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THE FIELD QLASS

GYPSYI NG

G. M.

DENRltH

CMUA VWA.

DENRICH PRESS

Chula Vista, California

1917

by Denrich Press

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"GIPSYING"

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perched here on the edfce of the sea-

I

E went just because, when we tried to leave him in the lobby of the hotel, he had smiled with a shade of wistfulness (discernible to the ladies) and said, with one hand on Gasoline's shoulder, "I shall be a bit lonely out in this strange and ungod- ly country. It would make me very happy to have you all here with

I me.

So what would you? Every Californian has a warm spot in his heart somewhere, — even your real estate a&ent; and we feel responsible for the tenderfoot. Besides, he

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ss

was a Philadelpliian and a very superior bein&, and The Cautious Lady's third cousin by marriage. ("Some close re- lationship!" Gasoline commented lacon- ically. "Third Cousin must feel that he is in the bosom of his family." Somehow the disrespectful name stuck, in spite of The Cautious Lady's reproof and the amused protest of the gentle- man in question.)

We therefore packed our suitcases and drove over to the hotel, trying, more or less successfully to fei&n the manner of millionaires. "Only," said Gasoline, "I don't like to be taken for the chauffeur."

At dinner that ni&ht VG wished to know quite suddenly why Third Cousin thought our country "ungodly."

"Because," he smiled, "I feel it in my bones that I am &oing> to be bewitched, totally against my will and better judg- ment. I have always been told that Californians were liars; and, to tell the truth, I expected as much from the pre- posterous claims in your advertising stuff. No spot could be as perfect as you say this is. But now that you have &ot me here, and hustled me across the

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bay into this strip of loveliness, a para- dise of trees and flowers perched here on the ed&e of the sea, where by all the rules of nature there ou&ht only to be sand and rocks, I be&in to suspect that it is not deception that you practice, but the black art."

"There is a sort of witchcraft about southern California, " laughed The Cautious Lady. "I felt it when I first came. But years a&o I ceased to stru&&le against it. It doesn't really hurt one, you know."

"So you like the hotel?" The Man of Affairs asked.

Third Cousin spread out his hands. "I sit here in hopeless admiration," he said. "We simply do not do this sort of thin& in the east. There a hotel is a hotel, and here — "

"And here," The Man of Affairs went on, "it is more like one of your best clubs back home, — at least this one is. You do not &et the hotel atmosphere at all, you observe."

"Why no," he agreed, "neither in the perfect service you &et nor in the whole effect of the place. Just take this room, for example. What wild whim ever

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prompted a business man to spend on this woodwork the thousands that it must have cost? The thought is stag&er- in&. And all for droves of people who doubtless seldom look above their plates."

We sat at one end of the lon& dining room, the door by which we had enter- ed preposterously far away. VG raised her eyes to the solid paneling of the walls and ceiling, darkening slowly with a&e. "It is rather fine," she said.

We who live in San Die&o take Hotel del Coronado as a matter of course. ("Perfect mouthful of a name!" Third Cousin had grumbled with a wry face as we came over on the ferry.) It lies spread out across the bay, self-satisfied, resplendent, something to be accepted placidly like the courthouse or the street- car system. We know that it is the center of our social doings; that the newspapers would pine and languish without it. We take it as a matter of course that our charity balls should be held there and our fashionable musicales; that the place should swarm delightfully at all times with youn& officers and old officers; that the ferry should be filled

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with the bi& silent cars of wealthy peo- ple stopping at the hotel, leaving scant room for our ice wagons and little Fords; that all the youn& people in town who are smart or wish to be flock over to Coronado to watch the tennis, &olf , and polo, in the happy belief that they are thereby rubbing elbows with the smart set; that all year through the newspapers should chronicle the arrival and publish in delightfully ' informal fashion the doin&s of all manner of exhiliratin& people,f rom English noblemen to Indiana novelists and sportsmen from Honolulu. But as to the place itself and what it is really like, we seldom &ive it a thought.

