wagon of Kansas City.</p> + +<p>To me the greatest thing about the "Star" is its entire +freedom from yellowness. Its appearance is as +conservative as that of the New York "Evening Post." +It prints no scareheads and no half-tone pictures, such +pictures as it uses being redrawn in line, so that they +print sharply. Another characteristic of the paper is +its highly localized flavor. It handles relatively little +European news, and even the doings of New York and +Chicago seem to impress it but slightly. It is the organ +of the "feed lot," the "official gazette" of the capital +of the Southwest.</p> + +<p>While contemplating the "Star" I was reminded of a +conversation held many weeks before in Buffalo with a +very thoughtful gentleman.</p> + +<p>"The great trouble with the American people," he declared, +"is that they are not yet a thinking people."</p> + +<p>"What makes you believe that?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"The first proof of it," he returned, "is that they +read yellow journals."</p> + +<p>It is a notable and admirable fact that the people of +Kansas—the State which Colonel Nelson considers particularly +his own—do not read the "yellows" to any considerable +extent. ("I might stop publishing this pa<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[ 304]</a></span>per," +Colonel Nelson said, "but it will never get yellow." +And later: "Anybody can print the news, but +the 'Star' tries to build things up. That is what a newspaper +is for.")</p> + +<p>Even the "Star" building is highly individualized. +It is a great solid pile of tapestry brick, suggesting a +castle in Siena. In one end are the presses; in the other +the business and editorial departments. The editorial +offices are in a single vast room, in a corner of which +the Colonel's flat-top desk is placed. There are no private +offices. The city editor and his reporters have +their desks at the center, under a skylight, and the editorial +writers, telegraph editor, Sunday editor, and all +the other editors are distributed about the room's perimeter.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus385.png" width="450" height="589" alt="Colonel Nelson is a "character." Even if he didn't +own the "Star," ... he would be a "character."... +I have called him a volcano; he is more like one than +any other man I have ever met" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Colonel Nelson is a "character." Even if he didn't +own the "Star," ... he would be a "character."... +I have called him a volcano; he is more like one than +any other man I have ever met</span> +</div> + +<p>Before talking with Colonel Nelson I inquired into +some of the reforms brought about through the efforts +of the "Star." The list of them is formidable. Many +persons attributed the existence of the present park +and boulevard system to this great newspaper; among +other things mentioned were the following: the improvement +of schools; the abolition of quack doctors, medical +museums and fortune tellers; the building of county +roads; the elimination of bill-boards from the boulevards; +the boat line navigating the Missouri River; the +introduction of commission government in Kansas City, +Kas. (which, I was informed, was the first city of its +size to have commission government); the municipal +ownership of waterworks in both Kansas Cities. More<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[ 305]</a></span> +recently the "Star" has been fighting for what it terms +"free justice"—that is, the dispensing of justice without +costs or attorneys' fees, as it is already dispensed +in the "small debtors" courts of Kansas City and +through the free legal-aid bureau. Colonel Nelson +says: "'Free justice' would take the judicial administration +of the law out of the hands of privately paid attorneys +and place it wholly in the hands of courts +officered by the public's servants.</p> + +<p>"In the great majority of cases justice is still not +free. A man must hire his lawyer. So justice is not +only not free but not equal. A poor owner of a legal +right gives a $5 fee to a $5 lawyer. A rich defender +of a legal wrong gives a $5,000 fee to a $5,000 lawyer. +The scales of a purchased justice tip to the wrong side. +Or, even if the owner of the legal right gets his right +established by the court, he still must divide the value of +it with his attorney. The administration of justice +should be as free as the making of laws. It should be +as free as police service."</p> + +<p>The "Star" has been hammering away at this idea +for months, precisely as it has been hammering at political +corruption, wherever found. Another "Star" crusade +is for a 25-acre park opposite the new Union Station, +instead of the small plaza originally planned—the +danger in the case of the latter being that, although +it does provide some setting for the station, it yet permits +cheap buildings to encroach to a point sufficiently +near the station to materially detract from it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[ 306]</a></span></p> + +<p>Many lawyers disapprove of the "free justice" idea; +all the politically corrupt loathe the "Star" for obvious +reasons; and some taxpayers may be found who cry +out that Colonel Nelson pushes Kansas City into improvements +faster than she ought to go. Nevertheless, +as with the "Post-Dispatch" in St. Louis, the "Star" is +read alike by those who believe in it and those who hate +it bitterly.</p> + +<p>As an outsider fascinated by the "Star's" activities, +I came away with the opinion that Colonel Nelson's +power was perhaps greater than that of any other single +newspaper publisher in the country; that it was +perhaps too great for one man to wield, but that, exercised +by such a pure idealist as the Colonel unquestionably +is, it has been a blessing to the city. Nor can I +conceive how even the bitterest enemies of Colonel Nelson +can question his motives.</p> + +<p>Will Irwin, who knows about newspapers if anybody +does, said to me: "The 'Star' is not only one of the +greatest newspapers in the world, but it is a regular +club. I know of no paper anywhere where the personnel +of the men is higher. I will give you a letter to +Barton. He will introduce you around the office, and +the office will do the rest."</p> + +<p>I found these prognostications true. Inside a few +hours I felt as though I, too, had been a "Star" man. +"Star" men took me to "dinner"—meaning what we +in the East call "luncheon"; took me to see the station, +put me in touch with endless stories of all sorts—all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[ 307]</a></span> +with the kindliest and most disinterested spirit. They +told me so much that I could write half a dozen chapters +on Kansas City.</p> + +<p>Take, for example, the story of the Convention Hall. +It is a vast auditorium, taking up, as I recall it, a +whole block. It was built for the Democratic National +Convention in 1900, but burned down immediately after +having been completed; whereupon Kansas City turned +in, raised the money all over again, and in about ten +weeks' time completely rebuilt it. There Bryan was +nominated for the second time. Or, consider the story +of the "Harvey System" of hotels and restaurants on the +Santa Fé Road. The headquarters of this eating-house +system is in Kansas City, and offers a fine field for a +story all by itself, for it has been the biggest single influence +in civilizing hotel life and in raising gastronomic +standards throughout the west.</p> + +<p>But these are only items by the way—two among the +countless things that "Star" men told me of, or showed +me. And, of course, the greatest thing they showed +me was right in their own office: their friend, their +"boss," that active volcano, seventy-three years old, +who comes down daily to his desk, and whose enthusiasm +fires them all.</p> + +<p>Colonel Nelson is a "character." Even if he didn't +own the "Star," even if he had not the mind he has, he +would be a "character," if only by virtue of his appearance. +I have called him a volcano; he is more like one +than any other man I have ever met. He is even shaped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[ 308]</a></span> +like one, being mountainous in his proportions, and also +in the way he tapers upward from his vast waist to his +snow-capped "peak." Furthermore, his face is lined, +seamed, and furrowed in extraordinary suggestion of +those strange, gnarled lava forms which adorn the +slopes of Vesuvius. Even the voice which proceeds +from the Colonel's "crater" is Vesuvian: hoarse, deep, +rumbling, strong. When he speaks, great natural +forces seem to stir, and you hope that no eruption may +occur while you are near, lest the fire from the mountain +descend upon you and destroy you.</p> + +<p>"Umph!" rumbled the volcano as it shook hands with +my companion and me. "You're from New York? +New York is running the big gambling house and show +house for the country. It doesn't produce anything. +It doesn't take any more interest in where the money +comes from than a gambler cares where you get the +money you put into his game.</p> + +<p>"Kansas is the greatest state in the Union. It +thinks. It produces things. Among other things, it +produces crazy people. It is a great thing to have a +few crazy people around! Roosevelt is crazy. Umph! +So were the men who started the Revolution to break +away from England.</p> + +<p>"Most of the people in the United States don't think. +They are indifferent and apathetic. They don't want +to work. One of our 'Star' boys went to an agricultural +college to see what was going on there. What did he +find out? Why, that instead of making farmers they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[ 309]</a></span> +were making professors. Yes. Pretty nearly the entire +graduating class went there to learn to teach farming. +That's not what we want. We want farmers."</p> + +<p>The Colonel's enemies have tried, on various occasions, +to "get" him, but without distinguished success. +The Colonel goes into a fight with joy. Once, when he +was on the stand as a witness in a libel suit which had +been brought against his paper, a copy of the editorial +containing the alleged libel was handed to him by the +attorney for the prosecution.</p> + +<p>"Colonel Nelson," said the attorney, menacingly, +"did you write this?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir!" bristled the Colonel with apparent regret +at the forced negation of his answer, "but I subscribe to +every word of it!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Once the Colonel's enemies almost succeeded in putting +him in jail.</p> + +<p>A "Star" reporter wrote a story illustrating the practice +of the Jackson County Circuit Court in refusing to +permit a divorce case to be dismissed by either husband +or wife until the lawyers in the case had received their +fees. The "Star" contended that such practice, where +the couple had made up their quarrel, made the court, +in effect, a collection agency. Through a technical +error the story, as printed, seemed to refer to the judge +of one division of the court when it should have applied +to another. The judge who was, through this error, +apparently referred to, seized the opportunity to issue a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[ 310]</a></span> +summons charging Colonel Nelson with contempt of +court.</p> + +<p>Colonel Nelson, who had known nothing of the story +until he read it in print, not only went to the front for +his reporter, but caused the story to be reprinted, with +the added statement that it was true and that he had +been summonsed on account of it.</p> + +<p>When he appeared in court the judge demanded an +apology. This the Colonel refused to give, but offered +to prove the story true. The judge replied that the +truth of the story had nothing to do with the case. He +permitted no evidence upon that subject to be introduced, +but, drawing from his pocket some typewritten +sheets, proceeded to read from them a sentence, condemning +the Colonel to one day in jail. This sentence +he then ordered the sheriff to execute.</p> + +<p>However, before the sheriff could do so, a lawyer, +representing the Colonel, ran upstairs and secured from +the Court of Appeals, in the same building, a writ of +habeas corpus on the ground that the decision of the +lower judge had been prepared before he heard the evidence. +This the latter admitted. Thus the Colonel +was saved from jail—somewhat, it is rumored, to his regret. +Later the case was dismissed by the Supreme +Court of Missouri.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>An attorney representing the gas company, against +which the "Star" had been waging war, called on the +Colonel one day to complain of injustices which he al<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[ 311]</a></span>leged +the company was suffering at the hands of the +paper.</p> + +<p>"Colonel Nelson," he said, "your young men are not +being fair to the gas company."</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you," said the Colonel, "that if they were +I'd fire them!"</p> + +<p>"Why, Colonel Nelson!" said the dismayed attorney. +"Do you mean to say you don't want to be fair?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir!" said the Colonel. "When has your company +been fair to Kansas City? When you are fair my +young men will be fair!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>If there is one thing about the "Star" more amazing +than another, it is perhaps the effect it can produce by +mere negative action—that is, by ignoring its enemies +instead of attacking them. In one case a man who had +made most objectionable attacks on Colonel Nelson personally, +was treated to such a course of discipline, with +the result, I was informed, that he was ultimately ruined.</p> + +<p>The "Star" did not assail him. It simply refused to +accept advertising from him and declined to mention his +name or to refer to his enterprises.</p> + +<p>When the victim of this singular reprisal was writhing +under it, a prominent citizen called at Colonel Nelson's +office to plead with the Colonel to "let up."</p> + +<p>"Colonel," he protested, "you ought not to keep after +this man. It is ruining his business."</p> + +<p>"Keep after him?" repeated the Colonel. "I'm not +keeping after him. For me he doesn't exist."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[ 312]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's just the trouble," urged the mediator. +"Now, Colonel, you're getting to be an old man. +Wouldn't you be happier when you lay down at night +if you could think to yourself that there wasn't a single +man in Kansas City who was worse off because of any +action on your part?"</p> + +<p>At that occurred a sudden eruption of the old volcano.</p> + +<p>"By God!" cried the Colonel. "I couldn't sleep!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[ 313]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>KEEPING A PROMISE</h3> + +<blockquote><p> +<i>The shades of night were falling fast,<br /> +As through a western landscape passed<br /> +A car, which bore, 'mid snow and ice,<br /> +Two trav'lers taking this advice:</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>Visit Excelsior Springs!</i></span><br /> +</p></blockquote> + + +<p>Have you ever heard of the city of Excelsior +Springs, Missouri? I never had until the letters +began to come. The first one reached me +in Detroit. It told me that Excelsior Springs desired to +be "written up," and offered me, as an inducement to +come there, the following arguments: paved streets, +beautiful scenery, three modern, fire-proof hotels, +flourishing lodges, live churches, fine saddle horses, an +eighteen-hole golf course ("2d to none," the letter said) +four distinct varieties of mineral water, and—Frank +James.</p> + +<p>The mention of Frank James stirred poignant memories +of my youth: recollections of forbidden "nickel +novels" dealing with the wild deeds alleged to have +been committed by the James Boys, Frank and Jesse, +and their "Gang." I used to keep these literary treasures +concealed behind a dusty furnace pipe in the cellar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[ 314]</a></span> +of the old house in Chicago. On rainy days I would +steal down and get them, and, retiring to some out-of-the-way +corner of the attic, would read and re-read +them in a kind of ecstasy of horror—a horror which was +enhanced by the eternal fear of being discovered with +such trash in my possession.</p> + +<p>I had not thought of the James Boys in many years. +But when I got that letter, and realized that Frank +James was still alive, the old stories came flooding back. +As with Maeterlinck and Hinky Dink, the James Boys +seemed to me to be fictitious figures; beings too wonderful +to be true. The idea of meeting one of them and +talking with him seemed hardly less improbable than +the idea of meeting Barbarossa, Captain Kidd, Dick +Turpin, or Robin Hood. I began to wish to visit Excelsior +Springs.</p> + +<p>Before I had a chance to answer the first letter others +came. Mr. W. E. Davy, Chief Correspondent of the +Brotherhood of American Yeomen, wrote that, "Excelsior +Springs is one of the most picturesque and interesting +spots in that portion of the country." Ban B. +Johnson, president of the American Baseball League, +also wrote, declaring, "I believe Excelsior Springs to +be the greatest watering place on the American continent." +Then came letters from business men, Congressmen +and Senators, until it began to seem to me that +the entire world had dropped its work and taken up its +pen to impress upon me the vital need of a visit to this +little town. The letters came so thick that, from St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[ 315]</a></span> +Louis, I telegraphed the Secretary of the Excelsior +Springs Commercial Club to say that, if he would let up +on me, I would agree to come. After that the letters +stopped as though by magic. Until I reached Kansas +City I heard no more about Excelsior Springs. There, +however, a deputation called to remind me of my promise, +and a few days later the same deputation returned +and escorted my companion and me to the interurban car, +and bought our tickets, and checked our trunks, and +put us in our seats, and sat beside us watchfully, like +detectives taking prisoners to jail. For though I had +promised we would come, it must not be forgotten that +they were from Missouri.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Excelsior Springs is a busy, pushing little town of +about five thousand inhabitants, situated in Clay County, +Missouri, about thirty miles from Kansas City. The +whole place has been built up since 1880, on the strength +of the mineral waters found there—and when you have +tasted these waters you can understand it, for they are +very strong indeed. But that is putting the thing +bluntly. Listen, then, to the booklet issued by the Excelsior +Springs Commercial Club:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Even as 'truth is stranger than fiction,' so the secrets of Nature +are even more wonderful than the things wrought by the +hands of man. Just why it pleased the Creator of the Universe +to install one of His laboratories here and infuse into its waters +curative powers which surpass the genius and skill of all the physicians +in Christendom is a question which no one can answer. +Like the stars, the flowers, and the ocean, it is merely one of the</p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[ 316]</a></span></p> +<blockquote><p>great eternal verities with which we are surrounded. Whither +and whence no man knows.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Having paid this fitting compliment to the Creator, +the pamphleteer proceeds to expatiate upon the joys of +the place:</p> + +<blockquote><p>There are cool, shaded parks and woodlands, where you can +sit under the big, spreading trees which shut out the hot summer's +sun—where you can loll on blankets of thickly matted blue +grass and read and sleep to your heart's content—far from the +madding crowd and the world's fierce strife and turmoil.... +Here the golf player will find one of the finest golf links his +heart would desire. The fisherman will find limpid streams +where the wary black bass lurks behind moss-covered rocks.... +Here you and your wife can vie at tennis, bowling, horseback riding, +and a dozen other wholesome exercises, and when the shadows +of the night have fallen there are orchestras which dispense +sweet music and innumerable picture shows and other forms of +entertainment which will while away the fleeting moments until +bedtime.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Though the writer of the above prose-poem chose to +assume that the imaginary being to whom he addresses +himself is a married man, the reader must not jump +to the conclusion that Excelsior Springs is a resort for +married couples only, that the married are obliged to +run in pairs, or that those who have been joined in +matrimony are, for any reason, in especial need of healing +waters. If unmarried persons are not so welcome +at the Springs as married couples, that is only because +a couple spends more money than an individual. The +unmarried are cordially received. And I may add,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[ 317]</a></span> +from personal observation, that the married man or +woman who arrives alone can usually arrange to "vie +at tennis, bowling, horseback riding, and a dozen other +wholesome exercises" with the husband or the wife of +some one else. In short, Excelsior Springs is like most +other "resorts." But all this is by the way. The waters +are the main thing. The paved streets, the parks, the +golf links, even Frank James, sink into comparative insignificance +compared with the natural beverages of +the place. The Commercial Club desires that this be +clearly understood, and seems, even, to resent the proximity +of Frank James, as a rival attraction to the waters, +as though under an impression that no human being +could stomach both. Before I departed from the +Springs some members of the Commercial Club became +so alarmed at the interest I was showing in the former +outlaw that they called upon me in a body and exacted +from me a solemn promise that I should on no account +neglect to write about the waters. I agreed, whereupon +I was given full information regarding the waters by a +gentleman bearing the appropriate name of Fish.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fish informed me that the waters of Excelsior +Springs resemble, in their general effect, the waters of +Homburg, the favorite watering place of the late King +Edward—or, rather, I think he put it the other way +round: that Homburg waters resembled those of Excelsior +Springs. The famous Elizabethbrunnen of +Homburg is like a combination of two waters found at +the Missouri resort—a saline water and an iron water,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[ 318]</a></span> +having, together, a laxative, alterative, and tonic effect. +Mr. Fish, who has made a study of waters, says +that Excelsior Springs has the greatest variety of valuable +mineral waters to be found in this country, and +that the town possesses two among the half dozen iron-manganese +springs being used, commercially, in the entire +world. Duplicates of these springs are to be found +at Schwalbach and Pyrmont, in Germany; Spa, in Belgium, +and St. Moritz, in Switzerland. The value of +manganese when associated with iron is that it makes +the iron more digestible.</p> + +<p>Another type of water found at the Springs is of a +saline-sulphur variety, such as is found at Saratoga, +Blue Lick (Ky.), Ems, and Baden-Baden. Still another +type is the soda water similar to that of Manitou +(Colo.), Vichy, and Carlsbad, while a fourth variety of +water is the lithia.</p> + +<p>In 1881 the present site of the town was occupied by +farms, one of them that of Anthony Wyman, on whose +land the original "Siloam" iron spring was discovered. +This spring, the water of which left a yellow streak on +the ground as it flowed away, had been known for years +among the negro farm hands as the "old pizen spring," +and it is said that when they were threshing wheat in +the fields, and became thirsty, none of them dared drink +from it.</p> + +<p>Rev. Dr. Flack, a resident of the neighborhood, having +heard about the spring, took a sample of the water +and sent it to be analyzed—as my informant put it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[ 319]</a></span> +"to find out what was the matter with it." The analysis +showed the reason for the yellow streak, and informed +Dr. Flack of the spring's value.</p> + +<p>From that time on people began to drive to the Springs +in the stagecoaches that passed through the region. +First there were camps, but in 1882 a few houses were +built and the town was incorporated. In 1888 the Chicago, +Milwaukee & St. Paul Railroad began to operate +a line through Excelsior Springs, and in 1894 the Wabash +connected with the Springs by constructing a spur +line. The Milwaukee & St. Paul tracks pass at a distance +of about one mile from the town, and this fact +finally caused the late Sam F. Scott to build a dummy line +to the station.</p> + +<p>I was told that Mr. Scott had handsome passes engraved, +and that he sent these to the presidents of all +the leading railroad companies of the country, requesting +an exchange of courtesies. According to this story, +Mr. Scott received a reply from Alexander Cassatt, +then president of the Pennsylvania system, saying that +he was unable to find Mr. Scott's road in the Railroad +Directory, and asking for further information. To this +letter, it is said, Mr. Scott replied: "My road is not so +long as yours, but it is just as wide." Perhaps I should +add that, later, I heard the same story told of the president +of a small Colorado line, and that still later I heard +it in connection with a little road in California. It may +be an old story, but it was new to me, and I hereby fasten +it upon the town where I first heard it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[ 320]</a></span></p> + +<p>Excelsior Springs is the headquarters of the Bill +Club, which has come in for humorous mention, from +time to time, in newspapers throughout the land. The +Bill Club is a national organization, the sole requirement +for membership having originally consisted in the +possession of the cognomen "William" and the payment +of a dollar bill. Bill Sisk of Excelsior Springs is president +of the Bill Club, Bill Hyder is secretary, and Bill +Flack treasurer. By an amendment of the Bill Club +constitution, "any lady who has been christened Willie, +Wilena, Wilhelmine, or Williamette, may also join the +Bill Club." The pass word of the organization is +"Hello, Bill," and among the honorary members are ex-President +Bill Taft, Secretary of State Bill Bryan, Senators +Bill Warner and Bill Stone of Missouri, Bill Hearst, +Colonel Bill Nelson, publisher of the Kansas City "Star," +and Bill Bill, a hat manufacturer, of Hartford, Conn.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The head waiter at our hotel was a beaming negro. +As my companion and I came down to breakfast on our +first morning there, he met us at the door, led us across +the dining room, drew out our chairs, and, as we sat +down, inquired, pleasantly:</p> + +<p>"Well, gentamen, how did you enjoy yo' sleep?"</p> + +<p>We both assured him that we had slept well.</p> + +<p>"Yes, suh; yes, suh," he replied. "That's the way it +most gen'ally is down here. People either sleeps well or +they don't."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[ 321]</a></span></p> + +<p>After breakfast we were taken in a motor to the James +farm, nine miles distant from the town. Never have +I seen more charming landscapes than those we passed +upon this drive. An Englishman at Excelsior Springs +told me that the landscapes reminded him of home, but +to me they were not English, for they had none of that +finished, gardenlike formality which one associates with +the scenery of England. The country in that part of +Missouri is hilly, and spring was just commencing when +we were there, touching the feathery tips of the trees +with a color so faint that it seemed like a light green +mist. It was a warm, sunny day, and the breeze sweet +with the smell of growing things. There was no haze, +the air was clear, yet by some subtle quality in the light, +colors, which elsewhere might have looked raw, were +strangely softened and made to blend with one another. +Blatant red barns, green houses, and the bright blue +overalls worn by farm hands in the fields, did not jump +out of the picture, but melted into it harmoniously, keeping +us in a constant state of amazement and delight.</p> + +<p>"If you think it's pretty now," our guardians told us, +"you ought to see it in the summer when the trees are at +their best."</p> + +<p>Of course such landscapes must be fine in summer, +but the beauty of summer is an obvious kind of beauty, +like that of some splendid opulent woman in a rich +evening gown. Summer seems to me to be a little bit +too sure of her beauty, a little too well aware of its +completeness. The beauty of very early spring is dif<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[ 322]</a></span>ferent; +there is something frail about it; something +timid and faltering, which makes me think of a young +girl, delicate and sweet, who, knowing that she has +not reached maturity, looks forward to her womanhood +and remains unconscious of her present virgin loveliness. +No, I am sure that I should never love that Missouri +landscape as I loved it in the early spring, and +I am sure that such a painter as W. Elmer Schofield +would have loved it best as I saw it, and that Edward +Redfield or Ernest Lawson would prefer to paint it in +that aspect than in any other which it could assume. I +should like to see them paint it, and I should also like to +see their paintings shown to Kansas and Missouri.</p> + +<p>What would Kansas and Missouri make of them? +Very little, I fear. For (with the exception of St. +Louis) those two States seem to be devoid of all feeling +for art. I doubt that there is a public art gallery +in the whole State of Kansas, or a private collection of +paintings worth speaking of. As for western Missouri, +I could learn of no paintings there, save some full-sized +copies, in oil, of works of old masters, which were presented +to Kansas City by Colonel Nelson. These copies +are exceptionally fine. They might form the nucleus +for a municipal gallery of art—a much better nucleus +than would be formed by one or two actual works of +old masters—but Kansas City hasn't "gotten around to +art," as yet, apparently. The paintings are housed in +the second story of a library building, and several people +to whom I spoke had never heard of them.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus405.png" width="450" height="304" alt="Mr. Fish informed me that the waters of Excelsior Springs resemble the waters of Homburg, the +favorite watering place of the late King Edward—or, rather, I think he put it the other way round" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Mr. Fish informed me that the waters of Excelsior Springs resemble the waters of Homburg, the +favorite watering place of the late King Edward—or, rather, I think he put it the other way round</span> +</div><p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[ 323]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>THE TAME LION</h3> + + +<p>The James farm occupies a pretty bit of rolling +land, at one corner of which, near the road, +Frank James has built himself a neat, substantial +frame house.</p> + +<p>Before the house is a large gate, bearing a sign as +follows:</p> + +<blockquote><p> +<span class="smcap">James Farms</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Home of the James'</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Jesse and Frank</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Admission 50c</span>.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Kodaks Bared</span><br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>As we moved in the direction of the house a tall, +slender old man with a large hooked nose and a white +beard and mustache walked toward us. He was dressed +in an exceedingly neat suit and wore a large black felt +hat of the type common throughout Missouri. Coming +up, he greeted our escort cordially, after which we were +introduced. It was Frank James.</p> + +<p>The former outlaw is a shrewd-looking, well preserved +man, whose carriage, despite his seventy-one years, is +notably erect. He looks more like a prosperous farmer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[ 324]</a></span> +or the president of a rural bank than like a bandit. In +his manner there is a strong note of the showman. It +is not at all objectionable, but it is there, in the same +way that it is there in Buffalo Bill. Frank James is an +interesting figure; on meeting him you see, at once, that +he knows he is an interesting figure and that he trades +upon the fact. He is clearly an intelligent man, but +he has been looked at and listened to for so many years, +as a kind of curiosity, that he has the air of going +through his tricks for one—of getting off a line of practised +patter. It is pretty good patter, as patter goes, +inclining to quotation, epigram, and homely philosophy, +delivered in an assured "platform manner."</p> + +<p>It may be well here to remind the reader of the history +of the James Gang.</p> + +<p>The father and mother of the "boys" came from Kentucky +to Missouri. The father was a Baptist minister +and a slaveholder. He died before the war, and his +widow married a man named Samuels, by whom she +had several children.</p> + +<p>From the year 1856 Missouri, which was a slave +state, warred with Kansas, which was a free state, +and there was much barbarity along the border. +The "Jayhawkers," or Kansas guerrillas, would make +forays into Missouri, stealing cattle, burning houses, +and committing all manner of depredations; and lawless +gangs of Missourians would retaliate, in kind, on Kansas. +Among the most appalling cutthroats on the Missouri +side was a man named Quantrell, head of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[ 325]</a></span> +Quantrell gang, a body of guerrillas which sometimes +numbered upward of a thousand men. The James boys +were members of this gang, Frank James joining at the +opening of the Civil War, and Jesse two years later, at +the age of sixteen. In speaking of joining Quantrell, +Frank James spoke of "going into the army." Quantrell +was, however, a mere border ruffian and was disowned +by the Confederate army.</p> + +<p>According to Frank James, Quantrell, who was born +in Canal Dover, Ohio, went west, with his brother, to +settle. In Kansas they were set upon by "Jayhawkers" +and "Redlegs," with the result that Quantrell's brother +was killed and that Quantrell himself was wounded +and left for dead. He was, however, nursed to life by +a Nez Perce Indian. When he recovered he became +determined to have revenge upon the Kansans. To that +end, he affected to be in sympathy with them, and joined +some of their marauding bands. When he had established +himself in their confidence he used to get himself +sent out on scouting expeditions with one or two other +men, and it was his amiable custom, upon such occasions, +to kill his companions and return with a story +of an attack by the enemy in which the others had met +death. At last, when he had played this trick so often +that he feared detection, he determined to get himself +clear of his fellows. A plan had been matured for an +attack upon the house of a rich slaveholder. Quantrell +went to the house in advance, betrayed the plan, and +arranged to join forces with the defenders. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[ 326]</a></span> +resulted in the death of his seven or eight companions. +At about this time the war came on, and +Quantrell became a famous guerrilla leader, falling on +detached bodies of Northern troops and massacring +them, and even attacking towns—one of his worst offenses +having been the massacre of most of the male +inhabitants of Lawrence, Kas. He gave as the reason +for his atrocities his desire for revenge for the death +of his brother, and also used to allege that he was a +Southerner, though that was not true.</p> + +<p>I asked Frank James how he came to join Quantrell, +when the war broke out, instead of enlisting in the regular +army.</p> + +<p>"We knew he was not a very fine character," he explained, +"but we were like the followers of Villa or +Huerta: we wanted to destroy the folks that wanted +to destroy us, and we would follow any man that would +show us how to do it. Besides, I was young then. +When a man is young his blood is hot; there's a million +things he'll do then that he won't do when he's older. +There's a story about a man at a banquet. He was +offered champagne to drink, but he said: 'I want quick +action. I'll take Bourbon whisky.' That was the way +I felt. That's why I joined Quantrell: to get quick +action. And I got it, too. Jesse and I were with Quantrell +until he was killed in Kentucky."</p> + +<p>John Samuels, a half brother of the James boys, told +me the story of how Jesse James came to join Quantrell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[ 327]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Jesse was out plowing in a field," he said, "when some +Northern soldiers came to the place to look for Frank. +Jesse was only sixteen years old. They beat him up. +Then they went to the house and asked where Frank +was. Mother and father didn't know, but the soldiers +wouldn't believe them. They took father out and hung +him by the neck to a tree. After a while they took him +down and gave him another chance to tell. Of course +he couldn't. So they hung him up again. They did +that three times. Then they took him back to the house +and told my mother they were going to shoot him. +She begged them not to do it, but they took him off in +the woods and fired off their guns so she'd hear, and +think they'd done it. But they didn't shoot him. They +just took him over to another town and put him in jail. +My mother didn't know until the next day that he +hadn't been shot, because the soldiers ordered her to remain +in the house if she didn't want to get shot, too.</p> + +<p>"That was too much for Jesse. He said: 'Maw, +I can't stand it any longer; I'm going to join Quantrell.' +And he did."</p> + +<p>After the war the wilder element from the disbanded +armies and guerrilla gangs caused continued trouble. +Crime ran rampant along the border between Kansas +and Missouri. And for many crimes committed in the +neighborhood in which they lived, the James boys, who +were known to be wild, were blamed.</p> + +<p>"Mother always said," declared Mr. Samuels, "that +Frank and Jesse wanted to settle down after the war,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[ 328]</a></span> +but that the neighbors wouldn't let them. Everything +that went wrong around this region was always charged +to them, until, finally, they were driven to outlawry."</p> + +<p>"How much truth is there in the different stories of +bank robberies and train robberies committed by them?" +I asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he said. "Of course they did a lot +of things. But we never knew. They never said +anything. They'd just come riding home, every now +and then, and stop for a while, and then go riding away +again. We never knew where they came from or where +they went."</p> + +<p>It has been alleged that even after a reward of $10,000 +had been offered for either of the Jameses, dead or alive, +the neighbors shielded them when it was known that +they were at home. I spoke about that to an old man +who lived on a near-by farm.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "that's true. Once when the Pinkertons +were hunting them I met Frank and some members +of the gang riding along the road, not far from here. I +could have told, but I didn't want to. I wasn't looking +for any trouble with the James Gang. Suppose they +had caught one or two of them? There'd be others left +to get even with me, and I had my family to think of. +That is the way lots of the neighbors felt about it. They +were afraid to tell."</p> + +<p>I spoke to Frank James about the old "nickel novels."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus413.png" width="450" height="358" alt="We strolled in the direction of the old house, that house of tragedy in which +the family lived in the troublous times.... It was there that the Pinkertons +threw the bomb" title="" /> +<span class="caption">We strolled in the direction of the old house, that house of tragedy in which +the family lived in the troublous times.... It was there that the Pinkertons +threw the bomb.