Something of this we conveyed to Third Cousin, as well as the perfunctory information that the hotel had been built some thirty years a&o, — when San Die&o was still a stru&&lin&, booming little piece of insignificance, — with &reat difficulty and at a stupendous cost; and that ever since then the town had been endeavor- ing to live up to it.

Third Cousin laughed. "It is doin& very well," he conceded.

It was in the tea garden that afternoon that he asked a question that all tourists

" — you can walk-

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ask as a matter of form. (The tea garden, by the way, moved him to genuine rav- ing,. "A perfect Japanese fairyland!" he exclaimed. "How were they ever ahle to make a thin& so exquisite?") "And what do people do here in their spare moments?" he asked.

We replied somewhat in unison.

"You can swim, in the plunge, the ocean, and the bay," I be&an; "you have only to cross the road from one to the other. And you can &o yachting, rowing, canoeing, motor boating, bi-planing,, or aqua-planing on the bay — "

' 'Or &o in for fishing, ' ' went on Gasoline, "all kinds, from dabbling off the pier here to real deep sea fishing out beyond the point. Tuna, and all that."

"And you can walk and dance," VG went on with the list, "or &o over to the country club, and play polo, &olf, and tennis. We have some corking matches. McLaughlin—"

"Or ride horseback," I droned on.

Third Cousin raised his hands in dis- may. "My dear children!" he protested. "I am super-middle-a&ed. These things are not for me."

VG started to tell him crisply that if

■to dawdle in the checkered sunli&ht of the patio-

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he would use his eyes a bit he would see that in this part of the world they are for much older men; hut The Cautious Lady interposed soothingly, "Or you can &o over to San Die&o — it takes only twenty minutes — and shop, or visit the Exposition and the parks, and attend concerts and the theatre, and some of the really fine lectures — "

Her last word started The Man of Affairs. "Or," he said hastily, "you can lounge around the hotel ri&ht here. It s darned comfortable, you know." He loved to dawdle in the checkered sun- light of the patio with a magazine and a comfortable chair. "You can read here, and write letters in some peace. Or sit on the verandah and listen to the orches- tra. Then, when you want to, you can &o into the casino for bowling and billiards. Just make yourself at home generally, you know. This is one place where you are allowed to, and nobody bothers or stands around staring."

We lapsed into silence, more or less winded. But still Third Cousin look- ed vaguely unsatisfied. After a pause Gasoline remarked mildly, "And of course you can always motor.' '

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Third Cousin turned, a &leam of sud- den interest in his eye. "Motor? Yes," he exclaimed, "but is there any place to &o?"

Is there any place to &o, with over four thousand miles of the most beautiful roads in the country at our very door! We shouted aloud in the joy of our dis- covery. He was a kindred spirit. We could &et out the car and take to the trail a&ain, showing him our old haunts, exploring new ones, making him an ex- cuse for the thin& we wanted most to do.

'—and take to the trail afcain-

II

OUT by the old mission we sat in the weeds at the top of the hill and &azed at the poor tumbledown thin&. The first of the chain, it has a ri&ht, I suppose, to its look of unhappy old a&e. The crumbling walls still retain some measure of their charm; but unless the restorer hurries he will find only a heap of adobe.

We were on our way to Linda Vista, and had only paused a moment for a glimpse at this, San Die&o's oldest land- mark. Once more on out through Murphy Canon, we told Third Cousin something of San Die&o's enthusiasm over the can- tonment. At first it was a bit of a disappointment. Camp Kearny then was only a &reat smear of dust against the sky, darkened by the swearing workmen and lon& lines of mules. By October, we were told, it would be transformed, and thousands of youn& Americans mi&ht be seen training to serve their colors.

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Handkerchiefs to noses, we departed ri&ht gladly, and turned over to the coast and La Jolla, where Third Cousin was entranced with the cliffs and dark caves. The latter, he said, were not unlike the Blue Grotto at Capri. We had heard this comparison before, hut it always pleases us. Standing hi&h up on one of the cliffs, we watched the thrones of bathers in the sheltered cove below. La Jolla has a little colony that is loyal all through the year; but in summer the place swarms.

Hurrying back to the hotel, woefully late for lunch, we were almost annoyed at Third Cousin's interest in the adobe hut and ruins scattered through Old Town. We did point out to him the old Estudillo house, where Ramona was married, but regretted our &raciousness the next moment, for he would stop. While the rest of us sat outside and laughed at the sad-eyed Mexican chil- dren that at a word of encouragement clambered happily over the machine, The Cautious Lady took him in and showed him the old Spanish house and garden, typical of California in another day and a&e. Though the place is some-

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thin& of a museum now, it has not lost its atmosphere. It was quite as interesting to him as Tia Juana, the little Mexican town across the border, where we took him not many days later. (The bumpy, rutty roads there may have discolored his vision.) He &ave only a passing glance at the bi& race track where, during the season, there is a &ood bit of gaiety, and perchance wickedness, of a sort. All the way back to the hotel we told him lurid stories of opium smu£&lin& and the dark midnight activity of the police. But he was unimpressed, and showed more in- terest in the idea of a bath and a change of linen.

"This hotel is so peaceful and quiet that I would hardly know another &uest was here," he said contentedly, later in the evening, as he joined us in the patio.

"That is partly because of size,1' said The Cautious Lady. "Here, for instance, there may be a dozen or more people in this court besides ourselves for all we know." As a matter of fact we heard a woman's occasional lau&h from the other side of the bi& garden, and the &low of a ci&ar through the trees. But our little

entranced with the cliffs-

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&roup was left unnoticed and undis- turbed.

"I take it that the place is patronized mainly by elderly people?" Third Cousin queried after a time.

"Come into the ballroom and see,1' VG su^ested.

It was Saturday and there was danc- ing. Elderly people most certainly there were, fox trotting and sitting in the sun- parlor surrounding the hu&e circular floor; but there were more pretty &irls and tall youn& officers.

Third Cousin showed so much interest in the latter that we took him next day up to the naval training camp at the Exposition. As we went over on the ferry we pointed out to him North Island, lyin& across the bay from San Die&o, and told him of the government aviation school there, and of how a vast deal of attention was bein& centered on the place in war circles. Social circles, too, I mi&ht have added, but thought better of it. At all hours the hum of the aeroplanes can be heard, flying over the bay and city. San Die&ans no longer so much as raise their eyes to watch them.

The whole town swarms with soldiers

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and sailors; for, as VG remarked, there are five bi& camps of them here, all within a radius of twenty miles. Those that are quartered in the Exposition grounds will not soon forget their luck. Third Cousin wandered through the place for hours; we could not pull him away. He seemed to find all San Die&o's parks charming, perhaps because they are not formal or too highly cultivated. "You are wise not to try to do the sort of thin& that we do in the eastern parks," he said; "for though you could do it quite as well and perhaps better, we could not do this at all."

His remark somehow reminded us of Grossmont, where most certainly people have done something unlike the east. There celebrities do not flock together and build their perches on a ru&&ed mountain, hi&h above comfort- able mankind, putting themselves to no end of bother just for the sake of the view. Without more ado we drove out with him and made the climb, noting that Madame Schumann-Heink peered from her back window as we passed. The road is &ood, and one ascends and descends by different routes, a fact

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which cheered the Cautious Lady more than a little.

At the summit we must needs climb the last hi&h boulder, &lad of the hand rail that helped us up the slippery thin&. From the top we saw the country spread for miles on all sides of us; the lovely little lotus-filled lake at the foot of the hill, on through El Cajon valley to the mountains beyond; and, to the west and south, the ocean and the Mexican hills.

"I should like to come up here some- time during a heavy rain," VG mused at length, eyes half closed. Gasoline started the car. 'You'll come on foot then," he said grimly.

■that helped us up the slippery thin&."