</span> +</div> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "some fellows printed a lot of stuff. +I'd have stopped it, maybe, if I'd had as much money as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[ 329]</a></span> +Rockefeller. But what could I do? I tell you those +yellow-backed books have done a lot of harm to the youth +of this land—those and the moving pictures, showing +robberies. Such things demoralize youth. If I had the +job of censoring the moving pictures, they'd say I was a +reg'lar Robespierre!"</p> + +<p>"How about some of the old stories of robberies +in which you were supposed to have taken part?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>"I neither affirm nor deny," Frank James answered, +with the glibness of long custom. "If I admitted that +these stories were true, people would say: 'There is the +greatest scoundrel unhung!' and if I denied 'em, they'd +say: 'There's the greatest liar on earth!' So I just say +nothing."</p> + +<p>According to John Samuels, Frank James and Cole +Younger were generally acknowledged to be the brains +of the James Gang. "It was claimed," he said, "that +Frank planned and Jesse executed. Frank was certainly +the cool man of the two, and Jesse was a little bit excitable. +He had the name of being the quickest man in +the world with a gun. Sometimes when he was home +for a visit, when I was a boy, he'd be sitting there in the +house, and there'd come some little noise. Then he'd +whip out his pistol so quick you couldn't see the motion +of his hand."</p> + +<p>As we conversed we strolled in the direction of the old +house, that house of tragedy in which the family lived +in the troublous times. On the way we passed Frank<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[ 330]</a></span> +James's chicken coop, and I noticed that on it had been +painted the legend: "Bull Moose—T. R."</p> + +<p>"The wing, at the back, is the old part of the house," +James explained. "It was there that the Pinkertons +threw the bomb."</p> + +<p>I asked about the bomb throwing and heard the story +from John Samuels, who was there when it occurred.</p> + +<p>"I was a child of thirteen then," he said, "and I was +the only one in the room who wasn't killed or crippled. +It happened at night. We had suspected for a long time +that a man named Laird, who was working as a farm +hand for a neighbor of ours named Askew on that farm +over there"—he indicated a farmhouse on a near-by +hill—"was a Pinkerton man, and that he was there to +watch for Frank and Jesse. Well, one night he must +have decided they were at home, for the house was surrounded +while we were asleep. A lot of torches were +put around in the yard to give light. Then the house +was set on fire in seven places and a bomb was thrown +in through this window." He pointed to a window in +the side of the old log wing. "It was about midnight. +My mother and little brother and I were in the room. +Mother kicked the bomb into the fireplace before it went +off. The fuse was sputtering. Maybe she even +thought of throwing the thing out of the window again. +Anyhow, when it exploded it blew off her forearm and +killed my little brother."</p> + +<p>"Come in the house," invited Frank James. "We've +got a piece of the bomb in there."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[ 331]</a></span></p> + +<p>We entered the old cabin. In the fireplace marks of +the explosion are still visible. The piece of the bomb +which they preserve is a bowl-shaped bit of iron, about +the size of a bread-and-butter plate.</p> + +<p>"What was their idea in throwing the bomb?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"As near as we know," replied Frank James, "the +Pinkertons figured that Jesse and I were sleeping in the +front part of the house. You see, there's a little porch +running back from the main house to the door of the old +cabin. They must have figured that when the bomb +went off we would run out on the porch to see what was +the matter. Then they were going to bag us."</p> + +<p>"Well, did you run out?"</p> + +<p>"Evidently not," said Frank James.</p> + +<p>"Were you there?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Some think we were and some think not," he said.</p> + +<p>An old man who had been constable of the township +at the time the James boys were on the warpath had +come up and joined us.</p> + +<p>"How about Askew?" I suggested. "I should have +thought he would have been afraid to harbor a Pinkerton +man."</p> + +<p>The old man nodded. "You'd of thought so, +wouldn't you?" he agreed. "Askew was shot dead +three months after the bomb throwing. He was carrying +a pail of milk from the stable to the house when he +got three bullets in the face."</p> + +<p>"Who killed him?" I asked.</p> + +<p>The old constable allowed his eyes to drift rumina<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[ 332]</a></span>tively +over the neighboring hillsides before replying. +Frank James and his half brother, who were standing +by, also heard my question, and they, too, became interested +in the surrounding scenery.</p> + +<p>"Well-l," said the old constable at last, "that's always +been a question."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mr. Samuels told me details concerning the death of +Jesse James.</p> + +<p>"Things were getting pretty hot for the boys," he +said. "Big rewards had been offered for them. Frank +was in hiding down South, and Jesse was married and +living under an assumed name in a little house he had +rented in St. Joe, Mo. That was in 1882. There +had been some hints of trouble in the gang. Dick +Little, one of the boys, had gotten in with the authorities, +and it had been rumored that he had won the Ford +boys over, too. Jesse had heard that report, but he had +confidence in Charlie Ford. Bob Ford he didn't trust +so much. Well, Charlie and Bob Ford came to St. Joe +to see Jesse and his wife. They were sitting around the +house one day, and Jesse's wife wanted him to dust a +picture for her. He was always a great hand to help +his wife. He moved a chair over under the picture, +and before getting up on it to dust, he took his belt and +pistols off and threw them on the bed. Then he got up +on the chair. While he was standing there Bob Ford +shot him in the back.</p> + +<p>"Well, Bob died a violent death a while after that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[ 333]</a></span> +He was shot by a man named Kelly in a saloon in Creede, +Colo. And Charlie Ford brooded over the killing of +Jesse and committed suicide about a year later. The +three Younger boys, who were members of the gang, +too, were captured a while after, near Northfield, Minn., +where they had tried to rob a bank. They were all sent +up for life. Bob Younger died in the penitentiary at +Stillwater, but Cole and Jim were paroled and not allowed +to leave the State. Jim fell in love with a woman, +but being an ex-convict, he couldn't get a license to +marry her. That broke his heart and he committed suicide. +Cole finally got a full pardon and is now living +in Jackson County, Missouri. He and Frank are the +only two members of the Gang who are left and the only +two that didn't die either in the penitentiary or by violence. +Frank was in hiding for years with a big price +on his head. At last he gave himself up, stood trial, and +was acquitted."</p> + +<p>Adherents of Bob Ford told a different story of the +motives back of the killing of Jesse James. They contend +that Jesse James thought Ford had been "telling +things" and ought to be put out of the way, and that in +killing Jesse, Ford practically saved his own life.</p> + +<p>Whatever may be the truth, it is generally agreed that +the action of Jesse James in taking off his guns and +turning his back on the Ford boys was unprecedented. +He had never before been known to remove his weapons. +Some people think he did it as a piece of bravado. +Others say he did it to show the Ford boys that he trusted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[ 334]</a></span> +them. But whatever the occasion for the action it gave +Bob Ford his chance—a chance which, it is thought, he +would not have dared take when Jesse James was armed.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>During the course of our visit Frank James "lectured," +more or less constantly, touching on a variety of +subjects, including the Mexican situation and woman +suffrage.</p> + +<p>"The women ought to have the vote," he affirmed. +"Look what we owe to the women. A man gets 75 per +cent. of what goodness there is in him from his mother, +and he owes at least 40 per cent. of all he makes to his +wife. Yes, some men owe more than that. Some of +'em owe 100 per cent. to their wives."</p> + +<p>Ethics and morality seem to be favorite topics with the +old man, and he makes free with quotations from the +Bible and from Shakespeare in substantiation of his +opinions.</p> + +<p>"City people," I heard him say to some other visitors +who came while we were there, "think that we folks who +live on farms haven't got no sense. Well, we may not +know much, but what we do know we know darn well. +We farmers <i>feed</i> all these smart folks in the cities, so +they ought to give us credit for knowing <i>some</i>thing."</p> + +<p>He can be dry and waggish as he shows himself off to +those who come and pay their fifty cents. It was amusing +to watch him and listen to him. Sometimes he +sounded like an old parson, but his air of piety sat upon +him grotesquely as one reflected on his earlier career. +A prelate with his hat cocked rakishly over one ear could +have seemed hardly more incongruous.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus422.png" width="450" height="311" alt="It was Frank James.... He looks more like a prosperous farmer or the president of a rural bank +than like a bandit. In his manner there is a strong note of the showman" title="" /> +<span class="caption">It was Frank James.... He looks more like a prosperous farmer or the president of a rural bank +than like a bandit. In his manner there is a strong note of the showman</span> +</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[ 335]</a></span> + +<p>At some of his virtuous platitudes it was hard not to +smile. All the time I was there I kept thinking how like +he was to some character of Gilbert's. All that is needed +to make Frank James complete is some lyrics and some +music by Sir Arthur Sullivan.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>There are almost as many stories of the James Boys +and their gang to be heard in Excelsior Springs as there +are houses in the town. But as Frank James will not +commit himself, it is next to impossible to verify them. +However, I shall give a sample.</p> + +<p>I was told that Frank and Jesse James were riding +along a country road with another member of the gang, +and that, coming to a farmhouse shortly after noon, they +stopped and asked the woman living there if she could +give them "dinner"—as the midday meal is called in +Kansas and Missouri.</p> + +<p>The woman said she could. They dismounted and +entered. Then, as they sat in the kitchen watching +her making the meal ready, Jesse noticed that tears kept +coming to her eyes. Finally he asked her if anything +was wrong. At that she broke down completely, informing +him that she was a widow, that her farm was +mortgaged for several hundred dollars, and that the +man who held the mortgage was coming out that afternoon +to collect. She had not the money to pay him and +expected to lose her property.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[ 336]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's nothing to cry about," said Jesse. "Here's +the money."</p> + +<p>To the woman, who had not the least idea who the +men were, their visit must have seemed like one from +angels. She took the money, thanking them profusely, +and, after having fed them well, saw them ride away.</p> + +<p>Later in the day, when the holder of the mortgage appeared +upon the scene, fully expecting to foreclose, he +was surprised at receiving payment in full. He receipted, +mounted his horse, and set out on his return to +town. But on the way back a strange thing befell him. +He was held up and robbed by three mysterious masked +men.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[ 337]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<h3>KANSAS JOURNALISM</h3> + + +<p>Everything I had ever heard of Kansas, +every one I had ever met from Kansas, everything +I had ever imagined about Kansas, made +me anxious to invade that State. With the exception +of California, there was no State about which I felt such +a consuming curiosity. Kansas is, and always has been, +a State of freaks and wonders, of strange contrasts, of +individualities strong and sometimes weird, of ideas and +ideals, and of apocryphal occurrences.</p> + +<p>Just think what Kansas has been, and has had, and +is! Think of the border warfare over slavery which +began as early as 1855; of settlers, traveling out to +"bleeding Kansas" overland, from New England, merely +to add their abolition votes; of early struggles with the +soil, and of the final triumph. Kansas is to-day the +first wheat State, the fourth State in the value of its +assessed property (New York, Pennsylvania, and Massachusetts +only outranking it), and the only State in the +Union which is absolutely free from debt. It has a +more American population, greater wealth and fewer +mortgages per capita, more women running for office, +more religious conservatism, more political radicalism,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[ 338]</a></span> +more students in higher educational institutions in proportion +to its population, more homogeneity, more individualism, +and more nasal voices than any other State. +As Colonel Nelson said to me: "All these new ideas +they are getting everywhere else are old ideas in Kansas." +And why shouldn't that be true, since Kansas is +the State of Sockless Jerry Simpson, William Allen +White, Ed Howe, Walt Mason, Stubbs, Funston, Henry +Allen, Victor Murdock, and Harry Kemp; the State of +Susan B. Anthony, Carrie Nation, and Mary Ellen Lease—the +same sweet Mary Ellen who remarked that "Kansas +ought to raise less corn and more hell!"</p> + +<p>Kansas used to believe in Populism and free silver. +It now believes in hot summers and a hot hereafter. +It is a prohibition State in which prohibition actually +works; a State like nothing so much as some scriptural +kingdom—a land of floods, droughts, cyclones, and +enormous crops; of prophets and of plagues. And in +the last two items it has sometimes seemed to actually +outdo the Bible by combining plague and prophet in a +single individual: for instance, Carrie Nation, or again, +Harry Kemp, "the tramp poet of Kansas," who is by +way of being a kind of Carrie Nation of convention. +Only last year Kansas performed one of her biblical +feats, when she managed, somehow, to cause the water, +in the deep well supplying the town of Girard, to turn +hot. But that is nothing to what she has done. Do +you remember the plague of grasshoppers? Not in the +whole Bible is there to be found a more perfect pesti<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[ 339]</a></span>lence +than that one, which occurred in Kansas in 1872. +One day a cloud appeared before the sun. It came +nearer and nearer and grew into a strange, glistening +thing. At midday it was dark as night. Then, from +the air, the grasshoppers commenced to come, like a +heavy rain. They soon covered the ground. Railroad +trains were stopped by them. They attacked the crops, +which were just ready to be harvested, eating every green +thing, and even getting at the roots. Then, on the second +day, they all arose, making a great cloud, as before, +and turning the day black again. Nor can any man say +whence they came or whither they departed.</p> + +<p>Among the homely philosophers developed through +Kansas journalism several are widely known, most celebrated +among them all being Ed Howe of the Atchison +"Globe," William Allen White of the Emporia "Gazette," +and Walt Mason of the same paper.</p> + +<p>Howe is sixty years of age. He was owner and editor +of the "Globe" for more than thirty years, but four +years ago, when his paper gave him a net income of +sixty dollars per day, he turned it over to his son and +retired to his country place, "Potato Hill," whence he +issues occasional manifestos.</p> + +<p>Some of Howe's characteristic paragraphs from the +"Globe" have been collected and published in book form, +under the title, "Country Town Sayings." Here are a +few examples of his homely humor and philosophy:</p> + +<blockquote><p>So many things go wrong that we are tired of becoming +indignant.</p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[ 340]</a></span></p> + +<blockquote><p>Watch the flies on cold mornings; that is the way you will +feel and act when you are old.</p> + +<p>There is nothing so well known as that we should not expect +something for nothing, but we all do and call it hope.</p> + +<p>When half the men become fond of doing a thing, the other +half prohibit it by law.</p> + +<p>Sometimes I think that I have nothing to be thankful for, +but when I remember that I am not a woman I am content. +Any one who is compelled to kiss a man and pretend to like it +is entitled to sympathy.</p> + +<p>Somehow every one hates to see an unusually pretty girl +get married. It is like taking a bite out of a very fine-looking +peach.</p> + +<p>What people say behind your back is your standing in the +community in which you live.</p> + +<p>A really busy person never knows how much he weighs.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Walt Mason is another Kansas philosopher-humorist. +Recently he published in "Collier's Weekly" an article +describing life, particularly with regard to prohibition +and its effects, in his "hum town," Emporia.</p> + +<p>Emporia is probably as well known as any town of +its size in the land. It has, as Mason puts it, "ten thousand +people, including William Allen White." Including +Walt Mason, then, it must have about eleven thousand. +Mason's article told how Stubbs, on becoming +Governor of Kansas, enforced the prohibition laws, and +of the fine effect of actual prohibition in Emporia. "No +town in the world," he declares, "wears a tighter lid. +There is no drunkenness because there is nothing to +drink stiffer than pink lemonade. You will see a unicorn +as soon as you will see a drunken man in the streets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[ 341]</a></span> +of the town. Emporia has reared a generation of young +men who don't know what alcohol tastes like, who have +never seen the inside of a saloon. Many of them never +saw the outside of one. They go forth into the world +to seek their fortunes without the handicap of an acquired +thirst. All Emporia's future generations of +young men will be similarly clean, for the town knows +that a tight lid is the greatest possible blessing and nobody +will ever dare attempt to pry it loose."</p> + +<p>Having spent a year in the prohibition State of Maine, +I was skeptical as to the feasibility of a practical prohibition. +Prohibition in Maine, when I was there, was +simply a joke—and a bad joke at that, for it involved +bad liquor. Every man in the State who wanted drink +knew where to get it, so long as he was satisfied with +poor beer, or whisky of about the quality of spar varnish. +Never have I seen more drunkenness than in that State. +The slight added difficulty of getting drink only made +men want it more, and it seemed to me that, when they +got it, they drank more at a sitting than they would have, +had liquor been more generally accessible.</p> + +<p>In Kansas it is different. There the law is enforced. +Blind pigs hardly exist, and bootleggers are rare birds +who, if they persist in bootlegging, are rapidly converted +into jailbirds. The New York "Tribune" printed, recently, +a letter stating that prohibition is a signal failure +in Kansas, that there is more drinking there than ever +before, and that "under the seats of all the automobiles +in Kansas there is a good-sized canteen." Whether<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[ 342]</a></span> +there is more drinking in Kansas than ever before, I +cannot say. I do know, however, both from personal +observation and from reliable testimony, that there is +practically no drinking in the portions of the State I +visited. As I am not a prohibitionist, this statement +is nonpartizan. But I may add, after having seen the +results of prohibition in Kansas, I look upon it with +more favor. Indeed, I am a partial convert; that is, +I believe in it for you. And whatever are your views +on prohibition, I think you will admit that it is a pretty +temperate State in which a girl can grow to womanhood +and say what one Kansas girl said to me: that she never +saw a drunken man until she moved away from Kansas.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Three religious manifestations occurred while I was +in Kansas. A negro preacher came out with a platform +declaring definitely in favor of a "hot hell," another +preacher affirmed that he had the answer to the +"six riddles of the universe," and William Allen White +came out with the news that he had "got religion."</p> + +<p>Now, if William Allen White of the Emporia "Gazette" +really has done that, a number of consequences +are likely to occur. For one thing, a good many Americans +who follow, with interest, Mr. White's opinions, +are likely also to follow him in this; and if they fail to +do so voluntarily, they are likely to get religion stuffed +right down their throats. If White decides that it is +good for them, they'll get it, never fear! For White's +the kind of man who gives us what is good for us, even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[ 343]</a></span> +if it kills us. Another probable result of White's coming +out in the "Gazette" in favor of religion would be +the simultaneous appearance, in the "Gazette," of anti-religious +propaganda by Walt Mason. That is the way +the "Gazette" is run. White is the proprietor and has +his say as editor, but Walt Mason, who is associated +with him on the "Gazette," also has <i>his</i> say, and his say +is far from being dictated by the publisher. White, +for instance, favors woman suffrage; Mason does not. +White is a progressive; Mason is a standpatter. White +believes in the commission form of government, which +Emporia has; Mason does not. Mason believes in White +for Governor of Kansas, whereas White, himself, protests +passionately that the "Gazette" is against "that +man White."</p> + +<p>Says a "Gazette" editorial, apropos of a movement to +nominate White on the Progressive ticket:</p> + +<blockquote><p>We are onto that man White. Perhaps he pays his +debts. He may be kind to his family. But he is not the man +to run for Governor. And if he is a candidate for Governor +or for any other office, we propose to tell the +truth about him—how he robbed the county with a padded +printing bill, how he offered to trade off his support to a +Congressman for a Government building, how he blackmailed +good citizens and has run a bulldozing, disreputable newspaper +in this town for twenty years, and has grafted off business +men and sold fake mining stock and advocated anarchy +and assassinations.</p> + +<p>These are but a few preliminary things that occur to us +as the moment passes. We shall speak plainly hereafter. +A word to the wise gathers no moss.</p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[ 344]</a></span></p> + +<p>That is the way they run the Emporia "Gazette." It +is a kind of forum in which White and Mason air their +different points of view, for, as Mason said to me: +"The only public question on which White and I agree +is the infallibility of the groundhog as a weather +prophet."</p> + +<p>White and Colonel Nelson of the Kansas City "Star" +are great friends and great admirers of each other. One +day they were talking together about politics.</p> + +<p>"I hear," said Colonel Nelson, "that Shannon (Shannon +is the Democratic boss of Kansas City) says he +wants to live long enough to go to the State Legislature +and get a law passed making it only a misdemeanor to +kill an editor."</p> + +<p>"Colonel," replied White, "I think such a law would +be too drastic. I think editors should be protected during +the mating season and while caring for their young. +And, furthermore, I think no man should be allowed to +kill more editors at any time than he and his family can +eat."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[ 345]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<h3>A COLLEGE TOWN</h3> + + +<p>It was about one o'clock in the afternoon when my +companion and I alighted from the train in Lawrence, +Kas., the city in which the Quantrell massacre +occurred, as mentioned in a preceding chapter, +and the seat of the University of Kansas.</p> + +<p>An automobile hack, the gasoline equivalent of the +dilapidated horse-drawn station hack of earlier times, +was standing beside the platform. We consulted the +driver about luncheon.</p> + +<p>"You kin get just as good eating at the lunch room +over by the other station," he said, "as you kin at the +hotel, and 't won't cost you so much. They charge fifty +cents for dinner at the Eldridge, and the lunch room's +only a quarter. You kin get anything you want to eat +there—ham and eggs, potatoes, all such as that."</p> + +<p>Somehow we were suspicious of the lunch room, but +as we had to leave our bags at the other station, we told +him we would look it over, got in, and drove across the +town. The lunch room proved to be a one-story wooden +structure, painted yellow, and supporting one of those +"false fronts," representing a second story, which one +sees so often in little western towns, and which of all +architectural follies is the worst, since it deceives no one,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[ 346]</a></span> +makes only for ugliness, and is a sheer waste of labor +and material.</p> + +<p>We did not even alight at the lunch room, but, despite +indications of hurt feelings on the part of our charioteer, +insisted on proceeding to the Eldridge House and lunching +there, cost what it might.</p> + +<p>The Eldridge House stands on a corner of the wide +avenue known as Massachusetts, the principal street, +which, like the town itself, indicates, in its name, a New +England origin. Lawrence was named for Amos Lawrence, +the Massachusetts abolitionist, who, though he +never visited Kansas, gave the first ten thousand dollars +toward the establishment of the university.</p> + +<p>Alighting before the hotel, I noticed a building, diagonally +opposite, bearing the sign, Bowersock Theater. +Billboards before the theater announced that Gaskell +& McVitty (Inc.) would present there a dramatization +of Harold Bell Wright's "Shepherd of the Hills." As +I had never seen a dramatization of a work by America's +best-selling author, nor yet a production by Messrs. +Gaskell & McVitty (Inc.), it seemed to me that here was +an opportunity to improve, as at one great bound, my +knowledge of the theater. One of the keenest disappointments +of my trip was the discovery that this play +was not due in Lawrence for some days, as I would even +have stopped a night in the Eldridge House, if necessary, +to have attended a performance—especially a performance +in a theater bearing the poetic name of Bowersock.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[ 347]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rendered reckless by my disappointment, I retired to +the Eldridge House dining room and ordered the fifty-cent +luncheon. If it was the worst meal I had on my entire +trip, it at least fulfilled an expectation, for I had +heard that meals in western hotels were likely to be poor. +It is only just to add, however, that a number of sturdy +men who were seated about the room ate more heartily +and vastly than any other people I have seen, excepting +German tourists on a Rhine steamer. I envy Kansans +their digestions. For my own part, I was less interested +in my meal than in the waitresses. Has it ever struck +you that hotel waitresses are a race apart? They are +not like other women; not even like other waitresses. +They are even shaped differently, having waists like +wasps and bosoms which would resemble those of pouter +pigeons if pouter pigeons' bosoms did not seem to be +a part of them. Most hotel waitresses look to me as +though, on reaching womanhood, they had inhaled a +great breath and held it forever after. Only the fear of +being thought indelicate prevents my discussing further +this curious phenomenon. However, I am reminded +that, as Owen Johnson has so truly said, American +writers are not permitted the freedom which is accorded +to their Gallic brethren. There is, I trust, however, +nothing improper in making mention of the striking display +of jewelry worn by the waitresses at the Eldridge +House. All wore diamonds in their hair, and not one +wore less than fifty thousand dollars' worth. These +diamonds were set in large hairpins, and the show of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[ 348]</a></span> +gems surpassed any I have ever seen by daylight. +Luncheon at the Eldridge suggests, in this respect, a first +night at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York, +and if it is like that at luncheon, what must it be at dinner +time? Do they wear tiaras and diamond stomachers? +I regret that I am unable to say, for, immediately after +luncheon, I kept an appointment, previously made, with +the driver of the auto hack.</p> + +<p>"Where do you boys want to go now?" he asked my +companion and me as we appeared.</p> + +<p>"To the university," I said.</p> + +<p>"Students?" he asked, with kindly interest.</p> + +<p>Neither of us had been taken for a student in many, +many years; the agreeable suggestion was worth an +extra quarter to him. Perhaps he had guessed as +much.</p> + +<p>The drive took us out Massachusetts Avenue, which, +when it escapes the business part of town, becomes an +agreeable, tree-bordered thoroughfare, reminiscent of +New England. Presently our rattle-trap machine +turned to the right and began the ascent of a hill so +steep as to cause the driver to drop back into "first." +It was a long hill, too; we crawled up for several blocks +before attaining the plateau at the top, where stands the +University of Kansas.</p> + +<p>The setting of the college surprised us, for, if there +was one thing that we had expected more than another, +it was that Kansas would prove absolutely flat. Yet +here we were on a mountain top—at least they call it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[ 349]</a></span> +Mount Oread—with the valley of the Kaw River below, +and what seemed to be the whole of Kansas spread round +about, like a vast panoramic mural decoration for the +university—a maplike picture suggesting those splendid +decorations of Jules Guerin's in the Pennsylvania +Terminal in New York.</p> + +<p>I know of no university occupying a more suitable position +or a more commanding view, although it must be +recorded that the university has been more fortunate +in the selection of its site than in its architecture and +the arrangement of its grounds. Like other colleges +founded forty or fifty years ago, the University of Kansas +started in a small way, and failed entirely to anticipate +the greatness of its future. The campus seems to +have "just growed" without regard to the grouping of +buildings or to harmony between them, and the architecture +is generally poor. Nevertheless there is a sort +of homely charm about the place, with its unimposing, +helter-skelter piles of brick and stone, its fine trees, and +its sweeping view.</p> + +<p>It was principally with the purpose of visiting the +University of Kansas that we stopped in Lawrence. We +had heard much of the great, energetic state colleges, +which had come to hold such an important place educationally, +and in the general life of the Middle West and +West, and had planned to visit one of them. Originally +we had in mind the University of Wisconsin, because +we had heard so much about it; later, however, it struck +us that everybody else had heard a good deal about it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[ 350]</a></span> +too, and that we had better visit some less widely advertised +college. We hit on the University of Kansas +because Kansas is the most typical American agricultural +state, and also because a Kansan, whom we met +on the train, informed us that "In Kansas we are hell on +education."</p> + +<p>In detail I knew little of these big state schools. I +had heard, of course, of the broadening of their activities +to include a great variety of general state service, +aside from their main purpose of giving some sort of +college education, at very low cost, to young men and +women of rural communities who desire to continue beyond +the public schools. I must confess, however, that, +aside from such great universities as those of Michigan +and Wisconsin, I had imagined that state universities +were, in general, crude and ill equipped, by comparison +with the leading colleges of the East.</p> + +<p>If the University of Kansas may, as I have been credibly +informed, be considered as a typical western state +university, then I must confess that my preconceptions +regarding such institutions were as far from the facts +as preconceptions, in general, are likely to be. The University +of Kansas is anything but backward. It is, +upon the contrary, amazingly complete and amazingly +advanced. Not only has it an excellent equipment and +a live faculty, but also a remarkably energetic, eager +student body, much more homogeneous and much more +unanimous in its hunger for education than student +bodies in eastern universities, as I have observed them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[ 351]</a></span></p> + +<p>The University of Kansas has some three thousand +students, about a thousand of them women. Considerably +more than half of them are either partly or wholly +self-supporting, and 12 per cent. of them earn their way +during the school months. The grip of the university +upon the State may best be shown by statistics—if I may +be forgiven the brief use of them. Out of 103 counties +in Kansas only seven were not represented by students +in the university in the years 1910-12—the seven counties +being thinly settled sections in the southwest corner +of the State. Seventy-three percent. of last year's students +were born in Kansas; more than a third of them +came from villages of less than 2,000 population; and +the father of one out of every three students was a +farmer.</p> + +<p>Life at the university is comfortable, simple, and very +cheap, the average cost, per capita, for the school year +being perhaps $200, including school expenses, board, +social expenses, etc., nor are there great social and +financial gaps between certain groups of students, as in +some eastern colleges. The university is a real democracy, +in which each individual is judged according to +certain standards of character and behavior.</p> + +<p>"Now and again," one young man told me, with a +sardonic smile, "we get a country boy who eats with +his knife. He may be a mighty good sort, but he isn't +civilized. When a fellow like that comes along, we take +him in hand and tell him that, aside from the danger of +cutting his mouth, we have certain peculiar whims on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[ 352]</a></span> +the subject of manners at table, and that it is better for +him to eat as we do, because if he doesn't it makes him +conspicuous. Inside a week you'll see a great change in +a boy of that kind."</p> + +<p>Not only is the cost to the student low at the University +of Kansas, but the cost of operating the university +is slight. In the year 1909-10 (the last year on which +I have figures) the cost of operating sixteen leading colleges +in the United States averaged $232 per student. +The cost per student at the University of Kansas is $175. +One reason for this low per capita cost is the fact that +the salaries of professors at the University of Kansas +are unusually small. They are too small. It is one of +the reproaches of this rich country of ours that, though +we are always ready to spend vast sums on college buildings, +we pay small salaries to instructors; although it +is the faculty, much more than the buildings, which make +a college. So far as I have been able to ascertain, Harvard +pays the highest maximum salaries to professors, +of any American university—$5,500 is the Harvard +maximum. California, Cornell, and Yale have a $5,000 +maximum. Kansas has the lowest maximum I know +of, the greatest salary paid to a professor there, according +to last year's figures, having been $2,500.</p> + +<p>Before leaving New York I was told by a distinguished +professor in an eastern university that the students he +got from the West had, almost invariably, more initiative +and energy than those from the region of the Atlantic +seaboard. +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus442.png" width="450" height="320" alt="The campus seems to have "just growed."... Nevertheless there is a sort of homely charm about +the place, with its unimposing, helter-skelter piles of brick and stone" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The campus seems to have "just growed."... Nevertheless there is a sort of homely charm about +the place, with its unimposing, helter-skelter piles of brick and stone</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[ 353]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Just what do you mean by the West?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"In general," he replied, "I mean students from north +and west of Chicago. If I show an eastern boy a machine +which he does not understand, the chances are +that he will put his hands in his pockets and shake his +head dubiously. But if I show the same machine to a +western boy, he will go right at it, unafraid. Western +boys usually have more 'gumption,' as they call it."</p> + +<p>Brief as was my visit to the University of Kansas, I +felt that there, indeed, was "gumption." And it is easy to +account for. The breed of men and women who are +being raised in the Western States is a sturdier breed +than is being produced in the East. They have just as +much fun in their college life as any other students do, +but practically none of them go to college just "to have +a good time," or with the even less creditable purpose +of improving their social position. Kansas is still too +near to first principles to be concerned with superficialities. +It goes to college to work and learn, and its reason +for wishing to learn are, for the most part, practical. +One does not feel, in the University of Kansas, +the aspiration for a vague culture for the sake of culture +only. It is, above all, a practical university, and its +graduates are notably free from the cultural affectations +which mark graduates of some eastern colleges, enveloping +them in a fog of pedantry which they mistake +for an aura of erudition, and from which many of them +never emerge.</p> + +<p>Directness, sincerity, strength, thoughtfulness, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[ 354]</a></span> +practicality are Kansas qualities. Even the very young +men and women of Kansas are not far removed from +pioneer forefathers, and it must be remembered that +the Kansas pioneer differed from some others in that he +possessed a strain of that Puritan love of freedom which +not only brought his forefathers to Plymouth, but +brought him overland to Kansas, as has been said, to +cast his vote for abolition. Naturally, then, the zeal +which fired him and his ancestors is reflected in his +children and his grandchildren. And that, I think, is +one reason why Kansas has developed "cranks."</p> + +<p>Contrasting curiously with Kansas practicality, however, +there must be among the people of that State another +quality of a very different kind, which I might +have overlooked had I not chanced to see a copy of the +"Graduate Magazine," and had I not happened to read +the list of names of graduates who returned to the university +for the last commencement. The list was not +a very long one, yet from it I culled the following collection +of given names for women: Ava, Alverna, Angie, +Ora, Amida, Lalia, Nadine, Edetha, Violetta, Flo, +Claudia, Evadne, Nelle, Ola, Lanora, Amarette, Bernese, +Minta, Juanita, Babetta, Lenore, Letha, Leta, +Neva, Tekla, Delpha, Oreta, Opal, Flaude, Iva, Lola, +Leora, and Zippa.</p> + +<p>Clearly, then, Kansas has a penchant for "fancy" +names. Why, I wonder? Is it not, perhaps, a reaction, +on the part of parents, against the eternal struggle with +the soil, the eternal practicalities of farm life? Is it an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[ 355]</a></span> +expression of the craving of Kansas mothers for poetry +and romance? It seems to me that I detect a wistful +something in those names of Kansas' daughters.</p> + +<p>Much has been heard, in the last few years, of the +"Wisconsin idea" of linking up the state university with +the practical life of the people of the State. This idea +did not originate in Wisconsin, however, but in Kansas, +where as long ago as 1868 a law was passed making +the chancellor of the university State Sealer of Weights +and Measures. Since that time the connection between +the State and its great educational institutions has continued +to grow, until now the two are bound together by +an infinite number of ties.