'—still standing sturdily on the highest bit of ground"

Ill

TH E moon was full the ni&ht we saw the youn& theosophists play "A Midsummer Ni&ht's Dream." The brilliant lights of the little temple that served as sta&e were hardly needed. We had seen the play before in this same luminous setting, with these same beautiful youn& actors; but we sat forward tensely in our seats until the last fairy had danced out of si&ht down the canon. Not till then did Third Cousin move. "I can never see it a&ain under a roof," he said.

The Greek theatre is smaller than the hu&e one at Berkeley; but it is, if possi- ble, even more exquisitely beautiful in its setting of vivid &reen, with the ocean booming up through the canon. The international headquarters of the theoso- phists are at Point Loma; — beautiful :>uildin&s, and acres of still more beauti- ful grounds. There they conduct their schools and colleges and brin& up their

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children, tending quite strictly to tkeir own business, receiving all visitors graciously and freely, but keeping their own counsel pretty much.

"Let their tenets alone," the Cautious Lady replied to Third Cousin's first question. "They help to make life lovely."

As we waited for the lon& line of machines ahead of us to &et into motion, he cleared his throat and spoke almost hesitatingly. "Would you think me very much of an old fool," he said, " if I asked you to drive out to the end of the point with me a&ain tonight? "

We had taken him there one afternoon a week or more before, and his very silence had shown the depth of his im- pression. The experience moves one, but not to words. On three sides of the hu&e cliff the water had flittered in the sun, an illimitable stretch of blue. Across the bay the city had risen in the pale tints of a Jules Guerin print, the moun- tains behind it piled ran&e upon ran&e until the Cuyamacas faded into haze.

Tonight the road was bewitched by moonlight, and the old lighthouse, still standing sturdily on the highest bit of

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ground, seemed pure white against the blackness of the cliffs. Its modern suc- cessor winks its colored lights out over the water from a spot close down to the shore, at the foot of the point.

We stood at the ed&e of Suicide Cliff (some dark story must &o with the name) and looked down over the bay. A steam- er was rounding the point, and the harbor was full of lighted craft of various sorts. We had little difficulty in picking out the hotel and the lon& string of twinkling lights that meant Tent City. In the other direction, far out in the ocean, we could just see the dark specks of fishing boats, — a &reat fleet of them. Next morning, if we chanced to wake early and glance out of our bedroom windows, we mi&ht see them coming in through the fb&.

We were almost home before Third Cousin spoke. "You have not exaggerat- ed that drive, "he said; and added, perhaps half a mile farther, "I suppose you would if you could."

•celebrated its hundredth anniversary that month."

IV

LITTLE Pala Mission celebrated its hundredth anniversary that month. For three days and nights the Indians and their white friends prayed, feasted, and danced in honor of the event, while newspaper reporters walked ahout and moving picture men turned their cameras.

All day lon& we had rubbed elbows with dirty Indians, sticky, perspiring, smelling frightfully of garlic and other strange Mexican things; first in the rude little chapel where rather Doyle con- ducted the service, the Indians kneeling devoutly on the floor, while two dozen or more Americans, some fashionable, some curious, others sympathetic, stood in a &roup by the door; then, at the barbecue, where The Cautious Lady shuddered and Third Cousin was amused, but at least the Indians and their dofes were happy; and later, when Juan Sotelo Culac, the Rincon Indian feather dancer,

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did his la ta-ta-huila in the middle o£ a dusty circle of stamping,, &rowlin&, chant- ing Indians, pressing forward in one &reat breath-destroying mass.

Warm we were, and dirty; but the experience was worth such slight dis- comforts, — though The Cautious Lady pronounced the baby show a distinct disappointment, and took more interest in photographing the indifferent grand- mother of one of the sticky contestants.