</p> + +<p>For example, no municipality in Kansas may install +a water supply, waterworks, or sewage plant without +obtaining from the university sanction of the arrangements +proposed. The dean of the University School of +Medicine, Dr. S. J. Crumbine, is also secretary of the +State Board of Health. It was Dr. Crumbine who +started the first agitation against the common drinking +cup, the roller towel, etc., and he succeeded in having +a law passed by the State Legislature in Kansas abolishing +these. He also accomplished the passage of a law +providing for the inspection of hotels, and requiring, +among other things, ten-foot sheets. All water analysis +for the State is done at the university, as well as analysis +in connection with food, drugs, etc., and student work +is utilized in a practical way in connection with this +state service, wherever possible.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[ 356]</a></span></p> + +<p>Passing through the laboratories, I saw many examples +of this activity, and was shown quantities of samples +of foods, beverages, and patent medicines, which had +failed to comply with the requirements of the law. There +was an artificial cider made up from alcohol and coal-tar +dye; a patent medicine called "Spurmax," sold for +fifty cents per package, yet containing nothing but colored +Epsom salts; another patent medicine sold at the +same price, containing the same material plus a little +borax; bottles of "SilverTop," a beer-substitute, designed +to evade the prohibition law—bottles with sly labels, +looking exactly alike, but which, on examination, proved, +in some cases, to have mysteriously dropped the first +two letters in the word "unfermented." All sorts of +things were being analyzed; paints were being investigated +for adulteration; shoes were being examined to +see that they conformed to the Kansas "pure-shoe law," +which requires that shoes containing substitutes for +leather be stamped to indicate the fact.</p> + +<p>"This law," remarks "The Masses," "is being fought +by Kansas shoe dealers who declare it unconstitutional. +Apparently the right to wear paper shoes without knowing +it is another of our precious heritages."</p> + +<p>The same department of the university is engaged in +showing different Kansas towns how to soften their +water supply; efforts are also being made to find some +means of softening the fiber of the Yucca plant—a weed +which the farmers of western Kansas have been trying +to get rid of—so that it may be utilized for making rope.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[ 357]</a></span> +The Kansas state flower is also being put to use for +the manufacture of sunflower oil, which, in Russia, is +burned in lamps, and which Kansas already uses, to some +extent, as a salad dressing and also as a substitute for +linseed oil.</p> + +<p>The university has also given attention to the situation +with regard to natural gas in Kansas, Professor +Cady having recently appeared before the State Board +of Utilities recommending that, as natural gas varies +greatly as to heat units, the heat unit, rather than the +measured foot, be made the basis for all charges by the +gas companies.</p> + +<p>In one room I came upon a young man who was in +charge of a machine for the manufacture of liquid air. +This product is packed in vacuum cans and shipped to +all parts of the world. I had never seen it before. It +is strange stuff, having a temperature of 300 degrees +below zero. The young man took a little of it in his +hand (it looked like a small pill made of water), and, +after holding it for an instant, threw it on the floor, +where it evaporated instantly. He then took some in +his mouth and blew it out in the form of a frosty smoke. +He was an engaging young man, and seemed to enjoy +immensely doing tricks with liquid air.</p> + +<p>In the department of entomology there is also great +activity. Professor S. J. Hunter has, among other researches, +been conducting for the last three years elaborate +experiments designed to prove or disprove the +Sambon theory with regard to pellagra.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[ 358]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Pellagra," Professor Hunter explained to me, "has +been known in Italy since 1782, but has existed in the +United States for less than thirty years, although it is +now found in nearly half our States and has become +most serious in the South. Its cause, character, and +cure are unknown, although there are several theories. +One theory is that it is caused by poisoning due to the +excessive use of corn products; another attributes it to +cottonseed products; and the Sambon theory, dating +from 1910, attributes it to the sand fly, the theory being +that the fly becomes infected through sucking the blood +of a victim of pellagra, and then communicates the infection +by biting other persons. In order to ascertain +the truth or untruth of this contention, we have bred +uncontaminated sand flies, and after having allowed +them to bite infected persons, have let them bite monkeys. +The result of these experiments is not yet complete. +One monkey is, however, sick, at this time, and +his symptoms are not unlike certain symptoms of pellagra."</p> + +<p>The university's Museum of Natural History contains +the largest single panoramic display of stuffed +animals in the world. This exhibition is contained in +one enormous case running around an extensive room, +and shows, in suitable landscape settings, American animals +from Alaska to the tropics. The collection is valued +at $300,000, and was made, almost entirely, by members +of the faculty and students.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[ 359]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Department of Physical Education is in charge +of Dr. James Naismith, who can teach a man to swim in +thirty minutes, and who is famous as the inventor of +the game of basketball. Dr. Naismith devised basketball +as a winter substitute for football, and gave the +game its name because, originally, he used peach baskets +as his goals.</p> + +<p>A very complete system of university extension is +operated, covering an enormous field, reaching schools, +colleges, clubs, and individuals, and assisting them in almost +all branches of education; also a Department of +Correspondence Study, covering about 150 courses. +Likewise, in the Department of Journalism a great +amount of interesting and practical work is being done +on the editorial, business, and mechanical sides of newspaper +publishing. Following the general practice of +other departments of the university, the Department of +Journalism places its equipment and resources at the +service of Kansas editors and publishers. A clearing +house is maintained where buyers and sellers of newspaper +properties may be brought together, printers are +assisted in making estimates, cost-system blanks are +supplied, and job type is cast and furnished free to +Kansas publishers in exchange for their old worn-out +type.</p> + +<p>These are but a few scattered examples of the inner +and outer activities of the University of Kansas, as I +noted them during the course of an afternoon and even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[ 360]</a></span>ing +spent there. For me the visit was an education. I +wish that all Americans might visit such a university. +But more than that, I wish that some system might be +devised for the exchange of students between great colleges +in different parts of the country. Doubtless it +would be a good thing for certain students at western +colleges to learn something of the more elaborate life +and the greater sophistication of the great colleges of +the East, but more particularly I think that vast benefits +might accrue to certain young men from Harvard, +Yale, and similar institutions, by contact with such universities +as that of Kansas. Unfortunately, however, +the eastern students, who would be most benefited by +such a shift, would be the very ones to oppose it. Above +all others, I should like to see young eastern aristocrats, +spenders, and disciples of false culture shipped out to +the West. It would do them good, and I think they +would be amazed to find out how much they liked it. +However, this idea of an exchange is not based so much +on the theory that it would help the individual student +as on the theory that greater mutual comprehension is +needed by Americans. We do not know our country +or our fellow countrymen as we should. We are too +localized. We do not understand the United States +as Germans understand Germany, as the French understand +France, or as the British understand Great +Britain. This is partly because of the great distances +which separate us, partly because of the heterogeneous +nature of our population, and partly because, being a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[ 361]</a></span> +young civilization, we flock abroad in quest of the ancient +charm and picturesqueness of Europe. The "See America +First" idea, which originated as the advertising catch +line of a western railroad, deserves serious consideration, +not only because of what America has to offer in the way +of scenery, but also because of what she has to offer in +the way of people. I found that a great many thoughtful +persons all over the United States were considering +this point.</p> + +<p>In Detroit, for example, the Lincoln National Highway +project is being vigorously pushed by the automobile +manufacturers, and within a short time streams of +motors will be crossing the continent. As a means of +making Americans better acquainted with one another +the automobile has already done good work, but its service +in that direction has only begun.</p> + +<p>Mr. Charles C. Moore, president of the Panama-Pacific +Exposition, whom I met, later, in San Francisco, +told me that the authorities of the exposition had been +particularly interested in the idea of promoting friendliness +between Americans.</p> + +<p>"We Americans," said Mr. Moore, "are still wondering +what America really is, and what Americans really +are. One of the greatest benefits of a fair like ours is +the opportunity it gives us to form friendly ties with people +from all over the country. We shall have a great +series of congresses, conferences, and conventions, and +will provide the use of halls without charge. The railroads +are coöperating with us by making low round-trip<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[ 362]</a></span> +rates which enable the visitor to come one way and return +by another route, so that, besides seeing the fair, +they can see the country. The more Americans there +are who become interested in seeing the country, the better +it is for us and for the United States. Any one requiring +proof of the absolute necessity of a closer mutual +understanding between the people of this country has +but to look at the condition which exists in national +politics. What do the Atlantic Coast Congressmen and +the Pacific Coast Congressmen really know of one another's +requirements? Little or nothing as a rule. +They reach conclusions very largely by exchanging +votes: 'I'll vote for your measure if you'll vote for +mine.' That system has cost this country millions upon +millions. If I had my way, there would be a law making +it necessary for each Congressman to visit every +State in the Union once in two years."</p> + +<p>In an earlier chapter I mentioned Quantrell's gang +of border ruffians, of which Frank and Jesse James were +members, and referred to the Lawrence massacre conducted +by the gang.</p> + +<p>In all the border trouble, from 1855-6 to the time of +the Civil War, Lawrence figured as the antislavery center. +That and the ill feeling engendered by differences +of opinion along the Missouri border with regard to +slavery, caused the massacre. It occurred on August +21, 1863. Lawrence had been expecting an attack by +Quantrell for some time before that date, and had at +one period posted guards on the roads leading to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[ 363]</a></span> +eastward. After a time, however, this precaution was +given up, enabling Quantrell to surprise the town and +make a clean sweep. He arrived at Lawrence at 5.30 +in the morning with about 450 men. Frank James told +me that he himself was not present at the massacre, as +he had been shot a short time before and temporarily disabled.</p> + +<p>Lawrence, which then had a population of about 1,200, +was caught entirely unawares, and was absolutely at +the mercy of the ruffians. A good many of the latter +got drunk, which added to the horror, for these men +were bad enough when sober. They burned down almost +the entire business section of the town, as well as +a great many houses, and going into the homes, dragged +out 163 men, unarmed and defenseless, and cold-bloodedly +slaughtered them in the streets, before the eyes of +their wives and children. Very few men who were in +the town at the time escaped, but among the survivors +were twenty-five men who were in the Free State Hotel, +the proprietor of which had once befriended Quantrell, +and was for that reason spared together with his guests. +Some forty or fifty persons living in Lawrence at the +present time remember the massacre, most of these being +women who saw their husbands, fathers, brothers, +or sons killed in the midst of the general orgy. Many +stories of narrow escapes are preserved. In one instance +a woman whose house had been set on fire, wrapped her +husband in a rug, and dragged him, thus enveloped, in +the yard as though attempting to save her rug from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[ 364]</a></span> +conflagration. There he remained until, on news that +soldiers were on the way to the relief of the stricken +town, the Quantrell gang withdrew.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[ 365]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<h3>MONOTONY</h3> + + +<p>We left Lawrence late at night and went immediately +to bed upon the train. When I +awoke in the morning the car was standing +still. In the ventilators overhead, I heard the steady +monotonous whistling of the wind. As I became more +awake I began to wonder where we were and why we +were not moving. Presently I raised the window shade +and looked out.</p> + +<p>How many things there are in life which we think we +know from hearsay, yet which, when we actually encounter +them, burst upon us with a new and strange significance! +I had believed, for example, that I realized +the vastness of the United States without having actually +traveled across the country, yet I had not realized +it at all, and I do not believe that any one can possibly +realize it without having felt it, in the course of a long +journey. So too, with the interminable rolling desolation +of the prairies, and the likeness of the prairies to the +sea: I had imagined that I understood the prairies without +having laid eyes upon them, but when I raised my +window shade that morning, and found the prairies +stretching out before me, I was as surprised, as stunned,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[ 366]</a></span> +as though I had never heard of them before, and the +idea came to me like an original thought: How perfectly +<i>enormous</i> they are! And how like the sea!</p> + +<p>I had discovered for myself the truth of another platitude.</p> + +<p>For a long time I lay comfortably in my berth, gazing +out at the appalling spread of land and sky. Even at +sea the great bowl of the sky had never looked so vast +to me. The land was nothing to it. In the foreground +there was nothing; in the middle distance, nothing; in +the distance, nothing—nothing, nothing, nothing, met +the eye in all that treeless waste of brown and gray +which lay between the railroad line and the horizon, on +which was discernible the faint outlines of several ships—ships +which were in reality a house, a windmill and a +barn.</p> + +<p>Presently our craft—for I had the feeling that I was +on a ship at anchor—got under way. On we sailed over +the ocean of land for mile upon mile, each mile like the +one before it and the one that followed, save only when +we passed a little fleet of houses, like fishing boats at +sea, or crossed an inconsequential wagon road, resembling +the faintly discernible wake of some ship, long +since out of sight.</p> + +<p>Presently I arose and joining my companion, went to +the dining car for breakfast. He too had fallen under +the spell of the prairies. We sat over our meal and +stared out of the window like a pair of images. After +breakfast it was the same: we returned to our car and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[ 367]</a></span> +continued to gaze out at the eternal spaces. Later in +the morning, we became restless and moved back to the +observation car as men are driven by boredom from one +room to another on an ocean liner.</p> + +<p>Now and then in the distance we would see cattle like +dots upon the plain, and once in a long time a horseman +ambling along beneath the sky. The little towns were +far apart and had, like the surrounding scenery, an air +of sadness and of desolation. The few buildings were +of primitive form, most of them one-story structures +of wood, painted in raw color. But each little settlement +had its wooden church, and each church its steeple—a +steeple crude and pathetic in its expression of +effort on the part of a poor little hamlet to embellish, +more than any other house, the house of God.</p> + +<p>Even our train seemed to have been affected by this +country. The observation car was deserted when we +reached it. Presently, however, a stranger joined us +there, and after a time we fell into conversation with him +as we sat and looked at the receding track.</p> + +<p>He proved to be a Kansan and he told us interesting +things about the State.</p> + +<p>Aside from wheat, which is the great Kansas crop, +corn is grown in eastern Kansas, and alfalfa in various +parts of the State. Alfalfa stays green throughout the +greater part of the year as it goes through several sowings. +Fields of alfalfa resemble clover fields, save that +the former grows more densely and is of a richer, darker +shade of green. After alfalfa has grown a few years<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[ 368]</a></span> +the roots run far down into the ground, often reaching +the "underflow" of western Kansas. This underflow is +very characteristic of that part of the State, where it is +said, there are many lost rivers flowing beneath the surface, +adding one more to the list of Kansas phenomena. +Some of these rivers flow only three or four feet below +the ground, I am told, while others have reached a depth +of from twenty to a hundred feet. Alfalfa roots will +go down twenty feet to find the water. The former bed +of the Republican River in northwestern Kansas is, with +the exception of a narrow strip in the middle where the +river runs on the surface in flood times, covered with +rich alfalfa fields. Excepting at the time of spring and +summer rains, this river is almost dry. The old bridges +over it are no longer necessary except when the rains +occur, and the river has piled sand under them until in +some places there is not room for a man to stand beneath +bridges which, when built, were ten and twelve +feet above the river bed. Now, I am told, they don't +build bridges any more, but lay cement roads through +the sand, clearing their surfaces after the freshets.</p> + +<p>The Arkansas River once a mighty stream, has held +out with more success than the Republican against the +winds and drifting sands, but it is slowly and certainly +disappearing, burying itself in the sand and earth it +carries down at flood times—a work in which it is assisted +by the strong, persistent prairie winds.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus459.png" width="450" height="633" alt="Even at sea the great bowl of the sky had never looked to me so vast" title="" /> +<span class="caption">Even at sea the great bowl of the sky had never looked to me so vast</span> +</div> + +<p>The great wheat belt begins somewhere about the middle +of the State and continues to the west. In the spring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[ 369]</a></span> +the wheat is light green in color and is flexible in the +wind so that at that time of year, the resemblance of the +prairies to the sea is much more marked, and travelers +are often heard to declare that the sight of the green +billows makes them seasick. The season in Kansas is +about a month earlier than in the eastern states; in May +and June the wheat turns yellow, and in the latter part +of June it is harvested, leaving the prairies brown and +bare again.</p> + +<p>The prairie land which is not sown in wheat or alfalfa, +is covered with prairie grass—a long, wiry grass, lighter +in shade than blue grass, which waves in the everlasting +wind and glistens like silver in the sun.</p> + +<p>Rain, sun, wind! The elements rule over Kansas. +People's hearts are light or heavy according to the +weather and the prospects as to crops. My Kansan +friend in the observation car pointed out to me the fact +that at every railroad siding the railroad company had +paid its respects to the Kansas wind by the installation +of a device known as a "derailer," the purpose of which +is to prevent cars from rolling or blowing from a siding +out onto the main line. If a car starts to blow along +the siding, the derailer catches it before it reaches the +switch, and throws one truck off the track.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you've seen cyclones out here, too?" I +asked the Kansan.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," he said.</p> + +<p>"Do the people out in this section of the State all have +cyclone cellars?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[ 370]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, some," he said. "Some has 'em. But a great +many folks don't pay no attention to cyclones."</p> + +<p>Last year, during a bad drought in western Kansas, +the wind performed a new feat, adding another item +to Kansas tradition. A high wind came in February +and continued until June, actually blowing away a large +portion of the top-soil of Thomas County, denuding a +tract of land fifteen by twenty miles in extent. It was +not a mere surface blow, either. In many places two +feet of soil would be carried away; roads were obliterated, +houses stood like dreary, deserted little forts, the +earth piled up breast high around their wire-enclosed +dooryards, and fences fell because the supporting soil +was blown away from the posts. During this time the +air was full of dust, and after it was over the country +had reverted to desert—a desert not of sand, but of +dust.</p> + +<p>This story sounded so improbable that I looked up a +man who had been in Thomas County at the time. He +told me about it in detail.</p> + +<p>"I have spent most of my life in the Middle West," +he said, "but that exhibition was a revelation to me of +the power of the wind. A quarter of the county was +stripped bare. The farmers had, for the most part, +moved out of the district because they couldn't keep the +wheat in the ground long enough to raise a crop. But +they were camped around the edges, making common +cause against the wind. You couldn't find a man among +them, either, who would admit that he was beaten. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[ 371]</a></span> +kind of men who are beaten by things like that couldn't +stand the racket in western Kansas. The fellows out +there are the most outrageously optimistic folks I ever +saw. They will stand in the wind, eating the dirt that +blows into their mouths, and telling you what good soil +it is—they don't mean good to eat, either—and if you +give them a kind word they are up in arms in a minute +trying to sell you some of the cursed country.</p> + +<p>"The men I talked to attributed the trouble to too +much harrowing; they said the surface soil was scratched +so fine that it simply wouldn't hold. There were wild +theories, too, of meteorological disturbances, but I think +those were mostly evolved in the brains of Sunday editors.</p> + +<p>"The farmers fought the thing systematically by a +process they called 'listing': a turning over of the top-soil +with plows. And after a while the listing, for some +reason known only to the Almighty and the Department +of Agriculture, actually did stop the trouble and the land +stayed put again. Then the farmers planted Kaffir corn +because it grows easily, and because they needed a network +of roots to hold down the soil. Most of that land +was reclaimed by the end of last summer."</p> + +<p>The little towns along the line are almost all alike. +Each has a watering tank for locomotives, a grain elevator, +and a cattle pen, beside the track. Each has a +station made of wide vertical boards, their seams covered +by wooden strips, and the whole painted ochre. +Then there is usually a wide, sandy main street with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[ 372]</a></span> +few brick buildings and more wooden ones, while on the +outskirts of the town are shanties, covered with tar +paper, and beyond them the eternal prairie. You can +see no more reason why a town should be at that point +on the prairie than at any other point. And it is a fact, +I believe, that, in many instances, the railroad companies +have simply created towns, arbitrarily, at even distances. +The only town I recall that looked in any way different +from every other town out there, was Wallace, where +a storekeeper has made a lot of curious figures, in twisted +wire, and placed them on the roof of his store, whence +they project into the air for a distance of twenty or thirty +feet.</p> + +<p>I think, though I am not sure, that it was before we +crossed the Colorado line when we saw our first 'dobe +house, our first sage brush, and our first tumbleweed. +Mark Twain has described sagebrush as looking like +"a gnarled and venerable live oak tree reduced to a little +shrub two feet high, with its rough bark, its foliage, its +twisted boughs, all complete." In "Roughing It" he +writes two whole pages about sagebrush, telling how it +gives a gray-green tint to the desert country, how hardy +it is, and how it is used for making camp fires on the +plains and he winds up with this characteristic paragraph:</p> + +<p>"Sagebrush is very fair fuel, but as a vegetable it is +a distinguished failure. Nothing can abide the taste +of it but the jackass and his illegitimate child, the mule. +But their testimony to its nutritiousness is worth nothing, +for they will eat pine knots, or anthracite coal, or +brass filings, or lead pipe, or old bottles, or anything +that comes handy, and then go off looking as grateful as +if they had had oysters for dinner."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus466.png" width="450" height="300" alt="The little towns of Western Kansas are far apart and have, like the surrounding scenery, an air of sadness +and desolation" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The little towns of Western Kansas are far apart and have, like the surrounding scenery, an air of sadness +and desolation</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[ 373]</a></span></p> + +<p>Though Mark Twain tells about coyotes and prairie +dogs—animals which I looked for, but regret to say I +did not see—he ignores the tumbleweed, the most curious +thing, animal, vegetable, or mineral, that crossed +my vision as I crossed the plains. I cannot understand +why Mark Twain did not mention this weed, because he +must have seen it, and it must have delighted him, with +its comical gyrations.</p> + +<p>Tumbleweed is a bushy plant which grows to a height +of perhaps three feet, and has a mass of little twigs and +branches which make its shape almost perfectly round. +Fortunately for the amusement of mankind, it has a +weak stalk, so that, when the plant dries, the wind breaks +it off at the bottom, and then proceeds to roll it, over and +over, across the land. I well remember the first tumbleweed +we saw.</p> + +<p>"What on earth is that thing?" cried my companion, +suddenly, pointing out through the car window. I +looked. Some distance away a strange, buff-colored +shape was making a swift, uncanny progress toward the +east. It wasn't crawling; it wasn't running; but it +was traveling fast, with a rolling, tossing, careening motion, +like a barrel half full of whisky, rushing down hill. +Now it tilted one way, now another; now it shot swiftly +into some slight depression in the plain, but only to come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[ 374]</a></span> +bounding lightly out again, with an air indescribably +gay, abandoned and inane.</p> + +<p>Soon we saw another and another; they became more +and more common as we went along until presently they +were rushing everywhere, careering in their maudlin +course across the prairie, and piled high against the +fences along the railroad's right of way, like great concealing +snowdrifts.</p> + +<p>We fell in love with tumbleweed and never while it +was in sight lost interest in its idiotic evolutions. Excepting +only tobacco, it is the greatest weed that grows, +and it has the advantage over tobacco that it does no +man any harm, but serves only to excite his risibilities. +It is the clown of vegetation, and it has the air, as it +rolls along, of being conscious of its comicality, like the +smart <i>caniche</i>, in the dog show, who goes and overturns +the basket behind the trainer's back; or the circus clown +who runs about with a rolling gait, tripping, turning +double and triple somersaults, rising, running on, tripping, +falling, and turning over and over again. Who +shall say that tumbleweed is useless, since it contributes +a rare note of drollery to the tragic desolation of the +western plains?</p> + +<p>As I have said, I am not certain that we saw the tumbleweed +before we crossed the line from Kansas into +Colorado, but there is one episode that I remember, +and which I am certain occurred before we reached the +boundary, for I recall the name of the town at which +it happened.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[ 375]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a sad-looking little town, like all the rest—just +a main street and a few stores and houses set down in +the midst of the illimitable waste. Our train stopped +there.</p> + +<p>I saw a man across the aisle look out of the window, +scowl, rise from his seat, throw up his arms, and exclaim, +addressing no one in particular: "God! How +can they stand living out here? I'd rather be dead!"</p> + +<p>My companion and I had been speaking of the same +thing, wondering how people could endure their lives in +such a place.</p> + +<p>"Come on," he said, rising. "This is the last stop before +we get to Colorado. Let's get out and walk."</p> + +<p>I followed him from the car and to the station platform.</p> + +<p>Looking away from the station, we gazed upon a foreground +the principal scenic grandeur of which was supplied +by a hitching post. Beyond lay the inevitable +main street and dismal buildings. One of them, as I +recall it, was painted sky-blue, and bore the simple, unostentatious +word, "Hotel."</p> + +<p>My companion gazed upon the scene for a time. He +looked melancholy. Finally, without turning his head, +he spoke.</p> + +<p>"How would you like to get off and spend a week +here, some day?" he asked me.</p> + +<p>"You mean get off some day and spend a week," I +corrected.</p> + +<p>"No, I mean get off and spend a week some day."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[ 376]</a></span></p> + +<p>I was still cogitating over that when the train started. +We scrambled aboard and, resuming our seats in the +observation car, looked back at the receding station. +There, in strong black letters on a white sign, we saw, +for the first time, the name of the town:</p> + +<p>Monotony!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[ 377]</a></span></p> + + + + +<p> +THE MOUNTAINS AND THE COAST<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[ 378]</a></span></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[ 379]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<h3>UNDER PIKE'S PEAK</h3> + + +<p>What a curious thing it is, that mental process +by which a first impression of a city is +summed up. A railway station, a taxicab, +swift glimpses through a dirty window of streets, buildings, +people, blurred together, incoherently, like moving +pictures out of focus; then a quick unconscious adding +of infinitesimal details and the total: "I like this city," +or: "I do not like it."</p> + +<p>It was late afternoon when the train upon which we +had come from eastern Kansas stopped at the Denver +station—a substantial if not distinguished structure, +neither new nor very old, but of that architectural period +in which it was considered that a roof was hardly more +essential to a station than a tower.</p> + +<p>Passing through the building and emerging upon the +taxi stand, we found ourselves confronted by an elaborate +triple gateway of bronze, somewhat reminiscent +of certain city gates of Paris, at which the <i>octroi</i> waits +with the inhospitable purpose of collecting taxes. However, +Denver has no <i>octroi</i>, nor is the Denver gate a +barrier. Indeed, it is not even a gate, having no doors, +but is intended merely as a sort of formal portal to the +city—a city proud of its climate, of the mountain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[ 380]</a></span> +scenery, and of its reputation for thoroughgoing hospitality. +Over the large central arch of this bronze monstrosity +the beribboned delegate (arriving to attend one +of the many conventions always being held in Denver) +may read, in large letters, the word "Welcome"; and +when, later, departing, he approaches the arch from the +city gate, he finds Denver giving him godspeed with the +word "Mizpah."</p> + +<p>Passing beneath the central arch, our taxi swept along +a wide, straight street, paved with impeccably smooth +asphalt, and walled in with buildings tall enough and +solid enough to do credit to the business and shopping +district of any large American city.</p> + +<p>All this surprised me. Perhaps because of the unfavorable +first impression I had received in Kansas City, +I had expected Denver, being farther west, to have a less +finished look. Furthermore, I had been reading Richard +Harding Davis's book, "The West Through a Car Window," +which, though it told me that Denver is "a smaller +New York in an encircling range of white-capped mountains," +added that Denver has "the worst streets in +the country." Denver is still by way of being a miniature +New York, with its considerable number of eastern +families, and its little replica of Broadway café life, +as well; but the Denver streets are no longer ill paved. +Upon the contrary, they are among the best paved streets +possessed by any city I have visited. That caused me +to look at the copyright notice in Mr. Davis's book, +whereupon I discovered, to my surprise, that twenty-two +years (and Heaven only knows how many steam +rollers) had passed over Denver since the book was +written. Yet, barring such improvements, the picture is +quite accurate to-day.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus475.png" width="450" height="282" alt="In the lobby of the Brown Palace Hotel my companion and I saw several old fellows, sitting about, +looking neither prosperous nor busy, but always talking mines. A kind word, or even a pleasant glance, +is enough to set them off." title="" /> +<span class="caption">In the lobby of the Brown Palace Hotel my companion and I saw several old fellows, sitting about, +looking neither prosperous nor busy, but always talking mines. A kind word, or even a pleasant glance, +is enough to set them off.</span> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[ 381]</a></span></p> +<p>Another feeling of my first ten minutes in Denver +was one of wonder at the city's flatness. That part of +it through which we passed on the way to the Brown +Palace Hotel was as flat as Chicago, whereas I had +always thought of Denver as being in the mountains. +However, if flat, the streets looked attractive, and I +arrived at the proudly named caravansary with the +feeling that Denver was a fine young city.</p> + +<p>Meeting cities, one after another, as I met them on +this journey, is like being introduced, at a reception, +to a line of strangers. A glance, a handshake, a word +or two, and you have formed an impression of an individuality. +But there is this difference: the individual +at the reception is "fixed up" for the occasion, whereas +the city has but one exterior to show to every one.</p> + +<p>That the exterior shown by Denver is pleasing has +been, until recently, a matter more or less of accident. +The city was laid out by pioneers and mining men, who +showed their love of liberality in making the streets +wide. There is nothing close about Denver. She has +the open-handed, easy affluence of a mining city. She +spends money freely on good pavements and good buildings. +Thus, without any brilliant comprehensive plan +she has yet grown from a rough mining camp into a delightful +city, all in the space of fifty years.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[ 382]</a></span></p> + +<p>A little more than a hundred years ago Captain Zebulon +Pike crossed the plains and visited the territory +which is now Colorado, though it was then a part of +the vast country of Louisiana. Long, Frémont, Kit +Carson, and the other early pioneers followed, but it +was not until 1858 that gold was found on the banks +of Cherry Creek, above its juncture with the South +Platte River, causing a camp to be located on the present +site of Denver. The first camp was on the west +side of Cherry Creek and was named Auraria, after a +town in Georgia. On the east side there developed another +camp, St. Charles by name, and these two camps +remained, for some time, independent of each other. +The discovery of gold in California brought a new influx +of men to Colorado—though the part of Colorado +in which Denver stands was then in the territory of +Kansas, which extended to the Rockies. Many of the +pioneers were men from eastern Kansas, and hence it +happened that when the mining camps of Auraria and +St. Charles were combined into one town, the town was +named for General James W. Denver, then Governor of +Kansas.</p> + +<p>Kansas City and Denver are about of an age and are +comparable in many ways. The former still remains a +kind of capital to which naturally gravitate men who +have made fortunes in southwestern oil and cattle, while +the latter is a mining capital. Of her "hundred millionaires," +most have been enriched by mines, and the story +of her sudden fortunes and of her famous "characters"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[ 383]</a></span> +makes a long and racy chapter in American history, +running the gamut from tragedy to farce. And, like +Kansas City, Denver is particularly American. Practically +all her millionaires, past and present, came of native +stock, and almost all her wealth has been taken from +ground in the State of Colorado.</p> + +<p>J. M. Oskison, in his "Unconventional Portrait," published +in "Collier's" a year or so ago, told a great deal +about Denver in a few words:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Last October a frock-coated clergyman of the Episcopal +Church stood up in one of the luxurious parlors of Denver's +newest hotel and said: "I am an Arapahoe Indian; when I was +a little boy my people used to hunt buffalo all over this country; +we made our camps right on this place where Denver is now." +There is not very much gray in that man's hair.</p> + +<p>In the summer of 1867, when Vice-President Colfax came to +Denver from Cheyenne, after a stage ride of twenty-two hours, +he found it a hopeful city of 5,000. Denver had just learned that +Cherry Creek sometimes carried a great deal of water down to +the Platte River, and that it wasn't wise to build in its bed.</p> + +<p>Irrigation has made a garden of the city and lands about. +There are 240,000 people who make Denver their home to-day. +The city under the shadow of the mountains is spread over an +area of sixty square miles; a plat of redeemed desert with an +assessed valuation of $135,000,000.</p></blockquote> + +<p>In 1870, three years after the visit of Colfax, Denver +got its first railroad: a spur line from Cheyenne; +in the 80's it got street cars; to-day it has the look of +a city that is made—and well made. But, as I have +said before, that has, hitherto, been largely a matter +of good fortune. Denver's youth has saved her from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[ 384]</a></span> +the municipal disease which threatens such older cities +as St. Louis and St. Paul: hardening of the arteries of +traffic. Also, nature has given her what may be termed +a good "municipal complexion," wherein she has been +more fortunate than Kansas City, whose warts and wens +have necessitated expensive operations by the city +"beauty doctor."</p> + +<p>Now, a city with the natural charm of Denver is, like +a woman similarly endowed, in danger of becoming +oversure. Either is likely to lie back and rest upon Nature's +bounty. Yet, to Denver's eternal credit be it said, +she has not fallen into the ways of indolent self-satisfaction. +Indeed, I know of no American city which has +done, and is doing, more for herself. Consider these +few random items taken from the credit side of her +balance: She is one of the best lighted cities in the +land. She has the commission form of government. +(Also, as you will remember, she has woman suffrage, +Colorado having been the first State to accept it.) Her +Children's Court, presided over by Judge Ben B. Lindsey, +is famous. She has no bread line, and, as for crime, +when I asked Police Inspector Leonard De Lue about +it, he shook his head and said: "No; business is light. +The fact is we ain't got no crime out here." Denver +owns her own Auditorium, where free concerts are given +by the city. Also, in one of her parks, she has a city +race track, where sport is the only consideration, betting, +even between horse owners, having been successfully +eliminated. Furthermore, Denver has been one of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[ 385]</a></span> +first American cities to begin work on a "civic center." +Several blocks before the State Capitol have been cleared +of buildings, and a plaza is being laid out there which +will presently be a Tuileries Garden, in miniature, surrounded +by fine public buildings, forming a suitable central +feature for the admirable system of parks and +boulevards which already exists.</p> + +<p>Curiously enough, however, by far the smallest part +of Denver's parks are within the confines of the city. +About five years ago Mr. John Brisben Walker proposed +that mountain parks be created. Denver seized +upon the idea with characteristic energy, with the result +that she now has mountain parks covering forty +square miles in neighboring counties. These parks have +an area almost as great as that of the whole city, and +are connected with the Denver boulevards by fine roads, +so that some of the most spectacular motor trips in the +country are within easy range of the "Queen City of the +Plains."</p> + +<p>But though the mountains give Denver her individuality, +and though she has made the most of them, they +have not proved an unmixed blessing. The riches which +she has extracted from them, and the splendid setting +that they give her, is the silver lining to her commercial +cloud. The mountains directly west of Denver form +a barrier which has forced the main lines of trancontinental +travel to the north and south, leaving Denver +in a backwater.</p> + +<p>To overcome this handicap the late David Moffat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[ 386]</a></span> +one of Denver's early millionaires, started in to build +the Denver & Salt Lake Railroad, better known as the +Moffat Road. This railway strikes almost due west +from Denver and crosses the continental divide at an +altitude of over two miles. While it is one of the most +astonishing pieces of railroad in the world, its windings +and severe grades have made operation difficult +and expensive, and the road has been built only as far +as Craig, Colo., less than halfway to Salt Lake City. +The great difficulty has always been the crossing of the +divide. The city of Denver has now come forward +with the Moffat tunnel project, and has extended her +credit to the extent of three million dollars, for the purpose +of helping the railroad company to build the tunnel. +It will be more than six miles long, and will penetrate +the Continental Divide at a point almost half a mile +below that now reached by the road, saving twenty-four +miles in distance and over two per cent. in grade. The +tunnel is now under construction, and will, when completed, +be the longest railroad tunnel in the Western +Hemisphere. The railroad company stands one-third +of the cost, while the city of Denver undertakes two-thirds. +When completed, this route will be the shortest +between Denver and Salt Lake by many miles.</p> + +<p>Nor is Denver giving her entire attention to her railway +line. The good-roads movement is strong throughout +the State of Colorado. Last year two million dollars +was expended under the direction of the State Highway Commission—a +very large sum when it is consid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[ 387]</a></span>ered +that the total population of the State is not a great +deal larger than that of the city of St. Louis.</p> + +<p>The construction of roads in Colorado is carried on +under a most advanced system. Of a thousand convicts +assigned to the State Penitentiary at Cañon City, +four hundred are employed upon road work. In traveling +through the State I came upon several parties of +these men, and had I not been informed of the fact, I +should never have known that they were convicts. I +met them in the mountains, where they live in camps +many miles distant from the penitentiary. They seemed +always to be working with a will, but as we passed, they +would look up and smile and wave their hands to us. +They appeared healthy, happy, and—respectable. They +do not wear stripes, and their guards are unarmed, being +selected, rather, as foremen with a knowledge of +road building. When one considers the ghastly mine +wars which have, at intervals, disgraced the State, it +is comforting to reflect upon Colorado's enlightened +methods of handling her prisons and her prisoners.</p> + +<p>Denver, in her general architecture, is more attractive +than certain important cities to the eastward of +her. Her houses are, for the most part, built solidly +of brick and stone, and more taste has been displayed in +them, upon the whole, than has been shown in either +St. Louis or Kansas City. Like Kansas City, Denver +has many long, tree-bordered streets lined with modest +homes which look new and which are substantially built, +but there is less monotony of design in Denver.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[ 388]</a></span></p> + +<p>As in Kansas City, the wonder of Denver is that it +has all happened in such a short time. This was brought +home to me when, dining in a delightful house one evening, +I was informed by my hostess that the land on +which is her home was "homesteaded," in '64 or '65, +by her father; that is to say, he had taken it over, +gratis, from the Government. That modest corner +lot is now worth between fifteen and twenty thousand +dollars.</p> + +<p>Though Denver has no art gallery, she hopes to have +one in connection with her new "civic center." In the +meantime, some paintings are shown in the Public +Library and in the Colorado Museum of Natural History—a +building which also shelters a collection of +stuffed animals (somewhat better, on the whole, than +the paintings) and of minerals found in the State.</p> + +<p>A symphony hall is planned along with the new art +gallery, for Denver has a real interest in music. Indeed, +I found that true of many cities in the Middle +West and West. In Kansas City, for instance, important +concerts are patronized not only by residents of the +place, but by quantities of people who come in from +other cities and towns within a radius of thirty or forty +miles.</p> + +<p>Denver has her own symphony orchestra, one which +compares favorably with many other large orchestras +in various parts of the country. The Denver organization +is led by Horace Tureman, a very capable conductor, +and its seventy musicians have been gathered from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[ 389]</a></span> +theater and café orchestras throughout the city. Six +or eight programs of the highest character are given +each season, and in order that all music lovers may be +enabled to attend the concerts, seats are sold as low as +ten cents each.</p> + +<p>"If some of the big concert singers who come out +here could hear one of our symphony programs," one +Denver woman said to me, "I think they might revise +their opinion of us. A great many of them must think +us less advanced, musically, than we are, for they insist +on singing 'The Suwanee River' and 'Home, Sweet +Home'—which we always resent."</p> + +<p>The one conspicuous example of sculpture which I +saw in Denver—the Pioneer's Fountain, by Macmonnies—is +not entirely Denver's fault. When a city gives an +order to a sculptor of Macmonnies's standing, she shows +that she means to do the best she can. It is then up to +the sculptor.</p> + +<p>The Pioneer's Fountain, which is intended to commemorate +the early settlers, could hardly be less suitable. +It is large and exceedingly ornate. Surmounting +the top of it is a rococo cowboy upon a pony of +the same extraction. The pony is not a cow-pony, and +the cowboy is not a cowboy, but a theatrical figure: +something which might have been modeled by a Frenchman +whose acquaintance with this country had been +limited to the reading of bad translations of Fenimore +Cooper and Bret Harte. At the base of the fountain +are figures which, I was informed, represent pioneers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[ 390]</a></span> +If western pioneers had been like these, there never +would have been a West. They are soft creatures, almost +voluptuous, who would have wept in face of hostile +Indians. The whole fountain seems like something +intended for a mantel ornament in Dresden china, but +which, through some confusion, had gotten itself enlarged +and cast in bronze.</p> + +<p>Society in Denver has several odd features. For one +thing, it is the habit of fashionables, and those who +wish to gaze upon them, to attend the theaters on certain +nights, which are known as "society night." Thus, +the Broadway Theater has "society night" on Mondays, +the Denham on Wednesdays, and the Orpheum on Fridays.</p> + +<p>"Society," of course, means different things to different +persons. In Denver the word, used in its most +restricted, most elegant, most <i>recherché</i>, and most exclusive +sense, means that group of persons who are +celebrated in the society columns of the Denver newspapers, +as "The Sacred Thirty-six."</p> + +<p>If it is possible for newspapers anywhere to outdo +in idiocy those of New York in the handling of "society +news," I should say that the Denver newspapers +accomplished it. Having less to work with, they have +to make more noise in proportion. Thus the arrival +in Denver, at about the time I was there, of Lord and +Lady Decies caused an amount of agitation the like of +which I have never witnessed anywhere. The Denver +papers were absolutely plastered over with the pictures<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[ 391]</a></span> +and doings and sayings of this English gentleman and +his American wife, and the matter published with regard +to them revealed a delight in their presence which +was childlike and engaging.</p> + +<p>I have a copy of one Denver paper, containing an +interview with Lord and Lady Decies, in which the reporter +mentions having been greeted "like I was a regular +caller," adding: "The more I looked the grander +everything got." The same reporter referred to Decies +as "the Lord," which must have struck him as more +flattering than when, later, he was mentioned as "His +Nibs." The interviewer, however, finally approved the +visitors, stating definitely that "they are Regular Folks +and they don't four-flush about anything."</p> + +<p>When it comes to publicity there is one man in Denver +who gets more of it than all the "Sacred Thirty-six" +put together, adepts though they seem to be.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to consider Denver without considering +Judge B. Lindsey—although I may say in passing +that I was urged to perform the impossible in this respect.</p> + +<p>Opinion with regard to Judge Lindsey is divided in +Denver. It is passionately divided. I talked not only +with the Judge himself, but with a great many citizens +of various classes, and while I encountered no one who +did not believe in the celebrated Juvenile Court conducted +by him, I found many who disapproved more +or less violently of certain of his political activities, his +speech-making tours, and, most of all, of his writings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[ 392]</a></span> +in the magazines which, it was contended, had given +Denver a black eye.</p> + +<p>Denver is clearly sensitive about her reputation. As +a passing observer, I am not surprised. With Denver, +I believe that she has had to take more than a fair share +of criticism. She thoroughly is sick of it, and one way +in which she shows that she is sick of it is by a billboard +campaign.</p> + +<p>"Denver has no bread line," I read on the bill-boards. +"Stop knocking. Boost for more business and a bigger +city."</p> + +<p>The charge that the Judge had injured Denver by +"knocking" it in his book was used against him freely +in the 1912 and 1914 campaign, but he was elected by a +majority of more than two to one. He is always +elected. He has run for his judgeship ten times in the +past twelve years—this owing to certain disputes as to +whether the judgeship of the Juvenile Court is a city, +county, or state office. But whatever kind of office it +is, he holds it firmly, having been elected by all three.</p> + +<p>At present the Judge is engaged in trying to complete +a code of laws for the protection of women and children, +which he hopes will be a model for all other States. +This code will cover labor, juvenile delinquency, and +dependency, juvenile courts, mothers' compensation, social +insurance (the Judge's term for a measure guaranteeing +every woman the support of her child, whether +she be married or unmarried), probation, and other matters +having to do with social and industrial justice to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[ 393]</a></span>ward +mother and child. It is the Judge's general purpose +to humanize the law, to cause temptations and +frailties to be considered by the law, and to make society +responsible for its part in crime.</p> + +<p>The Judge is also trying to get himself appointed a +Commissioner of Child Welfare for the State, without +salary or other expense.</p> + +<p>Of all these activities Denver, so far as I could learn, +seemed generally to approve. A number of women, +two corporation presidents, a hotel waiter, and a clerk +in an express office, among others, told me they approved +of Lindsey's work for women and children. A +barber in the hotel said that he "guessed the Judge was +all right," but added that there had been "too much +hollering about reform," considering that Denver was +a city depending for a good deal of her prosperity upon +tourists.</p> + +<p>In the more intelligent circles the great objections to +the Judge seemed to rest upon the florid methods he has +used to promote his causes, upon the diversity of his interests, +and upon the allegation that he had become a +demagogue.</p> + +<p>One gentleman described him to me as "the most +hated citizen of Colorado in Colorado, and the most admired +citizen of Colorado everywhere outside the State."</p> + +<p>"Lindsey has done the State harm, perhaps," said +this gentleman, "by what he has said about it, but he +has done us a lot of good with his reforms. The great +trouble is that he has too many irons in the fire. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[ 394]</a></span> +court is a splendid thing; we all admit that. And he +is peculiarly suited to his work. But he has gotten into +all kinds of movements and has been so widely advertised +that he has become a monumental egotist. He believes +in his various causes, but, more than anything +else, he believes in himself, in getting himself before the +public and keeping himself there. He has posed as a +little god, and, as Shaw says: 'If you pose as a little +god, you must pose for better or for worse.'"</p> + +<p>The Judge is a very small, slight man, with a high, +bulging white forehead, thin hair, a sharp, aquiline nose, +a large, rolling black mustache and very fine eyes, brown +almost to blackness. The most striking things about +him are the eyes, the forehead, and the waxy whiteness +of his skin. He looks thin-skinned, but he seems to have +proved that, in the metaphorical sense at least, he is +not.</p> + +<p>He speaks of his causes quietly but very earnestly, +and you feel, as you listen to him, that he hardly ever +thinks of other things. There is something strange and +very individual about him.</p> + +<p>"The story of one American city," he said to me, "is +the story of every American city. Denver is no worse +than the rest. Indeed, I believe it is a cleaner and better +city than most, and I have been in every city in every +State in this Union."</p> + +<p>It has been said that "the worst thing about reform +is the reformer." You can say the same thing about +authorship and authors, or about plumbing and plum<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[ 395]</a></span>bers. +It is only another way of saying that the human +element is the weak element. I have met a number of +reformers and have come to classify them under three +general heads. Without considering the branch of reform +in which they are interested, but only their characteristics +as individuals, I should say that all professional +reformers might be divided as follows: First, +zealots, or "inspired" reformers; second, cold-blooded, +theoretical, statistical reformers; third, a small number +of normal human beings, capable alike of feeling and +of reasoning clearly.</p> + +<p>About reformers of the first type there is often something +abnormal. They are frequently of the most radical +opinions, and are likely to be impatient, intolerant, +and suspicious of the integrity of those who do not agree +with them. They take to the platform like ducks to +water and their egos are likely to be very highly developed. +Reformers of the second type are repulsive, +because reform, with them, has become mechanical; +they measure suffering and sin with decimals, and regard +their fellow men as specimens. What the reformer +of the third class will do is more difficult to say. +It is possible that, blowing neither hot nor cold, he will +not accomplish so much as the others, but he can reach +groups of persons who consider reformers of the first +class unbalanced and those of the second inhuman.</p> + +<p>I have a friend who is a reformer of the third class. +His temperate writings, surcharged with sanity and a +sense of justice, have reached many persons who could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[ 396]</a></span> +hardly be affected by "yellow" methods of reform. Becoming +deeply interested in his work, he was finally +tempted to take the platform. One day, when he had +come back from a lecture tour, I chanced to meet him, +and was surprised to hear from him that, though he had +been successful as a lecturer, he nevertheless intended +to abandon that field of work.</p> + +<p>I asked him why.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you," he said. "At first it was all right. I +had certain things I wanted to say to people, and I said +them. But as I went on, I began to feel my audiences +more and more. I began to know how certain things +I said would affect them. I began to want to affect +them—to play upon them, see them stirred, hear them +applaud. So, hardly realizing it at first, I began shifting +my speeches, playing up certain points, not so much +because those points were the ones which ought to be +played up, but because of the pleasure it gave me to +work up my listeners. Then, one night while I was +talking, I realized what was happening to me. I was +losing my intellectual honesty. Public speaking had +been stealing it from me without my knowing it. Then +and there I made up my mind to give it up. I'm not +going to Say it any more; I'm going to Write it. When +a man is writing, other minds are not acting upon his, +as they are when he is speaking to an audience."</p> + +<p>Personally, I think Judge Lindsey would be stronger +with the more critical minds of Colorado if he, too, had +felt this way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[ 397]</a></span></p> + +<p>A number of odd items about Denver should be mentioned.</p> + +<p>Elitch's Garden, the city's great summer amusement +place, is famous all through the country. It was originally +a farm, and still has a fine orchard, besides its +orderly Coney Island features. Children go there in +the afternoons with their nurses, and all of Denver goes +there in the evenings when the great attraction is the +theater with its stock company which is of a very high +order.</p> + +<p>The Tabor Opera House in Denver is famous among +theatrical people largely because of the man who built it. +Tabor was one of Denver's most extraordinary mining +millionaires. After he had struck it rich he determined +to build as a monument to himself, the finest Opera +House in the United States, and "damn the expense."</p> + +<p>While the building was under construction he was +called away from the city. The story is related that +on his return he went to see what progress had been +made, and found mural painters at work, over the +proscenium arch. They were painting the portrait of +a man.</p> + +<p>"Who's that?" demanded Tabor.</p> + +<p>"Shakespeare," the decorator informed him.</p> + +<p>"Shakespeare—shake hell!" responded the proprietor. +"He never done nothing for Denver. Paint him +out and put me up there."</p> + +<p>Though there have been no Tabors made in Denver +in the last few years, mining has not gone out of fashion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[ 398]</a></span> +In the lobby of the Brown Palace Hotel my companion +and I saw several old fellows, sitting about, looking +neither prosperous nor busy, but always talking mines. +A kind word, or even a pleasant glance is enough to +set them off. Instantly their hands dive into their +pockets and out come nuggets and samples of ore, which +they polish upon their coat sleeves, and hold up proudly, +turning them to catch the light.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir! I made the doggondest strike up there +you ever saw! It's all on the ground. Come over here +and look at this!"</p> + +<p>To which the answer is likely to be:</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't time."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Denver Club is a central rallying place for the +successful business men of the city. It is a splendid +club, with the best of kitchens, and cellars, and humidors. +All over the land I have met men who had been entertained +there and who spoke of the place with something +like affection.</p> + +<p>One night, several weeks after we had left Denver, +we were at the Bohemian Club in San Francisco, and fell +to talking of Denver and her clubs.</p> + +<p>"It was in a club in Denver," one man said, "that I +witnessed the most remarkable thing I saw in Colorado."</p> + +<p>"What was that?" we asked.</p> + +<p>"I met a former governor of the State there one +night," he said. "We sat around the fire. Every now +and then he would hit the very center of a cuspidor which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[ 399]</a></span> +stood fifteen feet away. The remarkable thing about it +was that he didn't look more than forty-five years old. +I have always wondered how a man of that age could +have carried his responsibility as governor, yet have +found time to learn to spit so superbly."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[ 400]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<h3>HITTING A HIGH SPOT</h3> + + +<p>An enthusiastic young millionaire, the son of a +pioneer, determined that my companion and I +ought to see the mountain parks.</p> + +<p>It was winter, and for reasons all too plainly visible +from Denver, no automobiles had attempted the ascent +since fall, for the mountain barrier, rearing itself majestically +to the westward, glittered appallingly with ice +and snow.</p> + +<p>"We can have a try at it, anyway," said our friend.</p> + +<p>So, presently, in furs, and surrounded by lunch baskets +and thermos bottles, we set out for the mountains +in his large six-cylinder machine.</p> + +<p>Emerging from the city, and taking the macadamized +road which leads to Golden, we had our first uninterrupted +view of the full sweep of that serrated mountain +wall, visible for almost a hundred miles north of Denver, +and a hundred south; a solid, stupendous line, flashing +as though the precious minerals had been coaxed out +to coruscate in the warm surface sunshine.</p> + +<p>There was something operatic in that vast and splendid +spectacle. I felt that the mountains and the sky +formed the back drop in a continental theater, the stage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[ 401]</a></span> +of which is made up of thousands of square miles of +plains.</p> + +<p>Striking a pleasant pace we sped toward the barrier as +though meaning to dash ourselves against it; for it +seemed very near, and our car was like some great moth +fascinated by the flash of ice and snow. However, as +is usual where the air is clear and the altitude great, the +eye is deceived as to distances in Colorado, and the foothills, +which appear to be not more than three or four +miles distant from Denver, are in reality a dozen miles +away.</p> + +<p>Denver has many stock stories to illustrate that point. +It is related that strangers sometimes start to walk to +the mountains before breakfast, and the tale is told +of one man who, having walked for hours, and thus +discovered the illusory effect of the clear mountain air, +was found undressing by a four-foot irrigation ditch, +preparatory to swimming it, having concluded that, +though it looked narrow, it was, nevertheless in reality +a river.</p> + +<p>Nor is optical illusion regarding distances the only +quality contained in Denver air. Denver and Colorado +Springs are of course famous resorts for persons with +weak lungs, but one need not have weak lungs to feel +the tonic effect of the climate. Denver has little rain +and much sunshine. Her winter air seems actually to +hold in solution Colorado gold. My companion and I +found it difficult to get to sleep at night because of the +exhilarating effect of the air, but we would awaken in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[ 402]</a></span> +the morning after five or six hours' slumber, feeling abnormally +lively.</p> + +<p>I spoke about that to a gentleman who was a member +of our automobile mountain party.</p> + +<p>"There's no doubt," he replied, as we bowled along, +"that this altitude affects the nerves. Even animals feel +it. I have bought a number of eastern show horses and +brought them out here, and I have found that horses +which were entirely tractable in their habitual surroundings, +would become unmanageable in our climate. Even +a pair of Percherons which were perfectly placid in St. +Louis, where I got them, stepped up like hackneys when +they reached Denver.</p> + +<p>"I think a lot of the agitation we have out here comes +from the same thing. Take our passionate political +quarreling, or our newspapers and the way they abuse +each other. Or look at Judge Lindsey. I think the +altitude is partly accountable for him, as well as for a +lot of things the rest of us do. Of course it's a good +thing in one way: it makes us energetic; but on the other +hand, we are likely to have less balance than people who +don't live a mile up in the air."</p> + +<p>As we talked, our car breezed toward the foothills. +Presently we entered the mouth of a narrow cañon and, +after winding along rocky slopes, emerged upon the town +of Golden.</p> + +<p>Golden, now known principally as the seat of the State +School of Mines, used to be the capital of Colorado. +Spread out upon a prairie the place might assume an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[ 403]</a></span> +air of some importance, but stationed as it is upon a slope, +surrounded by gigantic peaks, it seems a trifling town +clinging to the mountainside as a fly clings to a horse's +back.</p> + +<p>The slope upon which Golden is situated is a comparatively +gentle one, but directly back of the city the +angle changes and the surface of the world mounts +abruptly toward the heavens, which seem to rest like +a great coverlet upon the upland snows.</p> + +<p>Rivulets from the melting white above, were running +through the streets of Golden, turning them to a sea +of mud, through which we plowed powerfully on "third." +As we passed into the backyard of Golden, the mountain +seemed to lean out over us.</p> + +<p>"That's our road, up there," remarked the Denver +gentleman who sat in the tonneau, between my companion +and myself. He pointed upward, zig-zagging +with his finger.</p> + +<p>We gazed at the mountainside.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean that little dark slanting streak like a +wire running back and forth, do you?" asked my companion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's it. You see they've cut a little nick into +the slope all the way up and made a shelf for the road +to run on."</p> + +<p>"Is there any wall at the edge?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "There's no wall yet. We may have +that later, but you see we have just built this road."</p> + +<p>"Isn't there even a fence?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[ 404]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No. But it's all right. The road is wide enough."</p> + +<p>Presently we reached the bottom of the road, and began +the actual ascent.</p> + +<p>"Is this it?" asked my companion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, this is it. You see the pavement is good."</p> + +<p>"But I thought you said the road was wide?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it is wide—that is, for a mountain road. You +can't expect a mountain road to be as wide as a city +boulevard, you know."</p> + +<p>"But suppose we should meet somebody," I put in. +"How would we pass?"</p> + +<p>"There's room enough to pass," said the Denver gentleman. +"You've only got to be a little careful. But +there is no chance of our meeting any one. Most people +wouldn't think of trying this road in winter because +of the snow."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that the snow makes it dangerous?" +asked my companion.</p> + +<p>"Some people seem to think so," said the Denver gentleman.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the gears had been singing their shrill, +incessant song as we mounted, swiftly. My seat was +at the outside of the road. I turned my head in the +direction of the plains. From where I sat the edge of the +road was invisible. I had a sense of being wafted along +through the air with nothing but a cushion between me +and an abyss. I leaned out a little, and looked down +at the wheel beneath me. Then I saw that several feet +of pavement, lightly coated with snow, intervened between +the tire, and the awful edge. Beyond the edge +was several hundred feet of sparkling air, and beyond +the air I saw the roofs of Golden.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus502.png" width="450" height="690" alt=""Ain't Nature wonderful!"" title="" /> +<span class="caption">"Ain't Nature wonderful!"</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[ 405]</a></span></p> + +<p>One of these roofs annoyed me. I do not know the +nature of the building it adorned. It may have been a +church, or a school, or a town hall. I only know that +the building had a tower, rising to an acute point from +which a lightning rod protruded like a skewer. When +I first caught sight of it I shuddered and turned my eyes +upward toward the mountain. I did not like to gaze up +at the heights which we had yet to climb, but I liked it +better on the whole than looking down into the depths +below.</p> + +<p>"What mountain do you call this?" I asked, trying to +make diverting conversation.</p> + +<p>"Which one?" asked the Denver gentleman.</p> + +<p>"The one we are climbing."</p> + +<p>"This is just one of the foothills," he declared.</p> + +<p>"Oh," I said.</p> + +<p>"If this is a foothill," remarked my companion, "I +suppose the Adirondacks are children's sand piles."</p> + +<p>"See how blue the plains are," said the Denver gentleman +sweeping the landscape with his arm. "People +compare them with the sea."</p> + +<p>I did not wish to see how blue the plains were, but +out of courtesy I looked. Then I turned my eyes away, +hastily. The spacious view did not strike me in the +sense of beauty, but in the pit of the stomach. In looking +away from the plains, I tried to do so without no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[ 406]</a></span>ticing +the town below. I did not wish to contemplate +that pointed tower, again. But a terrible curiosity +drew my eyes down. Yes, there was Golden, looking +like a toy village. And there was the tower, pointing +up at me. I could not see the lightning rod now, but +I knew that it was there. Again I looked up at the +peaks.</p> + +<p>For a time we rode on in silence. I noticed that the +snow on the slope beside us, and in the road, was becoming +deeper now, but it did not seem to daunt our +powerful machine. Up, up we went without slackening +our pace.</p> + +<p>"Look!" exclaimed the Denver gentleman after a +time. "You can see Denver now, just over the top of +South Table Mountain."</p> + +<p>Again I was forced to turn my eyes in the direction +of the plains. Yes, there was Denver, looking like some +dream island of Maxfield Parrish's in the sea of plain.</p> + +<p>I tried to look away again at once, but the Denver +man kept pointing and insisting that I see it all.</p> + +<p>"South Table Mountain, over the top of which you are +now looking," he said, "is the same hill we skirted in +coming into Golden. We were at the bottom of it then. +That will show you how we have climbed already."</p> + +<p>"We must be halfway up by now," said my companion +hopefully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; not yet. We are only about—" There he +broke off suddenly and clutched at the side of the tonneau. +Our front wheels had slipped sidewise in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[ 407]</a></span> +snow, upon a turn, and had brought us very near the +edge. Again something drew my eyes to Golden. It +was no longer a toy village; it was now a map. But the +tower was still there. However far we drove we never +seemed to get away from it.</p> + +<p>Where the brilliant sunlight lay upon the snow, it +was melting, but in shaded places it was dry as talcum +powder. Rounding another turn we came upon a place +of deep shadow, where the riotous mountain winds had +blown the dry snow into drifts. One after the other we +could see them reaching away like white waves toward +the next angle in the road.</p> + +<p>My heart leaped with joy at the sight, and as I felt +the restraining grip of the brakes upon our wheels, I +blessed the elements which barred our way.</p> + +<p>"Well," I cried to our host as the car stood still. "It +has been a wonderful ride. I never thought we should +get as far as this."</p> + +<p>"Neither did I!" exclaimed my companion rising to +his feet. "I guess I'll get out and stretch my legs while +you turn around."</p> + +<p>"So will I," I said.</p> + +<p>Our host looked back at us.</p> + +<p>"Turn around?" he repeated. "I'm not going to turn +around."</p> + +<p>My companion measured the road with his eye.</p> + +<p>"It is sort of narrow for a turn, isn't it?" he said. +"What will you do—back down?"</p> + +<p>"Back nothing!" said our host "I'm going through."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[ 408]</a></span></p> + +<p>The pioneer in him had spoken. His jaw was set. +The joy that I had felt ebbed suddenly away. I seemed +to feel it leaking through the soles of my feet. We +had stopped in the shadow. It was cold there and the +wind was blowing hard. I did not like that place, but +little as I liked it, I fairly yearned to stop there.</p> + +<p>I heard the gears click as they meshed. The car +leaped forward, struck the drift, bounded into it with +a drunken, slewing motion, penetrated for some distance +and finally stopped, her headlights buried in the snow.</p> + +<p>Again I heard a click as our host shifted to reverse. +Then, with a furious spinning of wheels, which cast +the dry snow high in air, we made a bouncing, backward +leap and cleared the drift, but only to charge it +again.</p> + +<p>This time we managed to get through. Nor did we +stop at that. Having passed the first drift, we retained +our momentum and kept on through those that followed, +hitting them as a power dory hits succeeding +waves in a choppy sea, churning our way along with a +rocking, careening, crazy motion, now menaced by great +boulders at the inside of the road, now by the deadly +drop at the outside, until at last we managed, somehow, +to navigate the turning, after which we stopped in a +place comparatively clear of snow.</p> + +<p>Our host turned to us with a smile.</p> + +<p>"She's a good old snow-boat, isn't she?" he said.</p> + +<p>With great solemnity my companion and I admitted +that she was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[ 409]</a></span></p> + +<p>Even the Denver gentleman who occupied the tonneau +with us, seemed somewhat shaken.</p> + +<p>"Of course the snow will be worse farther up," he said +to our host. "Do you think it is worth going on?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," our host replied. "I want these +boys to see the main range of the Rockies. That's +what we came up for, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said my companion, "but we wouldn't want +you to spoil your car on our account."</p> + +<p>It was an unfortunate remark.</p> + +<p>"Spoil her!" cried our host. "Spoil this machine? +You don't know her. You haven't seen what she can +do, yet. Just wait until we hit a real drift!"</p> + +<p>The cigar which I had been smoking when I left Denver +was still in my mouth. It had gone out long since, +but I had been too much engrossed with other things +to notice it. Instead of relighting it, I had been turning +it over and over between my teeth, and now in an +emotional moment, I chewed at it so hard that it sagged +down against my chin. I removed it from my mouth, +and tossed it over the edge. It cleared the road and +sailed out into space, down, down, down, turning over +and over in the air, as it went. And as I watched its +evolutions, my blood chilled, for I thought to myself +that the body of a falling man would turn in just that +way—that my body would be performing similar aerial +evolutions, should our car slew off the road in the course +of some mad charge against a drift.</p> + +<p>I was by this time very definitely aware that I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[ 410]</a></span> +my fill of winter motoring in the mountains. The mere +reluctance I had felt as we began to climb had now developed +into a passionate desire to desist. I am no great +pedestrian. Under ordinary circumstances the idea of +climbing a mountain on foot would never occur to me. +But now, since I could not turn back, since I must go +to the top to satisfy my host, I fairly yearned to walk +there. Indeed, I would have gladly crawled there on +my hands and knees, through snowdrifts, rather than +to have proceeded farther in that touring car.</p> + +<p>Obviously, however, craft was necessary.</p> + +<p>"I believe I'll get out and limber up a little," I said, +rising from my seat.</p> + +<p>My companions of the tonneau seemed to be of the +same mind. All three of us alighted in the snow.</p> + +<p>"How far is it to the top?" I asked our host.</p> + +<p>"A couple of miles," he said.</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" I replied. "Couldn't we walk it, then?"</p> + +<p>I was touched by the avidity with which my two companions +seized on the suggestion. Only our host objected.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" he demanded in an injured +tone. "Don't you think my car can make it? If you'll +just get in again you'll soon see!"</p> + +<p>"Heavens, no!" I answered. "That's not it. Of +course we <i>know</i> your car can do it."</p> + +<p>"Yes; oh, yes, of course!" the other two chimed in.</p> + +<p>"All I was thinking of," I added, "was the exercise."</p> + +<p>"That's it," my companion cried. "Exercise. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[ 411]</a></span> +haven't had a bit of exercise since we left New York."</p> + +<p>"I need it, too!" put in the Denver man. "My wife +says I'm getting fat."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if it's exercise you want," said our host, "I'm +with you."</p> + +<p>Even the spirits of the chauffeur seemed to rise as +his employer alighted.</p> + +<p>"I think I had better stay with the car, sir," he said.</p> + +<p>"All right, all right," said our host indifferently. +"You can be turning her around. We'll be back in a +couple of hours or so."</p> + +<p>The chauffeur looked at the edge.