We drove down to Vista that ni&ht; the seventy miles into San Die&o would have too lon& delayed the hot wa- ter and soap we needed. At the clean cool inn we tumbled into bed like sleepy puppies, and ate next morning a well- nifeh incapacitating breakfast.

we had draped Third Cousin up to Pala without apology or excuse, setting our alarms for four o'clock, and hurry- ing out in the chill of early morning in order to be in time for hi&h mass at the quaint little chapel. We expected him to be interested but hardly enthusiastic; for there is nothing spectacularly beauti- ful about the trip. But something of the ma&ic in the clear air, or the sweet tan& of the shrubs &rowin& in the winding

r*pr "%r

"—indifferent grandmother of a sticky contestant.'

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river valleys, or the dense tangle of California growth throu&h which the road sometimes cut, must have &ot into his hlood; for all the next day he asked questions ahout our back country and the mountains.

Since he was really interested, we took him over to San Luis Rey, at one time the most flourishing of the missions. Though it has been restored and is quite prosperous, it is still beautiful; and the graveyard has happily been left un- touched.

A barefooted Mexican friar guided us through the building, showing us a few of the relics of the place, a little book of Father Peyri's, and some of the hu£e old choir missals, beautifully illuminated on parchment, and heavily studded with brass. ("They look like hope chests!" I heard VG hiss into The Cautious Lady's ear. Our &uide caught the last words and smiled pleasantly. uYe-es, a small trunk," he agreed.)

Brother Giles was most courteous and patient with us, a rather talkative and heedless &roup of pilgrims, I am afraid.

That ni&ht, back once more at the ho- tel, as we drank our coffee in the lobby

Brother Giles almost escaped from the picture.

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and listened to the music coming from the mezzanine floor above, we wondered what had become of Third Cousin. He had disappeared since dinner, and it was not until late in the evening that he joined us a&ain.

"I have just made a most extraordinary discovery," he said, seeking, to surprise us with something we had known all along,. "The gentleman I have been talk- ing to so much is John Hernan, the manager of this hotel. Such a thin& had not occurred to me. A most interesting man, with original ideas about his work; I like him. Did you know that the Montessori school here at the hotel is his own project?"

"That is only one of the many things he does for the youngsters," The Cautious Lady replied. "I wish that you could be here in the winter and see the Christmas tree that he has for all the children in Coronado, small Japanese and negroes as well as poor little rich girls'. The de- light they take in being, all mixed up together is amusing. As a rule I pity hotel children. Poor little things! Rest- less, bored, missing all the wholesome side of life. But here it is very different;

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the little ones can be quite happy and healthy. Really, I can truthfully say that I have never seen another hotel where I would be willing to keep a small child for a week."

"Yet the little pests never seem to be around," The Man of Affairs breathed thankfully.

"Good enough reason why," VG answered with indignation. "They are off enjoying themselves where they can't be contaminated by &rown-ups."

"A hotel manager with ideals," Third Cousin mused, still thinking of Mr. Hernan.

"You will find a few such here in California," The Cautious Lady told him; "men who &et the best out of their work. They are often of widely different types. I hope you can meet more of them before you &o back; Frank Miller of the Mission Inn, Edward Davis at Mesa Grande. They are sometimes scholars as well as gentlemen."

Third Cousin was impatient to be&in preparations for our back country wan- derings (albeit hopelessly ignorant in the matter of machines and California trav- el); and with the aid of road maps secured

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from Mr. Hernan (who is more than kind to the motor enthusiasts stopping at the hotel, — and there are many of them, asking for all sorts of favors; the hiring, of machines for them at the &ar- a£e, the making of reservations at the various wayside inns), we laid plans and discussed routes far into the ni&ht.

V

WE &ot into the mountains lon& before the first freshness of the morning was &one. After one &ood &rade, that lifted us suddenly hi&h ahove the placid farming country we had just come through, we sniffed a heady freshness in the air that made us happy in the mere feel of the road beneath us and the spread of the sky ahove. To rush pell-mell at our wanderings in this headlong fashion is not much like the feypsyin& of our sometime ancestors. But perhaps the spirit of the thin& is less modernized than the flesh.