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "I don't know but what the exercise +will do me good, too. I guess I'll come along if you +don't mind, sir."</p> + +<p>On foot we could pick our way, avoiding the larger +drifts, so that, for the most part, we merely trudged +through snow a foot deep. But it was uphill work in +the sun, and before long overcoats were removed and +cachéd at the roadside, weighted down against the wind +with stones. Now and then we left the road and took +a short cut up the mountainside, wading through drifts +which were sometimes armpit deep and joining the road +again where it doubled back at a higher elevation. Presently +our coats came off, then our waistcoats, until at +last all five of us were in our shirts, making a strange +picture in such a wintry landscape.</p> + +<p>Now that the dread of skidding was removed I began +to enjoy myself, taking keen delight in the marvel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[ 412]</a></span>ous +blue plains spread out everywhere to the eastward, +and inhaling great drafts of effervescent air.</p> + +<p>When we had struggled upward for perhaps two +hours we left the road and assailed a little peak, from the +top of which our host believed the main range of the +Rockies would be visible. The slope was rather steep, +but the ground beneath the snow was fairly smooth, +giving us moderately good footing. By making transverse +paths we zigzagged without much difficulty to the +top, which was sharp, like the backbone of some gigantic +animal.</p> + +<p>I must admit that I had not been so anxious to see +the main range as my Denver friends had been to have +me see it. It did not seem to me that any mountain +spectacle could be much finer than that presented by +the glittering wall as seen from Denver. I had expected +to be disappointed at the sight of the main range, +and I am glad that I expected that, because it made all +the greater the thrill which I felt when, on topping the +hill, I saw what was beyond.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus511.png" width="450" height="305" alt="I was by this time very definitely aware that I had my fill of winter motoring in the mountains. +The mere reluctance I felt as we began to climb had now developed into a passionate desire to +desist" title="" /> +<span class="caption">I was by this time very definitely aware that I had my fill of winter motoring in the mountains. +The mere reluctance I felt as we began to climb had now developed into a passionate desire to +desist</span></div> + +<p>I do not believe that any experience in life can give +the ordinary man—the man who is not a real explorer +of new places—the sense of actual discovery and of +great achievement, which he may attain by laboring up +a slope and looking over it at a vast range of mountains +glittering, peak upon peak, into the distance. The sensation +is overwhelming. It fills one with a strange +kind of exaltation, like that which is produced by great +music played by a splendid orchestra. The golden air,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[ 413]</a></span> +vibrating and shimmering, is like the tremolo of violins; +the shadows in the abysses are like the deep throbbing +notes of violoncellos and double basses; while the great +peaks, rising in their might and majesty, suggest the +surge and rumble of pipe organs echoing to the vault of +heaven.</p> + +<p>I had often heard that, to some people, certain kinds +of music suggest certain colors. Here, in the silence +of the mountains, I understood that thing for the first +time, for the vast forms of those jewel-encrusted hills +seemed to give off a superb symphonic song—a song +with an air which, when I let my mind drift with it, +seemed to become definite, but which, when I tried to +follow it, melted into vague, elusive harmonies.</p> + +<p>There is no place in the world where Man can get +along for more than two or three minutes at a time without +thinking of himself. Everything with which he +comes in contact suggests him to himself. Nothing is +too small, nothing too stupendous, to make man think +of man. If he sees an ant he thinks: "That, in its +humble way, is a little replica of me, doing my work." +But when he looks upon a mountain range he thinks +more salutary thoughts, for if his thoughts about himself +are ever humble, they will be humble then. Indeed, +it would be like man to say that that was the purpose +with which mountains were made—to humble him. +For it is man's pleasure to think that everything in the +universe was created with some definite relation to himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[ 414]</a></span></p> + +<p>However that may be, it is man's habit, when he looks +upon the mountains, to endeavor to make up for the long +vainglorious years with a brief but complete orgy of +self-abnegation. And that, of course, is a good thing +for him, although it seems a pity that he cannot spread +it thinner and thereby make it last him longer. But +man does not like to take his humility that way. He +prefers to take it like any other sickening medicine, gulping +it down in one big draft, and getting it over with. +That is the reason man can never bear to stay for any +length of time upon a mountain top. Up there he finds +out what he really is, and for man to find that out is, +naturally, painful.</p> + +<p>As he looks at the mountains the ego, which is 99 per +cent. of him, begins to shrivel up. He may not feel it +at first. Probably he doesn't. Very likely he begins +by writing his own name in the eternal snows, or scratching +his initials on a rock. But presently he gazes off +into space and remarks with the Poet Towne: "Ain't +Nature wonderful!" And, of course, after that he begins +to think of himself again, saying with a great sense +of discovery: "What a little thing I am!" Then, as +his ego shrinks farther, the orgy of humility begins.</p> + +<p>"What am I," he cries, "in the eyes of the eternal +hills? I am relatively unimportant! By George, I +shouldn't be surprised if I were a miserable atom! Yes, +that's what I am! I am a frail, wretched thing, created +but to be consumed. My life is but a day. I am a +poor, two-legged nonentity, trotting about the surface<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[ 415]</a></span> +of an enormous ball. I am filled with egotism and self-interest. +I call myself civilized—and why? Because +I have learned to make sounds through my mouth, and +have assigned certain meanings to these sounds; because +I have learned to mark down certain symbols, to represent +these sounds; and because, with my sounds and +symbols, I can maintain a ragged interchange of ragged +thought with other men, getting myself, for the most +part, beautifully misunderstood.</p> + +<p>"Of what else is my life composed? Of the search +for something I call 'pleasure' and something else I call +'success,' which is represented by piles of little yellow +metal disks that I designate by the silly-sounding word, +'money.' I spend six days in the week in search of +money, and on the seventh day I relax and read the +Sunday newspapers, or put on my silk hat and go to +church, where I call God's attention to myself in every +way I can, praying to Him with prayers which have to +be written for me because I haven't brains enough to +make a good prayer of my own; singing hymns to Him +in a voice which ought never to be raised in song; telling +Him that I know He watches over me; putting a +little metal disk, of small denomination, in the plate for +Him; then putting on my shiny hat again—which I know +pleases Him very much—going home and eating too +much dinner."</p> + +<p>That is the way man thinks about himself upon a +mountain top. Naturally he can only stand it for a little +while before his contracting ego begins to shriek in pain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[ 416]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then man says: "I have enjoyed the view. I will +note the fact in the visitors' book if there happens to be +one, after which I will retire from this high elevation to +the world below."</p> + +<p>Going down the mountain he begins to say to himself: +"What wonderful thoughts I have been thinking +up there! I have had thoughts which very few other +men are capable of thinking! I have a remarkable mind +if I only take the time to use it!"</p> + +<p>So, as he goes down, his ego keeps on swelling up +again until it not only reaches its normal size, but becomes +larger than ever, because the man now believes +that, in addition to all he was before, he has become a +philosopher.</p> + +<p>"I must write a book!" he says to himself. "I must +give these remarkable ideas of mine to the world!"</p> + +<p>And, as you see, he sometimes does it.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus518.png" width="450" height="682" alt="The homes of Colorado Springs really explain the place and the +society is as cosmopolitan as the architecture" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The homes of Colorado Springs really explain the place and the +society is as cosmopolitan as the architecture</span> +</div> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[ 417]</a></span> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<h3>COLORADO SPRINGS</h3> + + +<p>In a certain city that I visited upon my travels, I met +one night at dinner, one of those tall, pink-cheeked, +slim-legged young polo-playing Englishmen, who +proceeded to tell me in his positive, British way, exactly +what the United States amounted to. He said New +York was ripping. He said San Francisco was ripping. +He said American girls were ripping.</p> + +<p>"But," said he, "there are just two really civilized +places between your Atlantic and Pacific coasts."</p> + +<p>The idea entertained me. I asked which places he +meant.</p> + +<p>"Chicago," he said, "and Colorado Springs."</p> + +<p>"But Colorado Springs is a little bit of a place, isn't +it?" I asked him.</p> + +<p>"About thirty thousand."</p> + +<p>"Why is it so especially civilized?"</p> + +<p>"It just <i>is</i>, y'know," he answered. "There's polo +there."</p> + +<p>"But polo doesn't make civilization," I said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it does," he insisted. "I mean to say wherever +you find polo you find good clubs and good society +and—usually—good tea."</p> + +<p>This, and further rumors of a like nature, plus some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[ 418]</a></span> +pleasant letters of introduction, caused my companion +and me to remove ourselves, one afternoon, from Denver +to the vaunted seat of civilization, some miles to the +south.</p> + +<p>Colorado Springs is somewhat higher than Denver +and seems to nestle closer to the mountains. The moment +you alight from the train and see the park, facing +the station and the pleasant façade of the Antlers Hotel, +beyond, you feel the peculiar charm of the little city. +It is well laid-out, with very wide streets, very good +public buildings and office buildings, and really remarkable +homes.</p> + +<p>The homes of Colorado Springs really explain the +place. They are of every variety of architecture, and +are inhabited by a corresponding variety of people. +You will see half-timbered English houses, built by +Englishmen and Scots; Southern colonial houses built +by people from the South Atlantic States; New England +colonial houses built by families who have migrated +from the regions of Boston and New York; one-story +houses built by people from Hawaii, and a large assortment +of other houses ranging from Queen Anne to Cape +Cod cottages, and from Italian villas to Spanish palaces. +There is even the Grand Trianon at Broadmoor, +and an amazing Tudor castle at Glen Eyre.</p> + +<p>The society is as cosmopolitan as the architecture. +It has been drawn with perfect impartiality from the +well-to-do class in all parts of the country and has been +assembled in this charming garden town with, for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[ 419]</a></span> +most part, a common reason—to fight against tuberculosis. +This does not mean, of course, that the majority +of people in Colorado Springs are victims of tuberculosis, +but only that, in many instances, families have +moved there because of the affliction of one member.</p> + +<p>I say "affliction." Literally, I suppose the word is +justified. But perhaps the most striking thing about +society in Colorado Springs is its apparent freedom from +affliction. One goes to the most delightful dinner parties, +there, in the most delightful houses, and meets the +most delightful people. Every one seems very gay. +Every one looks well. Yet one knows that there are +certain persons present who are out there for their +health. The question is, which? It is impossible to +tell.</p> + +<p>In the case of one couple I met, I decided that the wife +who was slender and rather pale, had been the cause of +migration from the East. But before I left, the stocky, +ruddy husband told me, in the most cheerful manner +that he had arrived there twenty years before with "six +months to live." That is the way it is out there. There +is no feeling of depression. There is no air of, "Shh! +Don't speak of it!" Tuberculosis is taken quite as a +matter of course, and is spoken of, upon occasion, with +a lightness and freedom which is likely to surprise the +visitor. They even give it what one man designated as +a "pet name," calling it "T. B."</p> + +<p>Club life in Colorado Springs is highly developed. +The El Paso Club is not merely a good club for such a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[ 420]</a></span> +small city, but would be a very good club anywhere. +One has only to penetrate as far as the cigar stand to +discover that—for a club may always be known by the +cigars it keeps. So, too, with the Cheyenne Mountain +Country Club at Broadmoor, a suburb of the Springs. It +isn't one of those small-town country clubs, in which, +after ringing vainly for the waiter, you go out to the +kitchen and find him for yourself, in his shirtsleeves and +minus a collar. Nor, when he puts in his appearance, is +he wearing a spotted alpaca coat that doesn't fit. Without +being in the least pretentious, it is a real country +club, run for men and women who know what a real +club is.</p> + +<p>When you sit at luncheon at the large round table in +the men's café you may find yourself between a famous +polo-player from Meadowbrook, and a bronzed young +ranch-owner, who will tell you that cattle rustling still +goes on in his section of the country. The latter you +will take for a perfect product of the West, a "gentleman +cowboy," from a novel. But presently you will +learn that he is a member of that almost equally fictitious +thing, an "old New York family," that he has been in +the West but a year or two, and that he was in "Tark's +class" at Princeton. So on around the table. One man +has just arrived from Paris; another from Honolulu, or +the Philippines, or China or Japan. And when, as we +were sitting there, a man came in whom I had met in +Rome ten years before, I said to myself: This is not +life. It is the beginning of a short story by some dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[ 421]</a></span>ciple +of Mrs. Wharton: A group of cosmopolitans seated +around a table in a club. Casual mention of Bombay, +Buda-Pesth and Singapore. Presently some man will +flick his cigarette ash and say, "By the way, De Courcey, +what ever became of the queer little chap we used to see +at the officer's mess in Simla?" Whereupon De Courcey, +late of the Lancers, and second son of Lord Thusandso, +will light a fresh Corona and recount, according +to the accepted formula, the story of The Queer Little +Chap.</p> + +<p>I could even imagine the illustrations for the story. +They would be by Wenzell, and would show us there, in +the club, like a group of sleek Greek statues, clothed in +full afternoon regalia of the most unbelievable smoothness—looking, +in short, not at all like ourselves, or anybody +else.</p> + +<p>However, the story of The Queer Little Chap was not +told. That is the trouble with trying to live short +stories. You can get them started, sometimes, but they +never work out. If the setting is all right, the story +somehow will not "break," whereas, on the other hand, +when the surroundings are absolutely wrong, when the +wrong people are present, when the conditions are utterly +impossible, your short story will break violently +and without warning, and will very likely cover you with +spots. The trouble is that life, in its more fragmentary +departments, lacks what we call "form" and "composition." +There is something amateurish about it. Nine +editors out of ten would reject a short story written by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[ 422]</a></span> +the Hand of Fate, on this ground, and would probably +advise Fate to go and take a course in short-story-writing +at some university. No; Fate has not the short story +gift. She writes novels—rather long and rambling, +most of them, like those of De Morgan or Romaine Rolland. +But even her novels are not popular. People say +they are too long. They can't be bothered reading novels +which consume a whole lifetime. Besides, Fate seldom +supplies a happy ending, and that's what people want, +now-a-days. So, though Fate's novels are given away, +they have no vogue.</p> + +<p>Having somehow digressed from clubs to authorship +I may perhaps be pardoned for wandering still further +from my trail here to mention Andy Adams.</p> + +<p>A long time ago, ex-Governor Hunt expressed lack +of faith in the future of Colorado Springs because, at +that time, there was not much water to be found there, +and further because the town had "too many writers of +original poetry." So far as I could judge, from a brief +visit, things have changed. There is plenty of water, +and I did not meet a single poet. However, I did meet +an author, and he is a real one. Andy Adams' card +proclaims him author, but more than this, his books do, +also. Himself a former cowboy, he writes cowboy +stories which prove that cowboy stories need not be +as false, and as maudlinly romantic as most cowboy +stories manage to be. You don't have to know the +plains to know that Mr. Adams' tales are true, any +more than you have to know anatomy to understand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[ 423]</a></span> +that a man can't stand without a backbone. Truth is +the backbone of Mr. Adams' writings, and the body of +them has that rare kind of beauty which may, perhaps, +be likened to the body of some cowboy—some perfect +physical specimen from Mr. Adams' own pages.</p> + +<p>I have not read all his books, and the only reason +why I have not is that I have not yet had time. But so +far as I have read I have not found one false note in +them. I have not come upon a "lone horseman" riding +through the gulch at eventide. I have not encountered +the daughter of an eastern millionaire who has +ridden out to see the sunset. Nor have I stumbled on +a romantic meeting or a theatrical rescue.</p> + +<p>So far as I know, Mr. Adams' book "The Log of a +Cowboy," is preëminently the classic of the plains. One +of its greatest qualities is that of ceaseless movement. +Three thousand head of cattle are driven through those +chapters, from the Mexican frontier to the Canada border, +and those cattle travel with a flow as irresistible as +the unrelenting flow of De Quincey's Tartar tribe.</p> + +<p>The author is one of those absolutely basic things, a +natural story teller, and the fine simplicity of his writing +springs not from education ("All the schooling +I ever had I picked up at a cross-roads country school +house"), not from an academic knowledge of "literature," +but from primary qualities in his own nature, +and the strong, ingenuous outlook of his own two eyes.</p> + +<p>Mr. Henry Russell Wray tells of a request from eastern +publishers for a brief sketch of Adams' life. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[ 424]</a></span> +asked Adams to write about two hundred words about +himself, as though dealing with another being. The +next day he received this:</p> + +<blockquote>A native of Indiana; went to Texas during his youth; worked +over ten years on cattle ranches and on the trail, rising from +common hand on the latter to a foreman. Quit cattle fifteen +years ago, following business and mining occupations since. +When contrasted with the present generation is just beginning to +realize that the old days were romantic, though did not think so +when sitting a saddle sixteen to twenty-four hours a day in all +kinds of weather. His insight into cattle life was not obtained +from the window of a Pullman car, but close to the soil and from +the hurricane deck of a Texas horse. Even to-day is a better +cowman than writer, for he can yet rope and tie down a steer +with any of the boys, though the loop of his rope may settle on +the wrong foot of the rhetoric occasionally. He is of Irish and +Scotch parentage. Forty-three years of age, six feet in height +and weighs 210 pounds.</blockquote> + +<p>Though I met Mr. Adams at Colorado Springs, I shall, +for obvious reasons, let my description of him rest at +that.</p> + +<p>When writing of clubs I should have mentioned the +Cooking Club, which is one of the most unique little clubs +of the country. The fifteen members of this club are +the gourmets of Colorado Springs—not merely passive +gourmets who like to have good things set before them, +but active ones who know how to prepare good things +as well as eat them. Every little while, throughout the +season, the Cooking Club gives dinners, to which each +member may invite a guest or two. Each takes his turn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[ 425]</a></span> +in acting as host, his duties upon this occasion being to +draw up the menu, supply materials, appoint members +to prepare certain courses, and, wearing the full regalia +of a chef, superintend the preparation of the meal, which +is cooked entirely by men belonging to the club. Wine +is not served at Cooking Club dinners, the official beverage +being the club Rum Brew, which has a considerable +local reputation, and is everywhere pronounced adequate. +Not a few of the members learned to cook in the course +of prospecting tours in the mountains, and the Easterner +who, with this fact in mind, attends a Cooking Club dinner +is led to revise, immediately, certain preconceived +ideas of the hard life of the prospector. No man has +a hard life who can cook himself such dishes. Indeed, +one is forced to the conclusion that Colorado is +full of undiscovered mines, which would have been uncovered +long ago, were it not that prospectors go up +into the mountains for the primary purpose of cooking +themselves the most delightful meals, and that mining is—as +indeed it should be—a mere side issue. For myself, +while I have no taste for the hardy life of the mountaineer, +I would gladly become a prospector, even if it +were guaranteed in advance that I should discover nothing, +providing that Eugene P. Shove would go along +with me and make the biscuits.</p> + +<p>Aside from its clubs Colorado Springs has all the +other things which go to the making of a pleasant city. +The Burns Theater is a model of what a theater should +be. The Antlers Hotel would do credit to the shores<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[ 426]</a></span> +of Lake Lucerne. Where the "antlers" part of it comes +in, I am unable to say, but as nothing else was lacking, +from the kitchen, down stairs, to Pike's Peak looming +up in the back yard, I have no complaint to make.</p> + +<p>I suppose that every one who has heard of Colorado +Springs at all, associates it with the famous Garden of +the Gods.</p> + +<p>Before I started on my travels I was aware of the +fact that the two great natural wonders of the East are +Niagara Falls and the insular New Yorker. I knew that +the great, gorgeous, glittering galaxy of American wonders +was, however, in the West, but the location and +character of them was somewhat vague in my mind. +I knew, of course, that Pike's Peak was a large mountain. +I knew that the giant redwoods were in California. +But for the rest, I had the Grand Cañon, the +Royal Gorge, and the Garden of the Gods associated in +my mind together as rival attractions. I do not know +why this was so, excepting that I had been living on +Manhattan Island, where information is notoriously +scarce.</p> + +<p>Now, though I saw the Royal Gorge, though I rode +through it in the cab of a locomotive, with my hair +standing on end, and though I found it "as advertised," +I have no idea of trying to describe it, more than to say +that it is a great cleft in the pink rocks through which +run a river and a railroad, and that how the latter +managed to keep out of the former was a constant source +of wonder to me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[ 427]</a></span> +As for the Grand Cañon of the Colorado, it affects +those who behold it with a kind of literary asthma. +They desire to describe it; some try, passionately; but +they only wheeze and look as though they might explode. +Since it is generally admitted that no one who +has seen it can describe it, the task would manifestly devolve +upon some one who has not seen it, and that requirement +is filled by me. I have not seen it. I am +not impressed by it at all. I am able to speak of it +with coherence and restraint. But even that I shall not +do.</p> + +<p>With the Garden of the Gods it is different. The +place irritated me. For if ever any spot was outrageously +overnamed, it is that one. As a little park in the +Catskills it might be all well enough, but as a natural +wonder in the Rocky Mountains, with Pike's Peak hanging +overhead, it is a pale pink joke. If I had my way I +should take its wonder-name away from it, for the name +is too fine to waste, and a thousand spots in Colorado are +more worthy of it.</p> + +<p>The entrance to the place, between two tall, rose-colored +sandstone rocks may, perhaps, be called imposing; +the rest of it might better be described as imposition. +Guides will take you through, and they will do +their utmost, as guides always do, to make you imagine +that you are really seeing something. They will point +out inane formations in the sandstone rock, and will +attempt to make you see that these are "pictures." They +will show you the Kissing Camels, the Bear and Seal,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[ 428]</a></span> +the Buffalo, the Bride and Groom, the Preacher, the +Scotsman, Punch and Judy, the Washerwoman, and +other rock forms, sculptured by Nature into shapes more +or less suggesting the various objects mentioned. But +what if they do? To look at such accidentals is a pastime +about as intelligent as looking for pictures in the +moon, or in the patterns of the paper on your wall. As +nearly as Nature can be altogether silly she has been +silly here, and I think that only silly people will succeed +in finding fascination in the place—the more so since +Colorado Springs is a prohibition town.</p> + +<p>The story of prohibition there is curious. In 1870, +N. C. Meeker, Agricultural Editor of the New York +"Tribune," under Horace Greeley, started a colony in +Colorado, bringing a number of settlers from the East, +and naming the place Greeley. With a view to eliminating +the roughness characteristic of frontier towns +in those days, Mr. Meeker made Greeley a prohibition +colony.</p> + +<p>When, a year after, General William J. Palmer and +his associates started to build the Denver & Rio Grande +Railroad from Denver to Colorado Springs, a land company +was formed, subsidiary to the railway project, +and desert property was purchased on the present site +of the Springs. The town was then laid out and the +land retailed to individuals of "good moral character +and strict, temperate habits."</p> + +<p>In each deed given by the land company there was in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[ 429]</a></span>corporated +an anti-liquor clause, whereby, in the event +of intoxicating liquors being "manufactured, sold or +otherwise disposed of in any place of public resort on +the premises," the deed should become void and the +property revert to the company. Shortly after the formation +of the colony the validity of this clause was +tested. The suit was finally carried to the United States +Supreme Court, where the rights of the company, under +the prohibition clause, were upheld.</p> + +<p>General Palmer, later, in discussing the history of +Colorado Springs, explained that the prohibitory clause +was not inserted in the deeds for moral reasons, but +that "the aim was intensely practical—to create a habitable +and successful town."</p> + +<p>The General and his associates had had ample experience +of new western railroad towns, and wished to +eliminate the disagreeable features of such towns from +Colorado Springs. Even then, though the prohibition +movement had not been fairly launched in this country +these practical men recognize the fact that Meeker had +recognized; namely that with saloons, dance halls and +gambling places, gunfighting and lynchings went hand +in hand.</p> + +<p>It is recorded that the restriction seemed to work +against the town at first, but, on the other hand, such +growth as came was substantial, and Colorado Springs +attracted a better class of settlers than the wide open +towns near-by. The wisdom of this arrangement is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[ 430]</a></span> +amply proven, to-day, by a comparison of Colorado +Springs with the neighboring town of Colorado City, +which has not had prohibition.</p> + +<p>Even before Colorado Springs existed, General Palmer +had fallen in love with the place and determined +that he would some day have a home at the foot of the +mountains in that neighborhood. In the early seventies +he purchased a superb cañon a few miles west of the +city, and the Tudor Castle which he built there, and +which he named Glen Eyrie, because of the eagles' nests +on the walls of his cañon, remains to-day one of the most +remarkable houses on this continent.</p> + +<p>Every detail of the house as it stands, and every item +in the history of its construction expresses the force and +originality which were such strong attributes of its late +proprietor.</p> + +<p>The General was an engineer. In the Civil War he +was colonel of the 15th Pennsylvania Cavalry, and was +breveted a general. After the war he went into the +West and became a railroad builder. Evidently he was +one of those men, typical of his time, who seem to have +had a craving to condense into one lifetime the experiences +and achievements of several. He was, so to +speak, his own ancestor and his own descendant; there +were, in effect, three generations of him: soldier, railroad +builder, and landed baron. In his castle at Glen +Eyrie one senses very strongly this baronial quality. +Clearly the General could not be content with a mere +modern house. He wanted a castle, and above all, an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[ 431]</a></span> +old castle. And, as Colorado is peculiarly free of old +castles, he had to build one for himself. That is +what he did, and the superb initiative of the man is +again reflected in the means he used. The house must +be of old lichen-covered stone, but, being already past +middle age, the General could not wait on Nature. +Therefore he caused the whole region to be scoured for +flat, weathered stones which could be cut for his purpose. +These he transported to his glen, where they were +carefully cut and set in place, so that the moment the +new wall was up it was an old wall. Finding the flat +stones was easy, however, compared with finding those +presenting a natural right angle, for the corners of the +house. Nevertheless, all were ultimately discovered +and laid, and the desired result was attained. After +the house was done the General thought the roof lacked +just the proper note of color, so he caused it to be torn +off, and replaced with tiles from an old church in England.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the most splendid thing about the place is +an enormous hall, paneled in oak, with a gallery and +a beamed barrel ceiling, but there are other features +which make the house unusual. On the roof is a great +Krupp bell, which can be heard for miles, and which +was used to call the General's guests home for meals. +There is a power plant, a swimming pool, a complicated +device for recording meteorological conditions in the +mountains. And of course there are fireplaces in which +great logs were burned; yet there are no chimneys on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[ 432]</a></span> +the house. The General did not want chimneys issuing +smoke into his cañon, so he simply did not have them. +Instead, he constructed a tunnel which runs up the mountainside +behind the house and takes care of the smoke, +emitting it at an unseen point, far above.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the General played Santa Claus to Colorado +Springs, giving her parks and boulevards. One +day, while riding on his place, he was thrown from his +horse and a vertebra was fractured, with the result that +he was permanently prostrated. After that he lay for +some time like a wounded eagle in his eyrie, his mind +as active as ever. He was still living in 1907, when +the time for the annual reunion of his old regiment came +around. Unable to go East, he invited the remaining +veterans to come to him by special train, as his guests. +So they came—the remnants of that old cavalry regiment, +and passed in review, for the last time, before +their Colonel, lying helpless with a broken neck.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus535.png" width="450" height="668" alt="On the road to Cripple Creek—We were always turning, always turning +upward" title="" /> +<span class="caption">On the road to Cripple Creek—We were always turning, always turning +upward</span> +</div> + +<p>In its mountain setting, with the pink sandstone cliffs +rising abruptly behind it, this castle of the General's +is one of the most dramatic homes I have ever seen. +There is a superb austerity about it, which makes it +very different from the large homes of Broadmoor, at +the other side of Colorado Springs. As I have already +mentioned, one of these is a replica of the Grand Trianon; +others are Elizabethan and Tudor, and many of +them are very fine, but the house of houses at Colorado +Springs is "El Pomar," the residence of the late Ashton +H. Potter. I do not know a house in the United States<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[ 433]</a></span> +which fits its setting better than this one, or which is a +more perfect thing from every point of view. It is a +one-story building of Spanish architecture—a style +which, to my mind, fits better than any other, the sort of +landscape in which plains and mountains meet. Houses +as elaborate as the Grand Trianon, always seem to me to +lend themselves best to a rather formal, park-like country +which is flat, or nearly so; while Elizabethan and +adapted Tudor houses of the kind one sees at Broadmoor, +seem to cry out for English lawns, and great lush-growing +trees to soften the hard lines of roof and gable. +Such houses may be set in rolling country with good +effect, but in the face of the vast mountain range which +dominates this neighborhood, the most elaborate architecture +is so completely dwarfed as to seem almost ridiculous. +Architecture cannot compete with the Rocky +Mountains; the best thing it can do is to submit to them: +to blend itself into the picture as unostentatiously as possible. +And that is what "El Pomar" does.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[ 434]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + +<h3>CRIPPLE CREEK</h3> + + +<p>One day, during our stay at Colorado Springs, +we were invited to take a trip to Cripple Creek.</p> + +<p>Driving to the station a friend, a resident of +the Springs, pointed out to me a little clay hillock, beside +the road.</p> + +<p>"That," he said, "is what we call Mount Washington."</p> + +<p>"I don't see the resemblance," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"Well," he explained, "the top of that little hump has +an elevation of about six thousand three hundred feet, +which is exactly the height of Mount Washington. +You see our mountains, out here, begin where yours, in +the East, leave off."</p> + +<p>Presently, on the little train, bound for Cripple Creek, +the fact was further demonstrated. I had never imagined +that anything less than a cog-road could ascend a +grade so steep. All the way the grade persisted. Never +had I seen such a railroad, either for steepness or for +sinuosity. The train crawled slowly along ledges cut +into the mountain-sides, now burrowing through an obstruction, +now creeping from one mountain to another +on a spindly bridge of the most shocking height, below +which a wild torrent dashed through a rocky cañon;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[ 435]</a></span> +now slipping out upon a sky-high terrace commanding a +view of hundreds of square miles of plains, now winding +its way gingerly about dizzy cliffs which seemed to +lean out over chasms, into which one looked with admiring +terror; now coming out upon the other side, the main +chain of the Rockies was revealed a hundred miles to the +westward, glittering superbly with eternal ice and snow. +It is an unbelievable railroad—the Cripple Creek Short +Line. It travels fifty miles to make what, in a straight +line, would be eighteen, and if there is, on the entire system, +a hundred yards of track without a turn, I did not +see the place. We were always turning; always turning +upward. We would go into a tunnel and presently +emerge at a point which seemed to be directly above the +place where we had entered; and at times our windings, +our doublings back, our writhings, were conducted in +so limited an area that I began to fear our train would +get tied in a knot and be unable to proceed.</p> + +<p>However, we did get to Cripple Creek, and for all its +mountain setting, and all the three hundred millions of +gold that it has yielded in the last twenty years or so, +it is one of the most depressing places in the world. +Its buildings run from shabbiness to downright ruin; +its streets are ill paved, and its outlying districts are a +horror of smokestacks, ore-dumps, shaft-houses, reduction-plants, +gallows-frames and squalid shanties, situated +in the mud. It seemed to me that Cripple Creek +must be the most awful looking little city in the world, +but I was informed that, as mining camps go, it is un<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[ 436]</a></span>usually +presentable, and later I learned for myself that +that is true.</p> + +<p>Cripple Creek is not only above the timber-line; it is +above the cat-line. I mean this literally. Domestic +cats cannot live there. And many human beings are affected +by the altitude. I was. I had a headache; my +breath was short, and upon the least exertion my heart +did flip-flops. Therefore I did not circulate about the +town excepting within a radius of a few blocks of the +station. That, however, was enough.</p> + +<p>After walking up the main street a little way, I turned +off into a side street lined with flimsy buildings, half of +them tumbledown and abandoned. Turning into another +street I came upon a long row of tiny one story +houses, crowded close together in a block. Some of +them were empty, but others showed signs of being occupied. +And instead of a number, the door of each one +bore a name, "Clara," "Louise," "Lina," and so on, +down the block. For a time there was not a soul in +sight as I walked slowly down that line of box-stall +houses. Then, far ahead, I saw a woman come out of +a doorway. She wore a loose pink wrapper and carried +a pitcher in her hand. I watched her cross the street +and go into a dingy building. Then the street was +empty again. I walked on slowly. As I passed one +doorway it opened suddenly and a man came out—a +shabby man with a drooping mustache. He did not +look at me as he passed. The window-shade of the crib +from which he had come went up as I moved by. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[ 437]</a></span> +looked at the window, and as I did so, the curtains +parted and the face of a negress was pressed against the +pane, grinning at me with a knowing, sickening grin.</p> + +<p>I passed on. From another window a white woman +with very black hair and eyes, and cheeks of a light +orchid-shade, showed her gold teeth in a mirthless automatic +smile, and added the allurement of an ice-cold +wink.</p> + +<p>The door of the crib at the corner stood open, and +just before I reached it a woman stepped out and surveyed +me as I approached. She wore a white linen skirt +and a middy blouse, attire grotesquely juvenile for one of +her years. Her hair, of which she had but a moderate +amount, was light brown and stringy, and she wore gold-rimmed +spectacles. She did not look depraved but, upon +the contrary resembled a highly respectable, if homely, +German cook I once employed. As I passed her window +I saw hanging there a glass sign, across which, in +gold letters, was the title, "Madam Leo."</p> + +<p>"Madam Leo," she said to me, nodding and pointing +at her chest. "That's me. Leo, the lion, eh?" She +laughed foolishly.</p> + +<p>I paused and made some casual inquiry concerning +her prosperity.</p> + +<p>"Things is dull now in Cripple Creek," she said. +"There ain't much business any more. I wish they'd +start a white man's club or a dance hall across the +street. Then Cripple Creek would be booming."</p> + +<p>I think I remarked, in reply, that things did look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[ 438]</a></span> +rather dull. In the meantime I glanced in at her little +room. There was a chair or two, a cheap oak dresser, +and an iron bed. The room looked neat.</p> + +<p>"Ain't I got a nice clean place?" suggested Madam +Leo. Then as I assented, she pointed to a calendar +which hung upon the wall. At the top of it was a colored +print from some French painting, showing a Cupid kissing +a filmily draped Psyche.</p> + +<p>"That's me," said Madam Leo. "That's me when +I was a young girl!" Again she loosed her laugh.</p> + +<p>I started to move on.</p> + +<p>"Where are you from?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I came up from Colorado Springs," I said.</p> + +<p>"Well," she returned, "when you go back send some +nice boys up here. Tell them to see Madam Leo. Tell +them a middle-aged woman with spectacles. I'm +known here. I been here four years. Oh, things ain't +so bad. I manage to make two or three dollars a day."</p> + +<p>As I passed to leeward of her on the narrow walk I +got the smell of a strong, brutal perfume.</p> + +<p>"Have you got to be going?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered. "I must go to the train."</p> + +<p>"Well, then—so long," she said.</p> + +<p>"So long."</p> + +<p>"Don't forget Madam Leo," she admonished, giving +utterance, again, to her strident, feeble-minded laugh.</p> + +<p>"I won't," I promised.</p> + +<p>And I never, never shall.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[ 439]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> + +<h3>THE MORMON CAPITAL</h3> + + +<p>I think it was in Kansas City that I first became +conscious of the fact that, without my knowing it, +my mind had made, in advance, imaginary pictures +of certain sections of the country, and that, in +almost every instance, these pictures were remarkable +for their untruthfulness. Kansas City itself surprised +me with its hills, for I had been thinking of it in connection +with the prairies. With Denver it was the +other way about. Thinking of Denver as a mountain +city, instead of a city near the mountains, I expected +hills, but did not find them. And when I crossed the +Rockies, they too afforded a surprise, not because of their +height, but because of their width. Evidently I must +have had some vague idea that a train, traveling west +from Denver, would climb very definitely up the Rocky +Mountains, cross the Great Divide, and proceed very +definitely down again, upon the other side, whither a sort +of long, sloping plain would lead to California. Denver +itself I thought of as being placed further west upon the +continent than is, in reality, the case. I did not realize +at all that the city is, in fact, only a few hundred miles +west of the halfway point on an imaginary line drawn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[ 440]</a></span> +from coast to coast; nor was I aware that, instead of +being for the most part sloping plain, the thousand miles +that intervenes between Denver and the Pacific Ocean, +is made up of series after series of mountain ranges and +valleys, their successive crests and hollows following +one another like the waves of the sea.</p> + +<p>In short, I had imagined that the Rockies were the +whole show. I had not the faintest recollection of the +Cordilleran System (of which the Rockies and all these +other ranges are but a part), while as for the Sierra +Nevadas, I remembered them only when I came to them +and then much as one will recall a slight acquaintance +who has been in jail for many years.</p> + +<p>Are you shocked by my ignorance—or my confession +of it? Then let me ask you if you know that the Uintah +Mountain Range, in Utah, is the only range in the +entire country which runs east and west? And have +you ever heard of the Pequop Mountains, or the Cedar +Mountains, or the Santa Roasas, or the Egans, or the +Humboldts, or the Washoes, or the Gosiutes, or the +Toyales, or the Toquimas, or the Hot Creek Mountains? +And did you know that in California as well as +in New Hampshire there are the White Mountains? +And what do you know of the Wahsatch and Oquirrh +Ranges?</p> + +<p>Not wishing to keep the class in geography after +school, I shall not tell you about all these mountains, but +will satisfy myself with the statement that, in an amphitheater +formed between the two last mentioned ranges,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[ 441]</a></span> +at the head of a broad, irrigated valley, is situated Salt +Lake City.</p> + +<p>The very name of Salt Lake City had a flat sound in +my ears; and in that mental album of imaginary photographs +of cities, to which I have referred, I saw the +Mormon capital as on a sandy plain, with the Great +Salt Lake on one side and the Great Salt Desert on the +other. Therefore, upon arriving, I was surprised again, +for the lake is not visible at all, being a dozen miles distant, +and the desert is removed still farther, while instead +of sandy plains the mountains rise abruptly on +three sides of the city, and on the fourth is the sweet +valley, covered with rich farms and orchards, and dotted +here and there with minor Mormon settlements.</p> + +<p>Like Mark Twain, who visited Salt Lake many years +ago, before the railroad went there, I managed to forget +the lake entirely after I had been there for a little while. +I made no excursion to Saltair Beach, the playground +of the neighborhood, and only saw the lake when our +train crossed a portion of it after leaving the city.</p> + +<p>I do not know that the great pavilion at Saltair +Beach, of which every one has seen pictures, is a Mormon +property, but it well may be, for the Mormons have +never been a narrow-minded sect with regard to decent +gaieties. They approve of dancing, and the ragtime +craze has reached them, for, as I was walking past the +Lion House, one evening, I heard the music and saw a +lot of young people "trotting" gaily, in the place where +formerly resided most of the twenty odd known wives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[ 442]</a></span> +of the late Brigham Young. Later a Mormon told me +that dances are held in Mormon meeting-houses and that +they are always opened with prayer.</p> + +<p>Also in the café of the Hotel Utah there was dancing +every night, and when the members of the "Honeymoon +Express" Company put in an appearance there one night, +we might have been on Broadway. The hotel, I was +informed, is owned by Mormons; it is an excellent +establishment. They do not stare at you as though they +thought you an eccentric if you ask for tea at five +o'clock, but bring it to you in the most approved fashion, +with a kettle and a lamp, and the neatest silver tea service +I have ever seen in an American hotel. But that is +by the way, for I was speaking of the frivolities of Mormondom, +and afternoon tea is, with me at least, a serious +matter.</p> + +<p>Salt Lake City was, until a few years ago, a "wide +open town." The "stockade" was famous among the +red-light institutions of the country. But that is gone, +having been washed away by our national "wave +of reform," and the town has now a rather orderly appearance, +although it is not without its night cafés, +one of them being the inevitable "Maxim's," without +which, it would appear, no American city is now complete.</p> + +<p>One of the first things the Mormons did, on establishing +their city, was to build an amusement hall, and as +long as fifty years ago, this was superseded by the Salt +Lake Theatre, a picturesque old playhouse which is still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[ 443]</a></span> +standing, and which looks, inside and out, like an old +wartime wood-cut of Ford's Theatre in Washington. +Even before the railroads came the best actors and +actresses in the country played in this theater, drawn +there by the strong financial inducements which the +Mormons offered, and it is interesting to note that many +stage favorites of to-day made their first appearances in +this playhouse. If I am not mistaken, Edwin Milton +Royle made his début as an actor there, and both Maude +Adams and Ada Dwyer were born in Salt Lake City, +and appeared upon the stage for the first time at the +Salt Lake Theatre. Yes, it is an interesting and historic +playhouse, and I hope that when it burns up, as +I have no doubt it ultimately will, no audience will +be present, for I think that it will go like tinder. And +although I still bemoan the money which I spent to see +there, a maudlin entertainment called "The Honeymoon +Express," direct from that home of banal vulgarities, +the New York Winter Garden, I cannot quite bring +myself to hope that when the Salt Lake Theatre burns, +the man who wrote "The Honeymoon Express," the +manager who produced it, and the company which +played it, will be rehearsing there. For all their sins, +I should not like to see them burned, though as to being +roasted—well, that is a different thing.</p> + +<p>Whatever may be one's opinion of the matrimonial +industry of Brigham Young, the visitor to Salt Lake +City will not dispute that the late leader of the Mormons +knew, far better than most men of his day, how a town<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[ 444]</a></span> +should be laid out. The blocks of Salt Lake City are +rectangular; the lots are large, the streets wide and admirably +paved with asphalt, almost all the houses are +low, and stand in their own green grounds, and perhaps +the most characteristic note of all is given by the poplars +and box elders which grow everywhere, not only in the +city, but throughout the valley.</p> + +<p>Besides my preconceptions as to the city, I arrived +in Salt Lake City with certain preconceptions as to Mormons. +I expected them to be radically different, somehow, +from all other people I had met. I anticipated +finding them deceitful and evasive: furtive people, wandering +in devious ways and disappearing into mysterious +houses, at dead of night. I wanted to see them, I wanted +to talk with them, but I wondered, nervously, whether +one might speak to them about themselves and their religion, +and more especially, whether one might use the +words "Mormon" and "polygamy" without giving offense.</p> + +<p>It was not without misgivings, therefore, that my +companion and I went to keep an appointment with +Joseph F. Smith, head of the Mormon Church—or, to +give it its official title, the Church of Jesus Christ of +Latter Day Saints. We found the President, with several +high officials of the church, in his office at the Lion +House—the large adobe building in which, as I have +said, formerly resided the rank and file of Brigham +Young's wives; although Amelia lived by herself, in the +so called "Amelia Palace," across the street.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[ 445]</a></span> +Mr. Smith is a tall, dignified man who comes far from +looking his full seventy-six years. The nose upon +which he wears his gold rimmed spectacles is the dominant +feature of his face, being one of those great, strong, +mountainous, indomitable noses. His eyes are dark, +large and keen, and he wears a flowing gray beard and +dresses in a black frock-coat. He and the men around +him looked like a group of strong, prosperous, dogmatically +religious New Englanders, such as one might +find at a directors' meeting in the back room of some +very solid old bank in Maine or Massachusetts. Clearly +they were executives and men of wealth. As for religion, +had I not known that they were Mormons, I +should have judged them to be either Baptists, Methodists +or Presbyterians.</p> + +<p>The occasion did not prove to be a gay one. I tried +to explain to the Mormons that I was writing impressions +of my travels and that I had desired to meet them +because, in Salt Lake City, the Mormons seemed to supply +the greatest interest.</p> + +<p>But even after I had explained my mission, a frigid +air prevailed, and I felt that here, at least, I would get +but scant material. Their attitude perplexed me. I +could not believe they were embarrassed, although I +knew that I was.</p> + +<p>Then presently the mystery was cleared up, for President +Smith launched out upon a statement of his opinion +regarding "Collier's Weekly"—the paper in which many +of these chapters first appeared—and I became suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[ 446]</a></span> +and painfully aware that I was being mistaken for a +muckraker.</p> + +<p>The President's opinion of "Collier's" was more +frank than flattering, and though one or two of the +other Mormons, who seemed to understand our aims, +tried to smooth matters over in the interests of harmony, +he would not be mollified, but insisted vigorously +that "Collier's" had printed outrageous lies about him. +This was all news to me, for, as it happened, I had not +read the articles to which he referred, and for which, +as a representative of "Collier's," I was now, apparently, +being held responsible. I explained that to the President +of the Church, whereupon he simmered down +somewhat, but I think he still regarded my companion +and me with suspicion, and was glad to see us go.</p> + +<p>Thus did we suffer for the sins of Sarah Comstock.</p> + +<p>It may not seem necessary to add that the subject of +polygamy was not mentioned in that conversation.</p> + +<p>In thinking over our encounter with these leading +Mormons I could not feel surprised, for all that I have +read about this sect has been in the nature of attacks. +Mark Twain tells about what was called a "Destroying +Angel" of the Mormon Church, stating that, "as I +understand it, they are Latter Day Saints who are set +apart by the Church to conduct permanent disappearances +of obnoxious citizens." He characterizes the one +he met as "a loud, profane, offensive old blackguard." +But Mormon Destroying Angels are things of the past, +as, I believe, are Mormon visions of Empire, and Mor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[ 447]</a></span>mon +aggressions of all kinds. Another book, Harry +Leon Wilson's novel, "The Lions of the Lord," was not +calculated to soothe the Mormon sensibilities, and of the +numerous articles in magazines and newspapers which +I have read—most of them with regard to polygamy—I +recall none that has not dealt with them severely.</p> + +<p>Now, remembering that whatever we may believe, the +Mormons believe devoutly in their religion, what must +be their point of view about all this? Their story is +not different from any other in that it has two sides. +If they did commit aggressions in the early days, which +seems to have been the case, they were also the victims +of persecution from the very start, and it is difficult to +determine, at this late day, whether they, or those who +made their lives in the East unbearable, were most at +fault.</p> + +<p>According to Mormon history the church had its very +beginnings in religious dissension. It is recounted by the +Mormons that Joseph Smith, Jr., founder of the church +(he was the uncle of the present President), attended +revival meetings in Manchester, Vermont, and was so +confused by the differences of opinion and the ill-feeling +between different sects that he prayed to the Lord to +tell him which was the true religion. In regard to this, +Smith wrote that after his prayer, "a mysterious +power of darkness overcame me. I could not speak and +I felt myself in the grasp of an unseen personage of +darkness. My soul went up in an unuttered prayer for +deliverance, and as I was about despairing, the gloom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[ 448]</a></span> +rolled away and I saw a pillar of light descending from +heaven, approaching me."</p> + +<p>Smith then tells of a vision of a Glorious Being, who +informed him that none of the warring religious sects +had the right version. Then: "The light vanished, +the personages withdrew and recovering myself, I found +myself lying on my back gazing up into heaven."</p> + +<p>Apropos of this, and of other similar visions which +Smith said he had, it is interesting to note that there is +a theory, founded upon a considerable investigation, +that Smith was an epileptic.</p> + +<p>After his first vision Smith had others, and according +to the Mormon belief, he finally had revealed to him +the Hill Cumorah (twenty-five miles southwest of +Rochester, N. Y.) where he ultimately found, with the +aid of the Angel Moroni, the gold plates containing +the Book of Mormon, together with the Urim and +Thummim, the stone spectacles through which he read +the plates and translated them. After making his +translation, Smith returned the plates to the angel, but +before doing so, showed them to eight witnesses who +certified to having seen them.</p> + +<p>As time went on Smith had more visions until at last +the Mormon Church was organized in 1830. Revelations +continued. The church grew. Branches were +established in various places, but according to their history, +the Mormons were persecuted by members of other +religious sects and driven from place to place. For a +time they were in Kirtland, Ohio. Later they went to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[ 449]</a></span> +Jackson County, Mo., but their houses were burned and +they were driven on again. In 1838 "the Lord made +known to him (Smith) that Adam had dwelt in America, +and that the Garden of Eden was located in Jackson +County, Mo." For a time they were in Nauvoo, Ill., +where it seems their political activities got them into +trouble, and at last Joseph Smith and his brother Hiram +were shot and killed by a mob, at Carthage, Ill. That +was in 1844. There were then 10,000 Mormons, over +whom Brigham Young became the leading power. Soon +after this the westward movement began. They established +various settlements in Iowa, and in 1847 Young +and his pioneer band of 143 men, 3 women and 2 children, +entered the valley of Salt Lake, where they immediately +set up tents and cabins and began to plow +and plant, and where they started what the Mormons +say was the first irrigation system in the United States.</p> + +<p>Certainly there were good engineers among them. +Their early buildings show it—especially the famous +Tabernacle in the great square they own at the center +of the city. The vast arched roof of the Tabernacle is +supported by wooden beams which were lashed together, +no nails having been used. This building is not beautiful, +but is very interesting. It contains among other +things a large pipe organ which was, in its day, probably +the finest in this country, although there are better +organs elsewhere, now. The Mormon Trails are also +recognized in the West as the best trails, with the lowest +levels, and there are many other evidences of unusual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[ 450]</a></span> +engineering and mechanical skill on the part of the early +settlers, including a curious wooden odometer (now in +the museum at Salt Lake City) which worked in connection +with the wheel of a prairie schooner, and which +was marvelously accurate.</p> + +<p>The revelation as to the practice of polygamy was +made to Brigham Young, and was promulgated in +Utah in 1852, soon becoming a subject of contention +between the Mormons and the Government. The practice +was finally suspended by a manifesto issued by +President Wilford Woodruff, in 1890, and the "History +of the Church," written by Edward H. Anderson, declares +that "a plurality of wives is now neither taught +nor practised."</p> + +<p>Speaking of polygamy I was informed by Prof. Levi +Edgar Young, a nephew of Brigham Young, a Harvard +graduate and an authority on Mormon History, that +not over 3 per cent. of men claiming membership in the +Mormon Church ever had practised it. These figures +surprised me, as I had imagined polygamy to be the +rule, rather than the exception. Professor Young, +however, assured me that a great many leading Mormons +had refused from the first to accept the practice.</p> + +<p>It must be remembered that the day of Brigham +Young was not this day. He was a powerful, far-seeing +and very able man, and it does seem probable that he +had the idea of founding an Empire in the West. +However the discovery of gold in '48, flooded the West +with settlers and brought a preponderance of "gen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[ 451]</a></span>tiles" +(as the Mormons call those who are not members +of their church) into all that country, making the realization +of Young's dream impossible. What the Mormon +Church needed, in those early times, was increase—more +men to do its work, more women to bear children—and +viewed entirely from a practical standpoint, +polygamy was a practice calculated to bring about this +end. I met, in Salt Lake City men whose fathers had +married anywhere from five or six to a dozen wives, and +so far as sturdiness goes, I may say that I am convinced +that plural marriages brought about no deterioration in +the stock.</p> + +<p>I am informed that the membership of the church, +to-day, is between 500,000 and 600,000, and that less +than 1 per cent. of the Mormon families are at present +polygamous. It is not denied that some few polygamous +marriages have been performed since the issuance +of the manifesto against the practice, but these have +been secret marriages without the sanction of the +church, and priests who have performed such marriages +have, when detected, been excommunicated.</p> + +<p>I was told in Salt Lake City that, in the cases of some +of the older Mormons, who had plural wives long before +the manifesto, there was little doubt that polygamy was +still being practised. Some of these men are the highest +in the church, and it was explained to me that, having +married their wives in good faith, they proposed to +carry out what they regard as their obligations to +those wives. However, these are old men, and with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[ 452]</a></span> +the rise of another generation there can be little doubt +that these last remnants of polygamy will have been +finally stamped out.</p> + +<p>The modern young Mormon man or woman seems to +be a perfectly normal human being with a normal point +of view concerning marriage. Furthermore, the Mormons +believe in education. The school buildings scattered +everywhere throughout the valley are very fine, +and I was informed that 80 per cent. of the whole tax +income of the State of Utah was expended upon education, +and that in educational percentages Utah compares +favorably with Massachusetts.</p> + +<p>What effect a broad education might have upon succeeding +generations of Mormons it is difficult to say. +From a literary point of view, the Book of Mormon will +not bear close scrutiny. Mark Twain described it accurately +when he said, in "Roughing It":</p> + +<blockquote><p>The book seems to be merely a prosy detail of imaginary history, +with the Old Testament for a model; followed by a tedious +plagiarism of the New Testament. The author labored to give +his words and phrases the quaint old-fashioned sound and structure +of our King James's translation of the Scriptures; and the +result is a mongrel—half modern glibness and half ancient simplicity +and gravity. The latter is awkward and constrained; the +former natural, but grotesque by contrast. Whenever he found +his speech growing too modern—which was about every sentence +or two—he ladled in a few such Scriptural phrases as "exceeding +sore," "and it came to pass," etc., and made things satisfactory +again.... The Mormon Bible is rather stupid and tiresome +to read, but there is nothing vicious in its teachings. Its code +of morals is unobjectionable—it is "smouched" from the New +Testament and no credit given.</p></blockquote> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus557.png" width="450" height="321" alt="We were invited to meet the President of the Mormon Church and some members of his family +at the Beehive House, his official residence" title="" /> +<span class="caption">We were invited to meet the President of the Mormon Church and some members of his family +at the Beehive House, his official residence</span> +</div><p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[ 453]</a></span></p> + +<p>Certainly there is no need to prove that education is +death on dogma. That fact has been proving itself as +scientific research has come more and more into play +upon various dogmatic creeds. I was told, however, +that the Mormon Church schools were liberal; that instead +of restricting knowledge to conform to the teachings +of the church, the church was showing a tendency +to adapt itself to meet new conditions.</p> + +<p>If it is doing that it is cleverer than some other +churches.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[ 454]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> + +<h3>THE SMITHS</h3> + + +<p>Before going to Salt Lake City I had heard +that the Mormons were in complete control of +politics and business in the State of Utah, and +that it was their practice to discriminate against "gentiles," +making it impossible for them to be successful +there. I asked a great many citizens of Salt Lake City +about this, and all the evidence indicated that such +rumors are without foundation, and that, of recent +years, Mormons and "gentiles" have worked harmoniously +together, socially and in business. The Mormons +have a strong political machine and pull together much +as the Roman Catholics do, but the idea that they dominate +everything in Salt Lake City seems to be a mistaken +one. Time and again I was assured of this by +both Mormons and "gentiles," and an officer of the +Commercial Club went so far as to draw up figures, +supporting the statement, as follows:</p> + +<p>Of the city's fourteen banks and trust companies, +nine are not under Mormon control; of five department +stores, four are non-Mormon; all skyscrapers except +one are owned by "gentiles"; likewise four-fifths of the +best residence property. Furthermore, neither the city<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[ 455]</a></span> +government nor the public utilities are run by Mormons, +nor are the Mayor and the President of the Board of +Education members of that church.</p> + +<p>This is not to say that Mormon business interests are +not enormous, but only that there has been exaggeration +on these points, as on many others concerning this +sect. The heads of the church are big business men, +and President Smith is, among other things, a director +of the Union Pacific Railroad Company.</p> + +<p>Among other well-informed men with whom I talked +upon this subject was the city-editor of a leading newspaper.</p> + +<p>"I am not a Mormon," he said, "although my wife is +one. You may draw your own conclusions as to the +Mormon attitude when I tell you that the paper on +which I work is controlled by them, yet that, as it happens +just now, I haven't a Mormon reporter on my +staff. Here and there there may be some old hard-shell +Mormon who won't employ any one that isn't +a member of the church, but cases of that kind are +as rare among Mormons as among other religious +sects."</p> + +<p>Every business man with whom I talked seemed +anxious to impress me with this fact, that I might pass +it on in print.</p> + +<p>"For heaven's sake," said one impassioned citizen, +"tell people that we raise something out here besides +Mormons and hell!"</p> + +<p>One of the most level-headed men I met in Salt Lake<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[ 456]</a></span> +City was a Mormon, though not orthodox. His position +with regard to the church was precisely the same as that +of a man who has been brought up in any other church, +but who, as he grows older, cannot accept the creed in +its entirety. His attitude as to the Mormon Bible was +one of honest doubt. In short, he was an agnostic, and +as such talked interestingly.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he said, "out here we are as used to the +Mormon religion and to the idea that some men have +a number of wives, as you are to the idea that men have +only one wife. It doesn't seem strange to us. I can't +adjust my mind to the fact that it is strange, and I only +become conscious of it when I go to other parts of the +country and find that, when people know I'm a Mormon, +they become very curious, and want me to tell +them all about the Mormons and polygamy.</p> + +<p>"Now, in trying to understand the Mormons, the first +thing to remember is that they are human beings, with +the same set of virtues and failings and feelings as +other human beings. There are some who are dogmatically +religious; some with whom marriage—even plural +marriage—is just as pure and spiritual a thing as it is +with any other people in the world. On the other hand, +some Mormons, like some members of other sects, have +doubtless had lusts. The family life of some Mormons +is very beautiful, and as smoking, drinking and other +dissipations are forbidden, orthodox Mormon men lead +very clean lives. In this they are upheld by our women, +for many Mormon women will not marry a man except<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[ 457]</a></span>ing +in our Temple, and no man who has broken the rules +of the church may be married there.</p> + +<p>"Among the younger generation of Mormons you will +see the same general line of characteristics as among +young people anywhere. Some of them grow up into +strict Mormons, while others—particularly some of the +sons of rich Mormons—are what you might call +'sports.' Human nature is no different in Utah than +elsewhere.</p> + +<p>"My father had several wives and I had a great number +of brothers and sisters. We didn't live like one big +family, and the half-brothers and half-sisters did not +feel towards each other as real brothers and sisters do. +When my father was a very old man he married a +young wife, and we felt about it just as any other sons +and daughters would at seeing their father do such a +thing. We felt it was a mistake, and that it was not +just to us, for father had not many more years to live, +and it appeared that on his death we might have his +young wife and her family to look after.</p> + +<p>"My views are such that in bringing up my own children +I have not had them baptized as Mormons at the +age of eight, according to the custom of the church. +This has grieved my people, but I cannot help it. I am +bringing my children up to fear God and lead clean lives, +but I do not think I have the right to force them +into any church, and I propose to leave the matter of +joining or not joining to their own discretion, later +on."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[ 458]</a></span></p> + +<p>Another Mormon, this one orthodox, and a cultivated +man, told me he thought that in most cases the old polygamous +marriages were entered into with a spirit of +real religious fervor.</p> + +<p>"My father married two wives," he said. "He loved +my mother, who was his first wife, very dearly, and +they are as fine and contented a couple as you ever saw. +But when the revelation as to polygamy was made, +father took a second wife because he believed it to be +his duty to do so."</p> + +<p>"How did your mother feel about it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt," said he, "that it hurt mother terribly, +but she was submissive because she believed it +was right. And later, when the manifesto against polygamy +was issued, it hurt father's second wife, when +he had to give her up, for he had two children by her. +However, he obeyed implicitly the law of the church, +supporting his second wife and her children, but living +with my mother."</p> + +<p>Later this gentleman took me to call at the home of +this old couple. The husband, more than eighty years +of age, was a professional man with a degree from a +large eastern university. He was a gentleman of the +old school, very fine, dignified, and gracious, and there +was an air about him which somehow made me think of +a sturdy, straight old tree. As for his wife she was +one of the two most adorable old ladies I have ever +met.</p> + +<p>Very simply she told me of the early days. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[ 459]</a></span> +parents had been well-to-do Pennsylvania Dutch and +had left a prosperous home in the East and come out to +the West, not to better themselves, but because of their +religion. (One should always remember that, in thinking +of the Mormons: whatever may have been the +rights and wrongs of their religion, they have believed +in it and suffered for it.) She, herself, was born in +1847, in a prairie schooner, on the banks of the Missouri +River, and in that vehicle she was carried across the +plains and through the passes, to where Salt Lake City +was then in the first year of its settlement. Some families +were still living in tents when she was a little girl, +but log cabins were springing up. Behind her house, I +was shown, later, the cabin—now used as a lumber shed—in +which she dwelt as a child.</p> + +<p>Fancy the fascination that there was in hearing that +old lady tell, in her simple way, the story of the early +Mormon settlement. For all her gentleness and the +low voice in which she spoke, the tale was an epic in +which she herself had figured. She was not merely +the daughter of a pioneer, and the wife of one; she was +a pioneer herself. She had seen it all, from the beginning. +How much she had seen, how much she had +endured, how much she had known of happiness and +sorrow! And now, in her old age, she had a nature +like a distillation made of everything there is in life, +and whatever bitterness there may have been in life for +her had gone, and left her altogether lovable and altogether +sweet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[ 460]</a></span></p> + +<p>I did not wish to leave her house, and when I did, +and when she said she hoped that I would come again, +I was conscious of a lump in my throat. I do not expect +you to understand it, for I do not, quite, myself. +But there it was—that kind of lump which, once in a +long time, will rise up in one's throat when one sees a +very lovely, very happy child.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When our friend Professor Young asked us whether +we had met President Joseph F. Smith, we told him of +our unfortunate encounter with that gentleman, in the +Lion House, a day or two before. This information +led to activities on the part of the Professor, which in +turn led to our being invited, on the day of our departure, +to meet the President and some members of his +family at the Beehive House—the official residence of +the head of the church.</p> + +<p>The Beehive House is a large old-fashioned mansion +with the kind of pillared front so often seen in the +architecture of the South. Its furnishings are, like the +house itself, old-fashioned, homelike, and unostentatious.</p> + +<p>I have forgotten who let us in, but I have no recollection +of a maid, and I rather think the door was opened +by the President himself. At all events we had no +sooner entered than we met him, in the hall. His manner +had changed. He was most hospitable, and walked +through several rooms with us, showing us some plaster +casts and paintings, the work of Mormon artists. Most +</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 572px;"> +<img src="images/illus568.png" width="572" height="431" alt="The Lion House—a large adobe building in which formerly resided the rank and +file of Brigham Young's wives" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The Lion House—a large adobe building in which formerly resided the rank and +file of Brigham Young's wives</span> +</div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[ 461]</a></span> +of the paintings were extremely ordinary, but the work +of one young sculptor was remarkable, and as the story +of him is remarkable as well, I wish to mention him +here.</p> + +<p>He is a boy named Arvard Fairbanks, a grandson of +Mormon pioneers, on both sides, and he is not yet twenty +years of age. At twelve he started modeling animals +from life. At thirteen he took a scholarship in the Art +Students' League, in New York, and exhibited at the +National Academy of Design. At fourteen he took +another scholarship and also got an art school into trouble +with the sometimes rather silly Gerry Society, for +permitting a child to model from the nude. Work done +by this boy at the age of fifteen is nothing short of +amazing. I have never seen such finished things from +the hand of a youth. His subjects—Indians, buffalo, +pumas, etc.—show splendid observation and understanding, +and are full of the feeling of the West. And +if the West is not very proud of him some day, I shall +be surprised.</p> + +<p>After showing us these things, and talking upon general +subjects for a time, the President went to the foot +of the stairs and called:</p> + +<p>"Mamma!"</p> + +<p>Whereupon a woman's voice answered, from above, +and a moment later Mrs. Smith—one of the Mrs. +Smiths—appeared. She was most cordial and kindly—a +pleasant, motherly sort of woman who made you +feel that she was always in good spirits.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[ 462]</a></span></p> + +<p>After we had enjoyed a pleasant little talk with her, +one of her sons and his wife came in: he a strong young +farmer, she pretty, plump and rosy. They had with +them their little girl, who played about upon the floor. +Later appeared President Penrose (there are several +Presidents in the Mormon Church, but President Smith +is the leader) who has red cheeks and brown hair in +spite of the fact that he is eighty-two years old, and considerably +married.</p> + +<p>Here in the midst of this intimate family group I kept +wishing that, in some way, the matter of polygamy +might be mentioned. By this time I had heard so many +Mormons talk about it freely that I understood the topic +was not taboo; still, in the presence of Mrs. Smith I +hardly knew how to begin, or indeed, whether it was +tactful to begin—although I had been informed in advance +that I might ask questions.</p> + +<p>But how to ask? I couldn't very well say to this +pleasant lady: "How do you like being one of five or +six wives, and how do you think the others like it?" +And as for: "How do you like being married?" that +hardly expressed the question that was in my mind—besides +which, it was plainly evident that the lady was +entirely content with her lot.</p> + +<p>It did not seem proper to inquire of my hostess: +"How can you be content?" That much my social instinct +told me. What, then, could I ask?</p> + +<p>At last the baby granddaughter gave me a happy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[ 463]</a></span> +thought. "Certainly," I said to myself, "it cannot be +bad form to make polite inquiries about the family of +any gentleman."</p> + +<p>I tried to think how I might best ask the President the +question. "Have you any children?" would not do, because +there was his son, right in the room, and other +sons and daughters had been referred to in the course +of conversation. Finally, as time was getting short, I +determined to put it bluntly.</p> + +<p>"How many children and grandchildren have you?" +I asked President Smith.</p> + +<p>He was not in the least annoyed by the inquiry; only +a little bit perplexed.</p> + +<p>"Let's see," he answered ruminatively, fingering his +long beard, and looking at the ceiling. "I don't remember +exactly—but over a hundred."</p> + +<p>"Why!" put in Mrs. Smith, proudly, "you have a lot +over a hundred." Then, to me, she explained: "I am +the mother of eleven, and I have had thirty-two grandchildren +in the last twelve years. There is forty-three, +right there."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you surely have a hundred and ten, father," said +young Smith.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, perhaps," returned the modern Abraham, +contentedly.</p> + +<p>"I beat you, though!" laughed President Penrose.</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that," interposed young Smith,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[ 464]</a></span> +sticking up for the family. "If father would count up +I think you'd find he was ahead."</p> + +<p>"How many have you?" President Smith inquired of +his coadjutor.</p> + +<p>President Penrose rubbed his hands and beamed with +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"A hundred and twenty-odd," he said.</p> + +<p>After that there was no gainsaying him. He was +supreme. Even Mrs. Smith admitted it.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, smiling and shaking a playful finger +at him, "you're ahead just now; but remember, you're +older than we are. You just give us time!