Stopping at the Willows to fill our thermos bottles at the spring and ex- change jokes with the &ood natured Walkers, we cast an appreciative eye at the dense shade of the bi& oaks; but it could not tempt us from the open road. On up Veijas &rade we hurried quite heedlessly, little caring what hap- pened if we but made the real mountains

— in the mere feel of the road beneath us-

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and the bi& trees first. I suppose The Cautious Lady cared; hut nothing did happen.

There may he those who cannot sense the almost delirious charm of Descanso and the Cuyamaca mountains. Poor weak spirits; let them &o! I imagine San Die&o is full of old salts who cannot hear to leave the sea for an hour. But there are some few living creatures ohsessed with a craving for hoth extremes. They ou&ht surely to live in San Die&o, where the ocean is in si&ht, and the mountains in reach of their feet.

There are several bi& tree-shadowed ranches at Descanso, where one may stop for an hour or a month. (Usually the former time, with lon&in&s after the latter.) But Mr. Hernan had had a lunch put up for us at the hotel, — such an ex- travagant, toothsome lunch; and we knew quite well that, no matter how lon& we mi&ht be delayed by engine trouble or possible blowouts, we would eat at Cuyamaca. As a matter of fact we reached the lake quite easily by noon; but, wavering helplessly amon& a dozen or more tempting spots, we finally kept on to a certain hi&h, not-far-distant place

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we knew, where one may sit in the dry &rass heside the road and look down on the Salton Sea, a mere shimmer in the distance. We sat there, peaceful, loath to move, until driven forth by a sudden stream of hu&e red ants. They would, I am convinced, turn up inopportunely in Paradise!

Loving the Cuyamacas too much to deface them or risk the destruction of even one old sycamore or towering pine, we burned all our trash, forcing Gasoline to squat in the road with the canvas water ba& until the last ember of our lovely lunch had been extin- guished. (We tell this not to laud ourselves, but to encourage others to like uprightness!)

We passed through Julian, the apple country, — but it was too late for the blossoms and too early for the apples, — and stopped for fresh water at Pine Hills Lod&e, where we had difficulty in &ettin& VG away; for she scurried about madly with sketchbook and kodak, in despair at bein& torn from so much &ood copy. (She says that word does not apply to an artist's profession.)

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It is heartbreaking to be dashed help- lessly from one delight to another. The way to travel through this country is on foot, with a pack mule somewhere discreetly in the background. Neither Gasoline nor The Man of Affairs agrees in this view. And Third Cousin looked scornful. "Walk," he protested, "in a country like this? Why, it's a motor paradise. I had no idea that we would find such perfect mountain roads. Poway — that is the name of the amaz- ing &rade you took me over last week, is it not? — is a triumph of engineering."

To tell the truth, we are proud of our roads in this county.

We had half thought of &oin& on to Warner's Hot Springs that ni&ht, though the ladies voted determinedly for Mesa Grande. Gasoline, with a masculine de- sire to explore new fields, held out for Warner's until I remarked somewhat disingenuously that Mesa Grande was cherry country.

We &ot to Powam Lod&e in the lon&- shadow time of the afternoon, when everything was glorified, and quite fell in love before we had time to feet out of the car with Prince, the fat old collie,

'—scurried about madly—'

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who keeps his nose skinned di&&in& for squirrels, but takes time to meet every &uest with &rave hospitality. Fine old fellow; it would be unendurable not to find him there. But that is how one feels about everything at Powam Lod&e.

Third Cousin stared incredulously at the polished floors, the beautiful ru&s, the &rand piano, the books and maga- zines. To find hot and cold water and a perfect dining room service at a lod&e some sixty miles in the mountains as- tounded him. "I wish you could see some of the country inns we have to put up with at home! " he exclaimed.

He had protested warnin&ly against bein& kept overnight at "some miserable shack of a hotel". "I think you can be comfortable at Powam Lod&e," The Man of Affairs had replied mildly. We explained in due time one of the pecul- iarities of southern California, the fact that scattered throughout the country, however far one may penetrate, there are inns or public ranch houses, comfort- able, clean, hospitable, — some of them masterpieces of ima&ination,?as at Mesa Grande.