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[ 465]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> + +<h3>PASSING PICTURES</h3> + + +<p>As our train crossed the Great Salt Lake the +farther shores were glistening in a golden haze, +half real, half mirage, like the shores of Pæstum +as you see them from the monastery at Amalfi on +a sunny day. Beyond the lake a portion of the desert +was glazed with a curious thin film of water—evidently +overflow—in which the forms of stony hills at the margin +of the waste were reflected so clearly that the eye +could not determine the exact point of meeting between +cliff and plain. Farther out in the desert there was +no water, and as we left the hills behind, the world became +a great white arid reach, flat as only moist sand can +be flat, and tragic in its desolation. For a time nothing, +literally, was visible but sky and desert, save for a line +of telegraph poles, rising forlornly beside the right-of-way.</p> + +<p>I found the desert impressive, but my companion, +whose luncheon had not agreed with him, declared that +it was not up to specifications.</p> + +<p>"Any one who is familiar with Frederick Remington's +drawings," he said, "knows that there must be +skeletons and buffalo skulls stuck around on deserts."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[ 466]</a></span></p> + +<p>I was about to explain that the Western Pacific was +a new railroad and that probably they had not yet found +time to do their landscape gardening along the line, +when, far ahead, I caught sight of a dark dot on the +sand. I kept my eye on it. As our train overtook it, +it began to assume form, and at last I saw that it was +actually a prairie schooner. Presently we passed it. +It was moving slowly along, a few hundred yards from +the track. The horses were walking; their heads were +down and they looked tired. The man who was driving +was the only human being visible; he was hunched +over, and when the train went by, he never so much as +turned his head.</p> + +<p>The picture was perfect. Even my companion admitted +that, and ceased to demand skulls and skeletons. +And when, two or three hours later, after having +crossed the desert and worked our way into the hills, +we saw a full-fledged cowboy on a pinto pony, we felt +that the Western Pacific railroad was complete in its +theatrical accessories.</p> + +<p>The cowboy did his best to give us Western color. +When he saw the train coming, he spurred up his pony, +and waving a lasso, set out in pursuit of an innocent +old milch cow, which was grazing near-by. That she +was no range animal was evident. Her sleek condition +and her calm demeanor showed that she was fully accustomed +to the refined surroundings of the stable. As +he came at her she gazed in horrified amazement, quite +as some fat, dignified old lady might gaze at a bad little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[ 467]</a></span> +boy, running at her with a pea-shooter. Then, in bovine +alarm, she turned and lumbered heavily away. +The cowboy charged and cut her off, waving his rope +and yelling. However, no capture was made. As +soon as the train had passed the cowboy desisted, and +poor old bossy was allowed to settle down again to comfortable +grazing.</p> + +<p>After a good dinner in one of those admirable dining +cars one always finds on western roads, and a good +smoke, my companion and I were ready for bed. But +as we were about to retire, a fellow-passenger with +whom we had been talking, asked, "Aren't you going +to sit up for Elko?"</p> + +<p>"What is there at Elko?" inquired my companion, +with a yawn.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the other, "there's a little of the local +color of Nevada there. You had better wait."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe we'll be able to see anything," I put +in, glancing out at the black night.</p> + +<p>"It is something you couldn't see by daylight," said +the stranger.</p> + +<p>That made us curious, so we sat up.</p> + +<p>As the train slowed for Elko, and we went to get +our overcoats, we observed that one passenger, a +woman, was making ready to get off. We had noticed +her during the day—a stalwart woman of thirty-three +or four, perhaps, who, we judged, had once been very +handsome, though she now looked faded. Her hair +was a dull red, and her complexion was of that milky<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[ 468]</a></span> +whiteness which so often accompanies red hair. Her +eyes were green, cold and expressionless, and her mouth, +though well formed, sagged at the corners, giving her +a discontented and rather hard look. I remember that +we wondered what manner of woman she was, and that +we could not decide.</p> + +<p>The train stopped, and with our acquaintance of the +car, my companion and I alighted. It was a long train, +and our sleeper, which was near the rear, came to a +standstill some distance short of the station building, so +that the part of the platform to which we stepped was +without light. Beyond the station we saw several buildings +looming like black shadows, but that was all; we +could make out nothing of the town.</p> + +<p>"I don't see much here," I remarked to the man who +had suggested sitting up.</p> + +<p>"Come on," he said, moving back through the blackness, +towards the end of the train.</p> + +<p>As I turned to follow him I saw the red-haired woman +step down from the car and hand her suitcase to a man +who had been awaiting her; they stood for a moment +in conversation; as I moved away I heard their low +voices.</p> + +<p>Reaching the last car our guide descended to the track +and crossed to the other side. We followed. My first +glimpse of what lay beyond gave me the impression that +a large railroad yard was spread out before me, its +myriad switch-lights glowing red through the black +night. But as my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, +I saw that here was not a maze of tracks, but a +maze of houses, and that the lights were not those of +switches, but of windows and front doors: night signs +of the traffic to which the houses were dedicated.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus577.png" width="450" height="378" alt="The Cliff House has a Sorrento setting and hectic turkey-trotting nights" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The Cliff House has a Sorrento setting and hectic turkey-trotting nights</span> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[ 469]</a></span></p> +<p>"There," said our acquaintance. "A few years back +you'd have seen this in almost any town out here, but +things are changing; I don't know another place on this +whole line that shows off its red light district the way +Elko does."</p> + +<p>After looking for a time at the sinister lights, we re-crossed +the railroad track. As we stepped up to the +platform, two figures coming in the opposite direction +rounded the rear car and, crossing the rails, moved away +towards the illuminated region. I heard their voices; +they were the red haired woman and the man who had +met her at the train.</p> + +<p>Was she a new arrival? I think not, for she seemed +to know the man, and she had, somehow, the air of +getting home. Was she an "inmate" of one of the establishments? +Again I think not, for, with her look of +hardness, there was also one of capability, and more +than any one thing it is laziness and lack of capability +which cause sane women to give up freedom for such +"homes." No; I think the woman from the train was +a proprietor who had been away on a vacation, or perhaps +a "business trip."</p> + +<p>Suppose that to be true. Suppose that she had been +away for several weeks. What was her feeling at seeing, +again, the crimson beacon in her own window?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[ 470]</a></span> +What must it be like to get home, when home is such a +place? Could one's mental attitude become so warped +that one might actually look forward to returning—to +being greeted by the "family"? Could it be that, at +sight of that red light, flaring over there across the +tracks, one might heave a happy sigh and say to oneself: +"Ah! Home again at last! There's no place like +home"—?</p> + +<p>One thing the Western Pacific Railroad does that +every railroad should do. It publishes a pamphlet, containing +a relief map of its system, and a paragraph or +two about every station on the line, giving the history +of the place (if it has any), telling the altitude, the distance +from terminal points, and how the town got its +name.</p> + +<p>From this pamphlet I judge that some one who had to +do with the building of the Western Pacific Railroad, +or at least with the naming of stations on the line, +possessed a pleasantly catholic literary taste. Gaskell, +Nevada, one stopping place, is named for the author of +"Cranford"; Brontë, in the same State, for Charlotte +Brontë; Poe, in California, for Edgar Allan Poe; +Twain for Mark Twain; Harte for Bret Harte, and +Mabie for Hamilton Wright Mabie. Other stations +are named for British Field Marshals, German scientists, +American politicians and financiers, and for old +settlers, ranches, and landmarks.</p> + +<p>Had there not been washouts on the line shortly be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[ 471]</a></span>fore +we journeyed over it, I might not have known so +much about this little pamphlet, but during the night, +when I could not sleep because of the violent rocking +of the car, I read it with great care. Thus it happened +that when, towards morning, we stopped, and I raised +my curtain to find the ground covered with a blanket +of snow, I was able to establish myself as being in the +Sierras, somewhere in the region of the Beckwith Pass—which, +by the way, is by two thousand feet, the lowest +pass used by any railroad entering the State of California.</p> + +<p>Some time before dawn the roadbed became solid and +I slept until summoned by my companion to see the cañon +of the Feather River.</p> + +<p>Dressing hurriedly, I joined him at the window on +the other side of the car (I have observed that, almost +invariably, that is where the scenery is), and looked +down into what I still remember as the most beautiful +cañon I have ever seen.</p> + +<p>The last time I had looked out it had been winter, +yet here, within the space of a few hours, had come the +spring. It gave me the feeling of a Rip Van Winkle: +I had slept and a whole season had passed. Our train +was winding along a serpentine shelf nicked into the +lofty walls of a gorge at the bottom of which rushed +a mad stream all green and foamy. Above, the mountains +were covered with tall pines, their straight trunks +reaching heavenward like the slender columns of a Gothic +cathedral, the roof of which was made of low-hung,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[ 472]</a></span> +stone-gray cloud—a cathedral decked as for the Easter +season, its aisles and altars abloom with green leaves, +and blossoms purple and white.</p> + +<p>Throughout the hundred miles for which we followed +the windings of the Feather River Cañon, our +eyes hardly left the window. Now we would crash +through a short, black tunnel, emerging to find still +greater loveliness where we had thought no greater loveliness +could be; now we would traverse a spindly bridge +which quickly changed the view (and us) to the other +side of the car. Now we would pass the intake of a +power plant; next we would come upon the plant itself, a +monumental pile, looking like some Rhenish castle which +had slipped down from a peak and settled comfortably +beside the stream.</p> + +<p>Once the flagman who dropped off when the train +stopped, brought us back some souvenirs: a little pink +lizard which, according to its captor, suited itself to a +vogue of the moment with the name of Salamander; +and a piece of glistening quartz which he designated +"fools' gold." And presently, when the train was under +way again, we saw, far down at the water's edge, the +"fools" themselves in search of gold—two old gray-bearded +placer-miners with their pans.</p> + +<p>At last the walls of the cañon began to melt away, +spreading apart and drifting down into the gentle slope +of a green valley starred with golden poppies. Spring +had turned to summer—a summer almost tropical, for, +at Sacramento, early in the afternoon, we saw open<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[ 473]</a></span> +street-cars, their seats ranged back-to-back and facing +outwards, like those of an Irish jaunting-car, running +through an avenue lined with a double row of palms, +beneath which girls were coming home from school bareheaded +and in linen sailor suits.</p> + +<p>Imagine leaving New York on a snowy Christmas +morning, and arriving that same afternoon in Buffalo, +to find them celebrating Independence Day, and you will +get the sense of that transition. We had passed from +furs to shirtsleeves in a morning.</p> + +<p>Late that afternoon, we left the valley and began to +thread our way among the Coast Range hills—green +velvet hills, soft, round and voluptuous, like the "Paps +of Kerry." We were still amongst them when the sun +went down, and it was night when we arrived at the terminal +in Oakland.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[ 474]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> + +<h3>SAN FRANCISCO</h3> + + +<p>Leaving the train in Oakland, one is reminded +of Hoboken or Jersey City in the days before +the Hudson Tubes were built. There is the +train shed, the throng headed for the ferry, the baggage +trucks, and the ferryboat itself, like a New York +ferryboat down to its very smell. Likewise the fresh +salt wind that blows into your face as you stand at the +front of the boat, in crossing San Francisco Bay, is like +a spring or summer wind in New York Harbor. So, +if you cross at night, you have only the lights to tell you +that you are not indeed arriving in New York.</p> + +<p>The ferry is three miles wide. There are no skyscrapers, +with lighted windows, looming overhead, as +they loom over the Hudson. To the right the myriad +lamps of Oakland, Berkeley and Alameda are distributed +along the shore, electric trains dashing in front of them +like comets; and straight ahead lies San Francisco—a +fallen fragment of the Milky Way, draped over a succession +of receding hills.</p> + +<p>Crossing the ferry I tried to remember things I had +been told of this city of my dreams, and to imagine +what it would be like. Of course I had been warned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[ 475]</a></span> +time and again not to refer to it as "'Frisco," and not +to speak of the Earthquake, but only of the Fire. I had +those two points well in mind, but there were others +out of which I endeavored to construct an imaginary +town.</p> + +<p>San Francisco was, as I pictured it in advance, a city +of gaiety, gold money, twenty-five cent drinks, flowers, +Chinamen, hospitality, night restaurants, mysterious +private dining rooms, the Bohemian Club, open-hearted +men and unrivaled women—superb, majestic, handsomely +upholstered, six-cylinder self-starting blondes, +with all improvements, including high-tension double +ignition, Prestolite lamps, and four speeds forward but +no reverse.</p> + +<p>That is the way I pictured San Francisco, and that, +with some slight reservations, is the way I found it.</p> + +<p>Several times in the course of these chapters, I have +been conscious of an effort to say something agreeable +about this city or that, but in the case of San Francisco, +I find it necessary to restrain, rather than force my appreciation, +lest I be charged with making noises like a +Native Son.</p> + +<p>The Native Sons of the Golden West is a large and +semi-secret organization of men born in California who, +I was informed, are banded together to help one another +and the State. Its activities are largely political +and vocal.</p> + +<p>It was a Native Son who, when asked by an Englishman, +visiting the United States for the first time, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[ 476]</a></span> +name the Seven Wonders of America, replied: "Santa +Barbara, Coronado, Del Monte, San Francisco, Yosemite, +Lake Tahoe and Mount Shasta."</p> + +<p>"But," objected the visitor, "all those places are in +California, aren't they?"</p> + +<p>"Of <i>course</i> they're in California!" cried the Native +Son. "Where else would they be?"</p> + +<p>That is the point of view of the Native Son and the +native Californian in general. Meeting Californians +outside their State, I have been inclined to think them +boasters, but now, after a visit to California, I have +come to understand that they are nothing of the kind, +but are, upon the contrary, adherents of cold truth. +They want to tell the truth about their State, they try +to tell it, and if they do not succeed it is only because +they lack the power of expression. When it comes to +California everybody does—a fact which I shall now +assist in demonstrating further.</p> + +<p>Take, for instance, the climate. The exact nature of +the California climate had been a puzzle to me. I had +been in the habit of considering certain parts of the +country as suited for winter residence, and certain other +parts for summer; but, in the East, when I asked people +about California, I found some who advised it as a winter +substitute for Florida, and others who recommended +it as a summer substitute for Maine.</p> + +<p>Therefore, on reaching San Francisco, I took pains +to cross-examine natives as to what they meant by "climate."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus588.png" width="450" height="665" alt="The salt-water pool, Olympic Club, San Francisco" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The salt-water pool, Olympic Club, San Francisco</span> +</div> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[ 477]</a></span> + +<p>As I did not visit Southern California I shall leave +the climate of that section to the residents, who are +not only willing to describe it, but who, from all accounts, +can come as near doing it adequately as anybody +can. But in San Francisco and the surrounding +country I think I know what climate means.</p> + +<p>There are two seasons: spring, beginning about November +and running on into April; autumn, beginning +in April and filling out the remaining six months. +Winter and summer are simply left out. There is no +great cold (snow has fallen but six times in the history +of the city) and no great heat (84 degrees was +the highest temperature registered during an unusual +"hot spell" which occurred just before our visit). It +is, however, a celebrated peculiarity of the San Francisco +climate that between shade and sun there is a +difference so great as to make light winter clothing +comfortable on one side of the street, and summer +clothing on the other. The most convenient clothing, +upon the whole, I found to be of medium weight, and +as soon as the sun had set I sometimes felt the need of a +light overcoat.</p> + +<p>One of the finest things about the California weather +is its absolute reliability. In the rainy season of spring, +rain is expected and people go prepared for it; but with +the arrival of the sunny season, the rain is really over, +and thereafter you need not fear for your straw hat or +your millinery, as the case may be.</p> + +<p>Small wonder that the Californian loves to talk about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[ 478]</a></span> +his climate. He loves to discuss it for the same reason +the New Yorker loves to discuss money: because, with +him, it is the fundamental thing. All through the West, +but particularly on the Pacific Coast, men and women +alike lead outdoor lives, compared with which the outdoor +lives of Easterners are labored and pathetic. The +man or woman in California who does not know what +it is to ride and camp and shoot is an anomaly. Apropos +of this love of outdoors, I am reminded that the head +of a large department store informed me that, in San +Francisco, rainy days bring out the largest shopping +crowds, because people like to spend the sunny ones +in the open. Also, I noticed for myself, that small shopkeepers +think so much of the climate that in many instances +they cannot bear to bar it out, even at night, but +have permanent screen fronts in their stores.</p> + +<p>All the year round, flowers are for sale at stands on +corners, in the San Francisco streets, and if you think +we have no <i>genre</i> in America, if you think there is nothing +in this country to compare with your memories of +picturesque little scenes in Europe—scenes involving +such things as the dog-drawn wagons of Belgium; +Dutch girls in wooden shoes, bending at the waist to +scrub a sidewalk; embroidered peasants at a Breton pardon; +proud beggars at an Andalusian railway station; +mysterious hooded Arabs at Gibraltar; street singers +in Naples; flower girls in the costume of the <i>campagna</i>, +at the Spanish Steps in Rome—if you think we cannot +match such bits of color, then you should see the flower<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[ 479]</a></span> +stands of San Francisco upon some holiday, when Chinese +girls are bargaining for blooms.</p> + +<p>But I am talking only of this one part of California. +When one considers the whole State, one is forced to +admit that it is a natural wonder-place. It is everything. +In its ore-filled mountains it is Alaska; to the +south it is South America; I have looked out of a train +window and seen a perfect English park, only to realize +suddenly that it had not been made by gardeners, but +was the sublimated landscape gardening which Nature +gave to this state of states. I have eaten Parisian +meals in San Francisco and drunk splendid wines, and +afterwards I have been told that our viands and beverages +had, without exception, been produced in California—unless +one counts the gin in the cocktail which +preceded dinner. But that is only part of it. With +her hills San Francisco is Rome; with her harbor she +is Naples; with her hotels she is New York. But with +her clubs and her people she is San Francisco—which, +to my mind, comes near being the apotheosis of praise.</p> + +<p>So far as I know American cities San Francisco +stands out amongst them like some beautiful, fascinating +creature who comes suddenly into a roomful of +mediocrities. She is radiant, she has charm and allure, +those qualities which are gifts of the gods, and which, +though we recognize them instantly when we meet them, +we are unable to describe.</p> + +<p>I have not forgotten the charm of Detroit, nor the stupendousness +of Chicago, but—there is only one Paris<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[ 480]</a></span> +and only one San Francisco. San Francisco does not +look at all like Paris, and while it has a large foreign +population the people one meets are, for the most part, +pure-blooded Americans, yet all the time I was there, I +found myself thinking of the place as a city that was +somehow foreign. It is full of that splendid vigor which +one learns to expect of young American cities; yet it is +full of something else—something Latin. The outlook +upon life even of its most American inhabitants +is touched with a quality that is different. The climate +works its will upon them as climate does on people +everywhere. Here it makes them lively and +spontaneous. They are able to do more (including more sitting +up at night) than people do in New York, and it seems +to tell upon them less. They love good times and, again +owing to the climate, they are able to have them out of +doors.</p> + +<p>The story of the Portola fête, as told me by a San +Franciscan, nicely illustrates that, and also shows the +San Francisco point of view.</p> + +<p>"In 1907," he informed me, "we decided to put over a +big outdoor New Year's fête, with dancing in the +streets, the way they have it in Paris on the Fourteenth +of July. But at the last minute it rained and spoiled the +outdoor part of the fun. Once in a while, you see, that +can happen even in San Francisco.</p> + +<p>"Everybody agreed that we ought to have a regular established +festival, and as we didn't want to have it +spoiled a second time, we hunted up the weather records<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[ 481]</a></span> +and found that in the history of the city there had never +been rain between October seventeenth and twenty-ninth. +That established the time for our fête; the next thing +was to discover an excuse for it. That was not so easy. +After digging through a lot of history we found that +Don Caspar de Portola discovered San Francisco Bay +October twenty-second, 1679—or maybe it was 1769—that +doesn't matter. Nobody had ever heard of Portola +until then, but now we have dragged him out of oblivion +and made quite a boy of him, all as an excuse to have a +good time."</p> + +<p>"Then you don't celebrate New Year's out here?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>"Don't we though!" he exclaimed. "You ought to be +here for our New Year's fête. It is one of the most +spontaneous shows of the kind you'll see anywhere. +It's not a tough orgy such as you have on Broadway +every New Year's Eve, with a lot of drunks sitting +around in restaurants under signs saying 'Champagne +Only'—I've seen that. We just have a lot of real fun, +mostly in the streets.</p> + +<p>"One thing you can count on out here. We celebrate +everything that can be celebrated, and the beauty of a lot +of our good times is that they have a way of just +breaking loose instead of being cooked-up in advance. It has +often happened that on Christmas Eve some great singer +or musician would appear in the streets and sing or play +for the crowds. A hundred thousand people heard Tetrazzini +when she did that four years ago. Bispham and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[ 482]</a></span> +a lot of other big singers have done the same thing, and +three years ago, on Christmas Eve, Kubelik played for +the crowds in the streets. Somehow I think that +musicians and artists of all kinds have a warm feeling for +San Francisco, and want to show us that they have."</p> + +<p>There can be no doubt that that is true. Many artists +have inhabited San Francisco, and the city has always +been beloved by them; especially, it sometimes seems, by +the writing group. Mark Twain records that on his arrival +he "fell in love with the most cordial and sociable +city in the Union," and countless other authors, from +Stevenson down, have paid their tribute.</p> + +<p>As might be expected of a country so palpitantly beautiful +and alive, California has produced many artists in +literature and the other branches, and has developed +many others who, having had the misfortune to be born +elsewhere, possessed, at least, the good judgment to move +to California while still in the formative period.</p> + +<p>Sitting around a table in a café, one night, with a +painter, a novelist and a newspaper man, I set them all to +making lists, from memory, of persons following the +arts, who may be classified as Californians by birth or +long residence.</p> + +<p>The four most prominent painters listed were Arthur +F. Mathews, Charles Rollo Peters, Charles J. Dickman +and Francis McComas, all of them men standing very +high in American art. Among sculptors were +mentioned Robert Aitken, Arthur Putnam, Haig Patigian +and Douglas Tilden. Of writers there is a deluge.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[ 483]</a></span> +Besides Mark Twain and Stevenson, the names of +Bret Harte, Frank Norris, and Joaquin Miller are, of +course, historic in connection with the State. Among +living writers born in California were listed Gertrude +Atherton, Jack London, Lloyd Osbourne, Austin Strong, +Ernest Peixotto and Kathleen Norris; while among +those born elsewhere who have migrated to California, +were set down the names of Harry Leon Wilson, +Stewart Edward White, James Hopper, Mary Austin, +Grace MacGowan Cooke, Alice MacGowan, Rufus Steele +and Bertha Runkle. Still another group of writers who +do not now reside in California are, nevertheless, associated +with the State because of having lived there in the +past. Among these are Wallace and Will Irwin, Gelett +Burgess, Eleanor Gates, Kate Douglas Wiggin, Edwin +Markham, George Sterling, Richard Tully, Jack Hines +and Arno Dosch.</p> + +<p>At this juncture it occurs to me that, quite regardless +of the truth, I had better say that I have not set down +these names according to any theories of mine about the +order of their importance, but that I have copied them +off as they came to me on lists made by other persons, +who shall be sheltered to the last by anonymity.</p> + +<p>All the names so far mentioned were furnished by the +painter and the novelist. The newspaper man kept me +waiting a long time for his list. At last he gave it to me, +and lo! Harrison Fisher's name led all the rest. Henry +Raliegh and Rae Irvin, illustrators, were also listed, but +the formidable California showing came with the cate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[ 484]</a></span>gory +of cartoonists and "comic artists" employed on New +York newspapers. Of these the following were set +down as products of the Golden State: Bud Fisher, Igoe, +and James Swinnerton of the "American"; Tom McNamara, +Hal Cauffman, George Harriman, Hershfield, and +T. A. Dorgan ("Tad") of the "Journal"; Goldberg of +the "Evening Mail"; R. E. Edgren of the "World"; +Robert Carter of the "Sun"; and Ripley of the "Globe." +The late Homer Davenport of the "American" also came +to New York from San Francisco. This list, covering +as it does all but a handful of the cartoonists and "funny +men" of the New York papers, seems to me hardly less +remarkable than this further list of "artists" of another +variety who trace back to California: James J. Corbett, +Jim Jeffries, Joe Choynski, Jimmy Britt, Abe Attell, +Willie Ritchie, Eddie Hanlon and Frankie Neil; with +Jack Johnson and Stanley Ketchell added for the reason +that, although not actual native products, they +"developed" in California.</p> + +<p>Perhaps after having given California her artistic due +in this handsome manner, and being, myself, well out of +the State, this may be the best time to touch upon a sensitive +point. As the reader may have observed, I always +try to evade responsibility when playing with fire, and if +one does that with fire, it becomes all the more necessary +to observe the same rule in the case of earthquakes.</p> + +<p>In this instance the best way out of it for me seems to +be to put the blame on Baedeker, who, in his little red +book, declares that "earthquakes occur occasionally in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">[ 485]</a></span> +San Francisco, but have seldom been destructive," after +which he recites that in 1906 "a severe earthquake +lasting about a minute" visited the city, that "the City Hall +became a mass of ruins but, on the whole, few of the +more solid structures were seriously injured."</p> + +<p>San Francisco is notoriously sensitive upon this subject, +and her sensitiveness is not difficult to understand. +For one thing, earthquakes, interesting though they may +be as demonstrations of the power of Nature, are not +generally considered a profitable form of advertising for +a city, although, curiously enough, they seem, like volcanic +eruptions, to visit spots of the greatest natural +beauty. For another thing San Francisco feels that +"earthquake" is really a misnomer for her disaster, and +that this fact is not generally understood in such remote +and ill-informed localities as, for instance, the Island of +Manhattan.</p> + +<p>There is not a little justice in this contention. However +the city may have been "shaken down" in the past, +by corrupt politicians, the quake did no such thing. All +the damage done by the actual trembling of the ground +might have been repaired at a cost of a few millions, had +not the quake started the fire and at the same time destroyed +the means of fighting it. Baedeker, always +conservative, estimates the fire loss at three hundred and +fifty millions.</p> + +<p>Furthermore, it is contended in San Francisco that the +city is not actually in the earthquake belt. Scientists +have examined the earthquake's fault-line, and have de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">[ 486]</a></span>clared +that it comes down the coast to a point some miles +north of the city, where it obligingly heads out to sea, +passing around San Francisco, and coming ashore again +far to the south.</p> + +<p>While, to my mind, this seems to indicate an extraordinary +degree of good-nature on the part of an +earthquake, I have come, through a negative course of +reasoning, to accept it as true. For it so happens that I have +discussed literature with a considerable number of scientific +men, and I cannot but conclude from the experience +that they must know an enormous amount about other +matters. Therefore, on earthquakes, I am bound entirely +by their decisions, and I believe that all well-ordered +earthquakes will be so bound, and that the only +chance of future trouble from this source, in San +Francisco, might arise through a visit from some irresponsible, +renegade quake which was not a member of the +regular organization.</p> + +<p>As to San Francisco's "touchiness" upon the subject +there is this much more to be said. A cow is rumored +to have kicked over a lamp and started the Chicago Fire. +An earthquake kicked over a building and started the +San Francisco Fire. People do not refer to the Chicago +Fire as the "Cow." Why then should they refer to the +San Francisco Fire as the "Earthquake"? That is the +way they reason at the Golden Gate. But however that +may be, the important fact is this: the Chicago Fire +taught that city a lesson. When Chicago was rebuilt +in brick and stone, instead of wood, another cow could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">[ 487]</a></span> +kick over another lamp without endangering the whole +town. The same story is repeated in San Francisco. +The city has been magnificently reconstructed. Another +quake might kick over another building, but the city +would not go as it did before, because, aside from the +fact that the main part of it is now unburnable, as nearly +as that may be said of any group of buildings, the most +elaborate system of fire-protection has been installed, so +that if, in future, water connections are broken at one +point, or two points, or several points, there will still be +plenty of water from other sources.</p> + +<p>As an outsider, in love with San Francisco, who has yet +had the temerity to mention the forbidden word, I may +perhaps venture a little farther and suggest that it is +time for sensitiveness over the word "earthquake" to +cease.</p> + +<p>Let us use what word we like: the fact remains that +the disaster brought out magnificent qualities in San +Francisco's people; they were victorious over it; they +have fortified themselves against a repetition of it; they +transformed catastrophe into opportunity. Already, I +think, many San Franciscans understand that the cataclysm +was not an unmixed evil, and I believe that, strange +though it may seem, there will presently come a time +when, for all their half-melancholy "before the fire" talk, +they will admit that on the whole it was a good thing. +For it is granted to but few cities and few men to really +begin life anew.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">[ 488]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> + +<h3>"BEFORE THE FIRE"</h3> + + +<p>San Fransiscans love to show their city off. +Nevertheless they take a curious delight in +countering against the enthusiasm of the alien with a +solemn wag of the head and the invariable:</p> + +<blockquote><p> +<span style="margin-left: 9.75em;">{seen }</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9.75em;">{felt }</span><br /> +"Ah, but you should have {tasted } it before the Fire!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9.75em;">{smelled}</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9.75em;">{heard }</span><br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>They say that about everything, old and new. They +say it indiscriminately, without thought of what it means. +They love the sound of it, and have made it a fixed habit. +They say it about districts and buildings, about hotels, +and the Barbary Coast (which is much like the old +Bowery, in New York, and where ragtime dancing is said +to have originated), and the Presidio (the military post, +overlooking the sea), and Golden Gate Park (a semitropical +wonder-place, built on what used to be sand +dunes, and guarded by Park Policemen who carry lassos +with which to stop runaways), and Chinatown, and the +Fish Market (which resembles a collection of still-life +studies by William M. Chase), and the Bank Exchange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">[ 489]</a></span> +(which is not a commercial institution, but a venerable +bar, presided over by Duncan Nicol, who came around +the Horn with his eye-glasses over his ear, where he +continues to wear them while mixing Pisco cocktails). +They say it also of "Ernie" and his celebrated "Number +Two" cocktail, with a hazelnut in it; and of the St. Francis +Hotel (which is one of the best run and most perfectly +cosmopolitan hotels in the country), and of the +Fairmont Hotel (a wonderful pile, commanding the city +and the bay as Bertolini's commands the city and the bay +of Naples), and the Palace Hotel (where drinks are +twenty-five cents each, as in the old days; where ripe +olives are a specialty, and where, over the bar, hangs +Maxfield Parrish's "Pied Piper," balancing the continent +against his "Old King Cole," in the Knickerbocker +bar, in New York). They say it about the Cliff House, +(with its Sorrento setting, its seals barking on the rocks +below, and its hectic turkey-trotting nights), about +Tait's, and Solari's, and the Techau, and Frank's, and +the Poodle Dog, and Marchand's, and Coppa's, and all +the other restaurants; about the private dining-rooms +(which are a San Francisco specialty), about the pretty +girls (which are another specialty), about the clubs +(which are still another), about cable-cars, taxicabs, +flowers, shrimps, crabs, sand-dabs (which are fish almost +as good as English sole), and about everything else. +They use it instead of "if you please," "thank you," +"good-morning," and "good-night." If there are no +strangers to say it to they say it to one another. If you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">[ 490]</a></span> +admire a man's wife and children he will say it, and +the same thing occurs if you approve of his new hat.</p> + +<p>If the old San Francisco was indeed so far superior to +the new, then Bagdad in the days of Haroun-al-Raschid +would have been but a dull prairie town, compared with +it.</p> + +<p>But was it?</p> + +<p>The San Francisco attitude upon this subject reminds +me of that of the old French Royalists.</p> + +<p>A friend of mine, an American living in Paris, happened +to inquire of a venerable Marquis concerning the +<i>Palais de Glace</i>, where Parisians go to skate.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," replied the ancient aristocrat, raising his +shoulders contemptuously, "one hears that the world +now goes to skate under a roof, upon ice manufactured. +Truly, all is changed, my friend. I assure you it was +not like this under the Empire. In those times the lakes +in the Bois used to freeze. But they do so no longer. +It is not to be expected. Bah! This <i>sacré</i> Republic!"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>While in San Francisco, I noted down a number of +odd items, some of them unimportant, which, when added +together, have much to do with the flavor of the town. +Having used the word "flavor," I may as well begin with +drinks.</p> + +<p>Drinks cut an important figure in San Francisco life, +as is natural in a wine-producing country. The merit of +the best California wines is not appreciated in the East. +Some of them are very good—much better, indeed, than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">[ 491]</a></span> +a great deal of the imported wine brought from Europe. +I have even tasted a California champagne which compares +creditably with the ordinary run of French champagne, +though when it comes to special vintages, California +has not attained the French level.</p> + +<p>It is a general custom, in public bars and clubs to +shake dice for drinks, instead of clamoring to "treat," +according to the silly eastern custom, which as every one +knows, often causes men to drink more than they wish +to, just to be "good fellows." The free lunch, in connection +with bars, is developed more highly in San Francisco +than in any other city that I know of; also, Easterners +will be surprised to find small onions, or nuts, in +their cocktails, instead of olives. A popular cocktail on +the Coast is the "Honolulu," which is like the familiar +"Bronx," excepting that pineapple juice is used in place +of orange juice.