When we went up to our rooms that

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nig>ht we found in each of them baskets of the bi& red mountain cherries, with cards bearing our names, the ^ifts of the owner and his charming wife. Third Cousin was speechless. 'Where do people learn to do such gracious thin&s," he cried. "Is there something in the air here that makes them &row differently, or is it really ma&ic?"

I should have eaten those cherries had I died for it!

Mr. Davis is the Indian man of the county; not because he isn't a perfectly upright American, but because he, more than any other not of their own race, knows the • Indians and understands them, and can make them come to him and obey like little children. One can learn much of history and of psychology at his lod&e.

Considerably before we were ready to leave we took to the road a&ain, and were plunged forthwith onto an aston- ishing &rade of such surpassing loveli- ness that The Cautious Lady's natural fears were lost in delight, and only once did she recollect herself in time to &et out and walk over a bad turn. Gasoline was unnecessarily amused.

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He acted as if he, and not the Almighty, had put something over on her.

At the foot of the &rade, when we had crossed the Santa Ysabel creek, we stopped to let Gasoline rest. He had driven us at a snail's pace, with his foot on the brake, for fourteen lon& miles. Those who are poor-spirited and craven and prefer smooth comfort to esthetic delight may fco to Mesa Grande by an- other route!

We went on down through Ramona, a hot little hole (beg&in& the forgiveness of the inhabitants), and the dense tangle of San Pasqual canon beyond, where Kit Carson's men fought their battle with the Mexicans; a wild spot, full of poison oak and rattlers, mayhap, but lovely!

We did not stop at Escondido, a thriving little town in the middle of a pretty valley, but went on to Vista for lunch (we are &ettin& into the habit of eating there), with an eye to the cool breeze that always filters up that valley.

You see, we had gradually been working back to the coast. I sniffed its salt on our return with the same joy with which we had greeted the mountains.

'—meet Spanish romance — '

VI

SO O N E R or later we a&ain drifted up to the Mission Inn. Third Cousin Jiad to see it, — although he did not know that! We wanted him to walk in unwarned, as we once had. Well, the experiment was successful. We saw Philadelphia decorum meet Spanish romance and &o down before it.

While he wandered ahout, satisfied hut inarticulate, we undertook to see a hit of the surrounding country this time. Riverside never allows itself to &o to seed. The lovely drives, the parks, the orchards, the city streets are all in order. But I like our own country better; I should miss its wildness and ru^edness at Riverside.

One evening just before dinner Gasoline, VG, and I climbed Mount Rubidoux. We started out decorously enough in the machine; but following a sudden whim of VG's left it at the foot of the &rade and scrambled up the trail

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that short cuts to the top in some twen- ty minutes. The machine road offers one of the easiest climbs in the state, I fancy. It is wide and smooth, with a comforting little stone fence at the ed&e. But that evening we felt like playing pilgrim.

While one climbs it, Rubidoux is a scra^&y thing, like any other California mountain; but at the top it emerges sud- denly in a splendid pile of rock. We sat for a lon& time at the foot of the cross, watching the valleys around us change under the sunset.

The cross is for Father Serra; and &ettin& up to &o, we read its inscription in the fading li&ht:

Fra Junipero Serra 1713-1784

Dedicated April 26, 1907

By

Rt. Rev. Thomas James Conaty

Bishop of Monterey and Los Angeles

In the presence of

Many People.

—emerged suddenly in a splendid pile of rocks.

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All &ood thin&s come to an end, and one clear morning we started for Los Angeles, feeling very pleasantly toward the world. But through some mistake, — I dare not even yet say whose, — we blundered onto the wron& road; and not until we reached Claremont did we manage to turn over to the Foothill Boulevard, that entrancing stretch of perfect highway heloved of speeders and timid people (for somewhat different reasons!). By that time we were quarrel- ing quite violently. Words ran hi&h. It was a &ood quarrel, the first we had had since Third Cousin joined us. We enjoyed it.