</p> + +<p>When my companion and I were in San Francisco a +prohibition wave was threatening. Such a movement in +a wine-producing country engenders very strong feeling, +and I found, attached to the bills-of-fare in various restaurants, +earnest pleas, addressed to voters, to turn out +and cast their ballots against the temperance menace.</p> + +<p>Of prohibition the town had already had a taste—if +one may use the expression. The reform movement +had struck the Barbary Coast, the rule, at the time of our +visit, being that there should be no dancing where alcoholic +drinks were served, and no drinks where there was +dancing. This law was enforced and it made the former<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">[ 492]</a></span> +region of festivity a sad place. Even the sailors and +marines sitting about the dance-halls, consuming beer-substitutes, +at a dollar a bottle, were melancholy figures, +appearing altogether unresponsive to the sirens who +surrounded them.</p> + +<p>Ordinary drinks at most bars in San Francisco are +fifteen cents each, or two for a quarter, as in most other +cities. That is to say, two drinks for "two bits."</p> + +<p>Like the American mill, or the English Guinea, the +"bit," familiar on the Pacific Slope, is not a coin. The +Californian will ask for change for a "quarter," or a +"half," as we do in the East, but in making small purchases +he will ask for two, or four, or six "bits' worth," +a "bit" representing twelve-and-a-half cents. In the +old days there were also "short bits" and "long bits," +meaning, respectively ten cents, and fifteen cents, but +these terms with their implied scorn of the copper cent, +have died out.</p> + +<p>The humble penny is, however, still regarded contemptuously +in San Francisco. Until quite recently all +newspapers published there sold at five cents each, and +that is still true of the morning papers, the "Chronicle" +and the "Examiner." Lately the "Call" and the "Bulletin," +evening papers, have dropped in price to one cent +each, but when the princely Son of the Golden West buys +them, he will frequently pay the newsboy with a nickel, +ignoring the change. Nor is the newsboy to be outdone +in magnificence: when a five-cent customer asks for one +paper the boy will very likely hand him both. They un<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">[ 493]</a></span>derstand +each other, these two, and meet on terms of a +noble mutual liberality.</p> + +<p>As to Chinatown, those who knew it before the fire declare +that its charm is gone, but my companion and I +found interest in its shops, its printing offices and, most +of all, in its telephone exchange.</p> + +<p>The San Francisco Telephone Directory has a section +devoted to Chinatown, in which the names of Chinese +subscribers are printed in both English and Chinese +characters. Thus, if I wish to telephone to Boo Gay, +Are Too, Chew Chu & Co., Doo Kee, Fat Hoo, the +Gee How Tong, Gum Hoo, Hang Far Low, Jew Bark, +Joke Key, King Gum, Shee Duck Co., Tin Hop & Co., +To To Bete Shy, Too Too Guey, Wee Chun, Wing On & +Co., Yet Bun Hung, Yet Ho, Yet You, or Yue Hock, all +of whom I find in the directory—if I wish to telephone to +them, I can look them up in English and call "China 148," +or whatever the number may be. But if a Chinaman +who cannot read English wishes to call, he calls by name +only, which makes it necessary for operators to remember +not merely the name and number of each Chinese +subscriber, but to speak English and Chinese—including +the nine Chinese provincial dialects.</p> + +<p>The operators are, of course, Chinese girls, and the +exchange, which has over a thousand subscribers, representing +about a tenth of the population of the Chinese +district, is under the management of Mr. Loo Kum Shu, +who was born in California and educated at the University +of California. His assistant, Mr. Chin Sing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">[ 494]</a></span> +is also a native of the State, and is a graduate of the San +Francisco public schools.</p> + +<p>For a "soulless corporation" the Pacific Telephone and +Telegraph Company has shown a good deal of imagination +in constructing and equipping its Chinatown exchange. +The building with its gaily decorated pagoda +roof and balconies, makes a colorful spot in the center of +Chinatown. Inside it is elaborately frescoed with dragons +and other Chinese designs, while the woodwork +is of ebony and gold. The switchboard is carved and is +set in a shrine, and this fascinating incongruity, with +the operators, all dressed in the richly colored silk costumes +of their ancient civilization, poking in plugs, pulling +them out, chattering now in English, now in Chinese, +teaches one that anachronism may, under some conditions, +be altogether charming.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>One rumor concerning San Francisco restaurants appealed +to my sinful literary imaginings. I had heard +that these establishments resembled those of Paris, not +only in cuisine, but because, as in Paris, the proprietors +did not deem it necessary to stipulate that private dining-rooms +should never be occupied save by parties of more +than two.</p> + +<p>Of one of these restaurants, in particular, I had been +told the most amazing tales: A taxi would drive into +the building by a sort of tunnel; great doors would close +instantly behind it; it would run onto a large elevator and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">[ 495]</a></span> +be taken bodily to some floor above, where the occupants +would alight practically at the door of their clandestine +meeting-place—an exquisite little apartment, decorated +like the boudoir of some royal favorite. If it were indeed +true that such a picturesquely shocking place existed, +I intended—entirely in the interest of my readers, +you will understand—to see it; and honesty forces me +to add that I hoped, with journalistic immorality, that it +did exist.</p> + +<p>One night I went there. True, the conditions were +somewhat prosaic. It was quite late; my companion and +I were tired, but we were near the end of our stay in San +Francisco, and I insisted upon his accompanying me to +the mysterious café, although he protested violently—not +on moral grounds, but because he is sufficiently sophisticated +to know that there is no subject upon which exaggeration +gives itself <i>carte blanche</i> as it does when describing +gilded vice.</p> + +<p>The taxi did drive in through a kind of tunnel—a place +suggesting coal wagons—but there were no massive, +silent doors to close behind it. Passing into an inner +court, which was like an empty garage, it stopped beside +a little door.</p> + +<p>"Where is the elevator?" I asked the taxi driver.</p> + +<p>"In there," he answered, indicating the door.</p> + +<p>"But," I complained, "I heard that there was a big elevator +here, that took taxis right up stairs."</p> + +<p>"There ain't," he said, succinctly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496">[ 496]</a></span></p> + +<p>Telling him to wait, we entered the door and came +upon an elevator and a solitary waiter, whom we informed +of our desire to see the place.</p> + +<p>Obligingly he took us to an upper floor and opening +the door of an apartment, showed us in.</p> + +<p>"Of course," he said, "all of them are not so fine as +this."</p> + +<p>Alas for my imaginings, here was no rose-pink boudoir, +no scene for a romantic meeting, but a room like +one of those frightful parlor "sets" one sometimes sees +in the cheapest moving pictures. However, in the +movies one is spared the color of such a room; one may +see that the wallpaper is of hideous design, but one cannot +see its ghastly scrambled browns and greens and +purples. As I glanced at the various furnishings it +seemed to me that each was uglier than the last, and +when finally my eye fell upon an automatic piano in a +sort of combination of dark oak and art nouveau, with a +stained glass front and a nickel in the slot attachment, +my dream of a setting for sumptuous and esthetic sin +was dead. It was a room in which adventure would +taste like stale beer.</p> + +<p>My companion placed a nickel in the slot that fed the +terrible piano. There was a whirring sound, succeeded, +not by low seductive strains, but by a sudden din of ragtime +which crashed upon our ears as the decorations had +upon our eyes.</p> + +<p>Hastily I moved towards the door. My companion +followed.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 443px;"> +<img src="images/illus609.png" width="443" height="517" alt="The switchboard of the Chinatown telephone exchange is set +in a shrine and the operators are dressed in Chinese silks" title="" /> +<span class="caption">The switchboard of the Chinatown telephone exchange is set +in a shrine and the operators are dressed in Chinese silks</span> +</div><p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497">[ 497]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If the gentlemans would wish to see some other apartments—?" +suggested the obliging waiter, as we closed +the door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no thanks," I said. "This gives us a good idea +of it."</p> + +<p>As we moved towards the elevator the waiter asked +politely: "The gentlemans have never been in here before?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said, "we don't live in San Francisco. We +had heard about this place and wanted to see it before we +went away."</p> + +<p>"It is a famous place," he said. Then, with a shake +of the head, he added, "But before the Fire——Ah, +the gentlemans should have seen it then!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498">[ 498]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> + +<h3>AN EXPOSITION AND A "BOOSTER"</h3> + + +<p>The Panama Pacific Exposition will unquestionably +be the most beautiful exposition ever held +in the world. Its setting is both accessible and +lovely, for it has the city upon one side and the bay and +the Golden Gate upon the other.</p> + +<p>Instead of being smooth and white like those of previous +World's Fairs, the buildings have the streaked texture +of travertine stone, with a general coloring somewhat +warmer than that of travertine. Domes, doorways +and other architectural details are rich in soft +greens and blues, and the whole group of buildings, +viewed from the hills behind, resembles more than anything +else a great architectural drawing by Jules Guérin, +made into a reality. And that, in effect, is what it is, +for Guérin has ruled over everything that has to do with +color, from the roads which will have a warm reddish +tone, to the mural decorations and the lighting.</p> + +<p>The exposition will hold certain records from the +start. It will be the first great exposition ever held in a +seaport. It will be, if I mistake not, the first to be ready +on time. It will be the first held to celebrate a contemporaneous +event, and its contemporaneousness will be re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[ 499]</a></span>flected +in its exhibitions, for, with the exception of a loan +collection of art, nothing will be shown which has not +been produced since the St. Louis Exposition of 1904. +Also, I am informed, it is the first American exposition +to have an appropriation for mural paintings. True, +there were mural paintings at the Chicago World's Fair, +but they were not provided for by appropriation, having +been paid for by the late Frank Millet, with money saved +from other things.</p> + +<p>Of the painters who will have mural decorations at +the Exposition, but one, Frank Brangwyn, is not an +American. Also, but one is a Californian, that one being +Arthur F. Mathews.</p> + +<p>The only mural decorations in the Fine Arts Building +will be eight enormous panels by Robert Reid, in the interior +of the dome, eighty feet above the floor. Four of +the panels symbolize Art; the others the "four golds of +California": poppies, citrus fruits, metallic gold and +golden wheat. Among the various excursions to the +Exposition, I hope there will be one for old-school mural +decorators—men who paint stiff central figures in brick-red +robes, enthroned, and surrounded by cog-wheels, propellers, +and bales of cotton, with the invariable male figures +petrified at a forge upon one side, and the invariable +inert mothers and children upon the other—I hope there +will be an excursion to take such painters out and show +them the brave swirl and sweep of line, the light, and the +nacreous color which this artist has thrown into his +decorations at the Fair.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[ 500]</a></span></p> + +<p>Aside from the work of Mr. Reid, Edward Simmons +has done two large frieze panels of great beauty, Frank +Vincent Du Mond, two others, Childe Hassam, a lunette +in most exquisite tones, and William de Leftwich Dodge, +Milton H. Bancroft and Charles Holloway, other canvases, +so that, the finished exposition will be fairly jeweled +with mural paintings.</p> + +<p>It is hard to write about expositions and mural paintings, +without seeming to infringe upon the prerogatives +of Baedeker, and it is particularly difficult to do so if one +has happened to be shown about by a professional +shower-about of the singularly voluble type we encountered +at the Exposition.</p> + +<p>To the reader who has followed my companion and +me in our peregrinations, now drawing to a close, it will +be unnecessary to say that by the time we reached the +Pacific Coast, we believed we had encountered every kind +of "booster" that creeps, crawls, walks, crows, cries, +bellows, barks or brays.</p> + +<p>But we had not. It remained for the San Francisco +Exposition to show us a new specimen, the most amazing, +the most appalling, the most unbelievable of all: the +booster who talks like a book.</p> + +<p>It was on the day before we left for home that we were +delivered up to him. We had been keeping late hours, +and were tired in a happy, drowsy sort of way, so that +the prospect of being wafted through the morning sunshine +to the exposition grounds, in an open automobile, +and cruising about, among the buildings, without alight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[ 501]</a></span>ing, +and without care or worry, was particularly pleasing +to us.</p> + +<p>The automobile came at the appointed hour, and with +it the being who was to be our pilot. Full of confidence +and trust, we got into the car, but we had not proceeded +more than a few blocks, and heard our cicerone speak +more than a few hundred thousand words, before our +bosoms became filled with that "vague unrest" which, +though you may never have experienced it yourself, you +have certainly read about before.</p> + +<p>I had not planned to have any vague unrest in this +book, but it stole in upon me, unexpectedly, out there by +the Golden Gate, just at the end of my journey, when I +was off my guard, believing that the perils of the trip +were past.</p> + +<p>We had driven in that automobile but a few minutes, +and had heard our guide speak not more than two hundred +and fifty or three hundred thousand words, when +my first vague feeling turned into a certainty that all +was not for the best; and when I caught the eye of my +companion and saw that its former drowsy look had +given place to one of wild alarm, I knew that he shared +my apprehension.</p> + +<p>By the time we reached the fair grounds I had become +so perturbed that I hardly knew where we were.</p> + +<p>"Stop here," I heard our captor say to the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>The car drew up between two glorious terracotta palaces. +Directly ahead was the blue bay, and beyond it +rose Mount Tamalpais in a gray-green haze. Our cus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">[ 502]</a></span>todian +arose from his seat, stepped to the front of the +tonneau, and turning, fixed first one of us and then +the other with a gaze that seemed to eat its way into +our vitals. Through an awful moment of portentous +silence we stared back at him like fascinated idiots. He +raised one arm and swept it around the horizon. Then, +of a sudden, he was off:</p> + +<p>"Born a drowsy Spanish hamlet, fed on the intoxicants +of man's lust for gold, developed by an adventurous +and a baronial agriculture, isolated throughout +its turbulent history from the home lands of its diverse +peoples, and compelled to the outworking of its own +ethical and social standards, the sovereign City of San +Francisco has developed within her confines an individuality +and a versatility, equaled by but few other +cities, and surpassed by none."</p> + +<p>At that point he took a breath, and a fresh start:</p> + +<p>"It mellowed the sternness of the Puritan and disciplined +the dashing Cavalier. It appropriated the unrivaled +song and pristine art of the Latin. Every good +thing the Anglo-Saxon, Celt, Gaul, Iberian, Teuton or +almond-eyed son of Confucius had to offer, it seized +upon and made part of its life."</p> + +<p>Another breath, and it began again:</p> + +<p>"Here is no thralldom of the past, but a trying of all +things on their merits, and a searching of every proposal +or established institution by the one test: Will +it make life happier?"</p> + +<p>As he went on I was becoming conscious of an over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[ 503]</a></span>mastering +desire to do something to stop him. I felt +that I must interrupt to save my reason, so I pointed in +the direction of Mount Tamalpais, and cried:</p> + +<p>"What is that, over there?"</p> + +<p>His eyes barely flickered towards the mountain, as +he answered:</p> + +<p>"That is Mount Tamalpais which may be reached by +a journey of nineteen miles by ferry, electric train and +steam railroad. This lofty height rears itself a clean +half-mile above the sparkling waters of our unrivaled +bay. The mountain itself is a domain of delight. +From its summit the visitor may see what might be +termed the ground plan of the greatest landlocked harbor +on the Pacific Ocean, and of the region surrounding +it—a region destined to play so large a part in the affairs +of men."</p> + +<p>"Good God!" I heard my companion ejaculate in an +agonized whisper.</p> + +<p>But if our tormentor overheard he paid not the least +attention.</p> + +<p>"We know," he continued in his sing-song tone, "that +you will find here what you never found, and never can +find, elsewhere. We shall try to augment your pleasure +by indicating something of its origin in the city's romantic +past. We shall give you your bearings in time +and place. We shall endeavor to make smooth your +path. We shall tell you what to seek and how to find +it, and mayhap, what it means. We shall endeavor +to endow you with the eyes to see, the ears to hear,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">[ 504]</a></span> +and the heart to understand. In short, it is to help +the visitor to comprehend, appreciate and enjoy 'the +City Loved Around the World,' with its surpassingly +beautiful environs, that this little handbook is issued."</p> + +<p>"That <i>what</i>?" shrieked my companion.</p> + +<p>The human guidebook calmly corrected himself.</p> + +<p>"That I am here with you to-day," he said.</p> + +<p>Through two interminable hours the thing went on +and on like that. Several times, in the first hour, we +tried to stop him by this means or that, but after awhile +we learned that interruptions only opened other floodgates, +and that it was best, upon the whole, to try to +cultivate a state of inner numbness, and let his voice +roll on.</p> + +<p>Sometimes I fancied that I was becoming passive and +resigned. Then suddenly a wave of hate would come +boiling up inside me, and my fingers would itch to be at +the man's throat: to strangle him, not rapidly, but +slowly, so that he would suffer. I wanted to see his +tongue hang out, his eyes bulge, and his face turn blue; +to see him swell up, as he kept generating words, inside, +until at last, being unable to emit them, he should burst, +like an overcharged balloon.</p> + +<p>Once or twice I was on the verge of leaping at him, +but then I would think to myself: "No; I must not +consider my own pleasure. If I kill him it will get into +the New York papers, and my family and friends will +not understand it, because they have not heard him +talk."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus619.png" width="450" height="484" alt="We believed we had encountered every kind of "booster" that creeps, +crawls, walks, crows, cries, bellows, barks or brays, but it remained for +the Exposition to show us a new specimen" title="" /> +<span class="caption">We believed we had encountered every kind of "booster" that creeps, +crawls, walks, crows, cries, bellows, barks or brays, but it remained for +the Exposition to show us a new specimen</span> +</div><p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[ 505]</a></span></p> + +<p>Somehow or other my companion and I managed to +survive until lunch time, but then we insisted upon being +taken back to the St. Francis. He did not want to +take us. He did not like to let us escape, even for an +hour, for it was only too evident that several five-foot-shelves +of books were still inside him, eager to get +out.</p> + +<p>At the door of the hotel he said: "I could stop and +lunch with you. In that way we would lose no time. +Ah, there is so much to be told! What city in the world +can vie with San Francisco either in the beauty or the +natural advantages of her situation? Indeed there are +but two places in Europe—Constantinople and Gibraltar—that +combine an equally perfect landscape with what +may be called an equally imperial position. Yes, I think +we had better remain together during this brief midday +period at which, from time immemorial, it has been the +custom of the human race to minister to the wants of the +inner man, as the great bard puts it."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said my companion, firmly. "We appreciate +the offer, but we have an engagement to lunch, +to-day, with several friends who are troubled with bubonic +plague and Asiatic cholera."</p> + +<p>"So be it," said our warden. "I shall return for you +within the hour. It shall be my pleasure, as well as +my duty, to show you all points of interest, to give you +a brief historical sketch of this coveted Mecca of men's +dreams, to tell you of its awakening, of the bringing of +order out of chaos, of...."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[ 506]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was still going on as we entered the hotel, and from +a window, we saw that he was sitting alone in the tonneau, +talking to himself, as the motor drove away.</p> + +<p>"How long will it take you to pack?" my companion +asked me.</p> + +<p>"About an hour," I said.</p> + +<p>"There's a train for New York at two," said he.</p> + +<p>We moved over to the porter's desk, and were arranging +for tickets and reservations when the Exposition +Official, who had assigned our guide to us, passed +through the lobby.</p> + +<p>"Did you enjoy your morning?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>We gazed at him for a moment, in silence. Then, in +a hoarse voice, I managed to say: "We shall not go +out with him this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"But he is counting on it," protested the Official.</p> + +<p>"<i>We shall not go out with him this afternoon!</i>" said +my companion, in a voice that caused heads to turn.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" inquired the other.</p> + +<p>I was afraid that my companion might say something +rude, so I replied.</p> + +<p>"We are going away from here," I declared.</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the Official, "if you have to leave town, +it can't be helped. But if you should stay in San Francisco +and refuse to go out with him again, it might hurt +his feelings."</p> + +<p>"Good!" returned my companion. "We won't go until +to-morrow."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[ 507]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XL</h2> + +<h3>NEW YORK AGAIN</h3> + + +<p>On my first night in San Francisco I sat up late, +unpacking and distributing my things about +my room; it was early morning when I was +ready to retire, and it occurred to me that I had better +leave a call.</p> + +<p>"Please call me at nine," I said to the telephone operator.</p> + +<p>"Nine o'clock," she repeated, and in a voice like a caress, +added: "Good-night."</p> + +<p>It was very pleasant to be told good-night, like that, +even though the sweet voice was strange, and came over +a wire; for my companion and I had been traveling for +a long, long time, and though the strangers we had met +had been most hospitable, and though many of them had +soon ceased to be strangers, and had become friends, and +though we had often said—and not without sincerity—that +we "felt very much at home," we had now reached a +state of mind in which we realized that, to say one "feels +at home" when one is not actually at home, is, after all, +to stretch the truth a little.</p> + +<p>I must have gone to sleep immediately and I knew +nothing more until I was awakened in the morning by +the tinkle of the telephone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[ 508]</a></span></p> + +<p>I jumped out of bed and answered.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning, Mr. Street," came a voice even +sweeter than that of the night before. "Nine o'clock."</p> + +<p>As I may have mentioned previously, I do not, as a +rule, feel cheerful on the moment of arising, especially +in a strange room, a strange hotel, and a strange city. +But the pleasant personal note contained in that morning +greeting, the charming tone in which it was delivered, +and perhaps, in addition, the great warm patch +of melted California gold which lay upon the carpet near +my window—these things combined to make me feel +awake, alive and happy, at the beginning of the day.</p> + +<p>Every night, after that, I left a call, whether I really +wished to be called, or not, just for the sake of the +"good-night," and the "good-morning" with my name appended. +For it is very pleasant to be known, in a great +hotel, as something more than a mere number.</p> + +<p>I said to myself, "That morning operator has learned +from the papers that I am here. She has probably read +things I have written, and is interested in me. Doubtless +she boasts to her friends: 'Julian Street, the author, +is stopping down at the hotel. I call him every +morning. He has a pleasant voice. I wish I could see +him, once.'"</p> + +<p>Because of modesty I did not mention this flattering +attention to my companion until the day before we left +San Francisco, and then I was only induced to speak of +it by something which occurred when we were shopping.</p> + +<p>It was at Gump's—that most fascinating Oriental<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[ 509]</a></span> +store—and having made a purchase which I wished +them to deliver, I mentioned my name and address to +the clerk who, however, seemed to have some difficulty in +getting it correctly, setting me down at first as "Mr. +Julius Sweet."</p> + +<p>When my companion chose to taunt me about that, +dwelling with apparent delight upon the painfully evident +fact that my name meant nothing to the clerk, I retorted:</p> + +<p>"That makes no difference. The telephone operator +at the St. Francis calls me by name every morning."</p> + +<p>"So she does me," he returned.</p> + +<p>I did not believe him. I could not think that this +beautiful young girl—I was sure that any girl with such +a voice must be young and beautiful—would cheapen her +vocal favors by dispensing them broadcast. For her to +coo my name to me each morning was merely a delicate +attention, but for her to do the same to him seemed, +somehow, brazen.</p> + +<p>I pondered the matter as I went to bed that night, and +in the morning, when the bell rang, I thought of it immediately.</p> + +<p>"Hello."</p> + +<p>"Good-morning, Mr. Street. Eight o'clock," came +the mellifluous cadences.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning," I replied. "This is the last time you +will call me, so I want to say good-by, and thank you. +You and the other operator always say 'good-night' +and 'good-morning' very pleasantly and I wish you to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[ 510]</a></span> +know I have appreciated it. And when <i>you</i> call me you +always do so by name. That has pleased me too."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said—and oh! the dulcet tone in +which she spoke the words.</p> + +<p>"How did you happen to know my name?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she replied—and seemed to hesitate for just an +instant—"Mr. Woods has given us instructions always +to call by name."</p> + +<p>"You mean in my case?" I asked, somewhat nervously.</p> + +<p>"In making all morning calls," she explained. "At +night, when the night operator isn't busy, she takes the +call list, gets the names of the people, and notes them +down opposite the room numbers so that I can read them +off, when I ring, in the morning. Mr. Woods says that +it makes guests feel more at home."</p> + +<p>"It does," I assured her sadly. Then, in justice, I +added: "Nevertheless you have a most agreeable +voice."</p> + +<p>"It's very kind of you to speak of it," she returned.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said I. "I am writing something about +San Francisco, and I want to know your name so that +I can mention you as the owner of the voice."</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "are you a writer?"</p> + +<p>"I am," I declared firmly.</p> + +<p>"And you're really going to mention me?"</p> + +<p>"I am if you will give me your name."</p> + +<p>"It's Lulu Maguire," she said. "Will you let me +know when it comes out?"</p> + +<p>"I will," said I.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[ 511]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thank you very much," she answered. "I hope +you'll come again."</p> + +<p>"I hope so too."</p> + +<p>Then we said good-by. And though I cannot say of +the angel-voiced Miss Maguire that she taught me about +women, she did teach me something about writers, and +something else about hotels.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I had always fancied that an unbroken flight across +the continent would prove fatiguing and seem very, very +long, but however others may have found it, it seemed +short to me.</p> + +<p>Looking back over the run from the Pacific Coast to +Chicago I feel as though it had consumed but a night +and one long, interesting day—a day full of changing +scenes and episodes. The three things I remember best +about the journey are the beauty of the Bad Lands, +the wonderful squab guinea chicken I had, one night, +for dinner, in the dining car, and the pretty girl with +the demure expression and the mischievous blue eyes, +who, before coming aboard at a little western station, +kissed a handsome young cattleman good-by, and who, +having later made friends with a gay young blade upon +the train, kissed him good-by, also, when they parted on +the platform in Chicago.</p> + +<p>Railroad travel in the West does not seem so machine-like +as in the East. That is true in many ways. West +of Chicago you do not feel that your train is sand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[ 512]</a></span>wiched +in between two other trains, one just ahead, the +other just behind. You run for a long time without +passing another train, and when you do pass one, it is +something in the nature of an event, like passing another +ship, at sea. So, also, on the train, the relations between +passengers and crew are not merely mechanical. +You feel that the conductor is a human being, +and that the dining-car conductor is distinctly a nice +fellow.</p> + +<p>But once you pass Chicago, going east, the individuality +of train officials ceases to be felt. They become +automatons, very efficient, but cold as cogs in a machine. +As for you, you are a unit, to be transported and fed, +and they do transport and feed you, doing it all impartially +and impersonally, performing their duties with +the most rigid decorum, and the most cold-blooded correctness.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;"> +<img src="images/illus630.png" width="450" height="659" alt="New York—Everyone is in a hurry. Everyone is dodging everyone +else. Everyone is trying to keep his knees from being knocked by swift-passing +suitcases" title="" /> +<span class="caption">New York—Everyone is in a hurry. Everyone is dodging everyone +else. Everyone is trying to keep his knees from being knocked by swift-passing +suitcases</span> +</div> + +<p>Even the food in the dining-car seems to be standardized. +The dishes look differently, and vary mildly in +flavor, but there is one taste running through everything, +as though the whole meal were made from some +basic substance, colored and flavored in different ways, +to create a variety of courses. The great primary taste +of eastern dining-car food is, as nearly as I can hit on +it, that of wet paper. The oysters seem to be made of +slippery wet paper with oyster-flavor added. The soup +is a sort of creamy essence of manilla. The chicken +is damp paper, ground up, soaked with chicken-extract, +and pressed into the form of a deceased bird. And,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[ 513]</a></span> +above all, the salad is green tissue-paper, soaked in vinegar +and water.</p> + +<p>As with the officials, so with the passengers. They +become frigid, too. If, forgetting momentarily that +you are no longer in the West, you speak to the gentleman +who has the seat beside you in the buffet smoker, +after dinner, he takes a long appraising look at you before +replying. Then, after answering you briefly, and +in such a way as to give you as little information as possible, +and to impress upon you the idea that you have +been guilty of gross familiarity in speaking to a social +superior without having first been spoken to by him—then +the gentleman will rise from his chair and move to +another seat, feeling, the while, to make sure that you +have not got his watch.</p> + +<p>That, gentle reader, is the sweet spirit of the civilized +East. Easterners regard men with whom they are +not personally acquainted as potential pickpockets; and +men with whom they are acquainted as established +thieves.</p> + +<p>On you rush towards the metropolis. The train is +crowded. The farms, flying past, are small, and are +divided into little fields which look cramped after the +great open areas of the West. Towns and cities flash +by, one after another, in quick succession, as the floors +flash by an express elevator, shooting down, its shaft +in a skyscraper; and where there are no towns there +are barns painted with advertisements, and great advertising +signboards disfiguring the landscape. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[ 514]</a></span> +are four tracks now. A passenger train roars by, savagely, +on one side, and is gone, while on the other, a +half-mile freight train tugs and squeaks and clatters.</p> + +<p>When the porter calls you in the morning, and you +raise your window shade, you see no plains or mountains, +but the backs of squalid suburban tenements, with +vari-colored garments fluttering on their clothes lines, +like the flags of some ship decked for a gala day.</p> + +<p>Gathering yourself and your dusty habiliments together, +you sneak shamefully to the washroom. Already +it is full of men: men in trousers and undershirt, men +with tousled hair and stubble chins, men with bags and +dressing-cases spread out on the seats, splattering men, +who immerse their faces in the swinging suds of the +nickel-plated washbowl, and snort like seals in the aquarium.</p> + +<p>Ah, the East! The throbbing, thriving, thickly-populated +East!</p> + +<p>Presently you get your turn at a sloppy washbowl, +after which you slip into the stale clothing of the day +before, and return to the body of the car, feeling half +washed, half dressed and half dead.</p> + +<p>Outside are factories, and railroad yards, and everywhere +tall black chimneys, vomiting their heavy, muddy +smoke. But always the train glides on like some swift, +smooth river. Now the track is elevated, now depressed. +You run over bridges or under them, crossing +streets and other railroads. At last you dive into a +tunnel and presently emerging, coast slowly along be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[ 515]</a></span>side +an endless concrete platform raised to the level of +the car floor.</p> + +<p>Your bags have long since been carried away by the +Pullman porter, and you have sat for many minutes in +the hot car, wearing the overcoat and hat into which he +insisted upon putting you when you were yet many miles +outside New York.</p> + +<p>Before the train stops you are in the narrow passage-way +at the end of the car, lined-up with others eager to +escape. The Redcaps run beside the vestibule. That +is one good thing: there are always plenty of porters in +New York.</p> + +<p>The Pullman porter hands your bags to a station porter, +and you hand the Pullman porter something which +elicits a swift: "Thank you, boss."</p> + +<p>Then, through the crowd, you make your way, behind +your Redcap, towards the taxi-stand. In the great concourse, +people are rushing hither and thither. Every +one is in a hurry. Every one is dodging every one else. +Every one is trying to keep his knees from being knocked +by swift-passing suitcases. You feel dazed, rushed, +jostled.</p> + +<p>It is always the same, the arrival in New York. The +stranger setting foot there for the first time may, perhaps, +sense more keenly than the returning resident, the +magnificent fury of the city. But, upon reaching the +metropolis after a period of exile, the most confirmed +New Yorker must, unless his perceptions are quite ossified, +feel his imagination quicken as he is again con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[ 516]</a></span>fronted +by the whirling, grinding, smashing, shrieking, +seething, writhing, glittering, hellish splendor of the +City of New York.</p> + +<p>Never before, it seemed to me, had I felt the impact +of the city as when I moved through the crowded concourse +of the Pennsylvania Terminal with my companion—the +comrade of so many trains and tickets, so many +miles and meals.</p> + +<p>We were at our journey's end. We were in New +York again at last and would be in our respective homes +as soon as taxicabs could take us to them. But, eager +as I was to reach my home, it was with a kind of pang +that I realized that now, for the first time in months, we +would not drive away together in the same taxicab, but +would part here, at the taxi-stand, and go our separate +ways; that we would not dine together that night, nor +sup together, nor visit in each other's rooms to talk over +the day's doings, before turning in, nor breakfast together +in the morning, nor match coins to determine +who should pay for things.</p> + +<p>When the first taxi came up there were politenesses +between us as to which should take it—that in itself bespoke +the change already coming over us.</p> + +<p>I persuaded him to get in. We shook hands hurriedly +through the window. Then, with a jerk, the taxi +started.</p> + +<p>As I watched it drive away, I thought: "What a fine +thing to know that man as I know him! Have I always +been as considerate of him, on this trip, as I should have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[ 517]</a></span> +been? Was it right for me to insist on his staying up +that night, in San Francisco, when he wanted to go to +bed? Was it right for me to insist on his going to bed +that night, in Excelsior Springs, when he wanted to stay +up? Shouldn't I have taken more interest in his packing? +And if I had done so, would he have left his razor +in one hotel, and his pumps in another, and his bathrobe +in another, and his kodak in another, and his umbrella +in another, and his silver shoehorn in another, and his +trousers in another, and his pajamas in every hotel we +stopped in?"</p> + +<p>Then my taxi drove up and I got in, and as we scurried +out into the congested street, I kept on ruminating over +my treatment of my traveling companion.</p> + +<p>"I never treated him badly," I thought. "Still, if I +had it all to do over again I should treat him better. I +should tuck him in at night. I should send his shoes +to be polished and his clothes to be pressed. I should +perform all kinds of little services for him—not because +he deserves such treatment, but because that would get +him under obligations to me. And it is a most desirable +thing to get a man under obligations to you when he +knows as much about you as that man knows about me!"</p> + + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABROAD AT HOME***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 35965-h.txt or 35965-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/5/9/6/35965">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/9/6/35965</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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