We went on to Los Angeles not speaking, less appreciative of the charms of Pasadena than we mi&ht otherwise have been! But at luncheon we were revived somewhat.

The Cautious Lady loathes Los An&eles. She hates its noise and con- fusion, its narrow streets, its reckless drivers, its peculiar traffic laws and indifferent policemen. We did not linger there.

But it was fairly late in the day, nevertheless, when we started; for VG

"Pretty fair," we agreed easily —

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had delayed us in the pursuit of various small feminine necessities, the purchas- ing of which she went about with &reat cheerfulness and leisure. Trusting that speed cops and arrest were remote possi- bilities, Gasoline gradually sank lower in his seat and indulged to the full his lon& repressed desire, — though with one incredulous ear turned toward the hack seat, where The Cautious Lady for once was sitting,. But she and Third Cousin talked too busily to notice. "She doesn't know how fast I'm &oin& unless she sees the speedometer," grinned Gasoline, and speeded up an- other notch.

"Uncommonly fine road,1 'Third Cousin interrupted once to remark, when mile after mile of the smooth highway had slipped behind us.

"Pretty fair," we agreed easily, blase on the subject of roads. To us, the coast highway between Los Angeles and San Die&o, marvelous as it is, with its prosperous orchards and pretty towns, is rather tame.

We stopped for a few minutes at San Juan Capistrano, that loveliest of the missions, &lad to have seen it before

—that loveliest of the missions-

-for a Touchstone and his Audrey—'

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dozen or so building sites up on the hill, only to hear that it has already been sold to some eastern millionaire or artist.

Del Mar roads ramble at will. We wound about in them, lost to a sense of direction, lost to a sense of everything but our ever recurring, delight in the cliffs and the ra^ed trees and the blue water below us. Many spots have one of these charms; Del Mar has them all.

All manner of houses are tucked away amon& the trees; a tiny Japanese affair plucked bodily from some art shop; the squat and rambling California bungalow at its best; a hu&e and formal country residence done elaborately in cement. And everywhere trees. One woman has cut a hole in her roof that a &reat old eucalyptus may &row on un- disturbed. Would that all our city fathers had her vision! In due time we took Third Cousin over to the Stratford Theatre, rejoicing in his exclamation of surprise. Greek theatres, amphitheatres, stadiums abound in southern California. But Stratford is a spot set aside by nature for pageantry, a perfect back- ground for a Touchstone and his Audrey. Man's work is hardly visible.

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"I should not stir one step from here," Third Cousin said almost regretfully at luncheon, "if I had not come to think of Coronado as home, and the hotel there almost as my own. It's a deuced bother to have so many places pulling at your heartstrings at once. You should be

content with one And

they are so preposterously &ood to you there," he added as we drove away, looking hack at the bi& inn in its setting, of &or&eous cannas.

Once more on our way into San Die&o, we stopped for a moment at the top of Torrey Pine &rade. To some, this friz- zled cliff, with its freakish, wind-torn trees, is one of the most loved spots in the county.

The sun shone that morning! The stretch of road between Del Mar and La Jolla was a thin& to move one to silence, poetry, or tears, according to temperament. In the spring the hills are &reen, and lovely with hu&e patches of yellow mustard. But in August the ocean is a deeper blue if possible, and the Maxfield Parrish cliffs stand out even more clearly against the sky.

VII

WE were down on tke breakwater. The Cautious Lady, Third Cousin, and I. We sat on the rocks and watched the little &reen crabs scrabbling, about in a pool at our feet.

"You will never for&et this place," she said.

"You need not remind me of that fact," he replied sharply. "The memory of it will haunt me until I come a&ain. I shall be unfit for a man's work."

He had lingered on through the sum- mer and fall, loathe to &o, running up I dreaded to think how much of a bill. We had &one on many jaunts into the back country, or Mexico, or up the coast; sometimes coming back to Coronado for the ni&ht, sometimes staying away two days, three days, a week.

Charmed and amazed at the climate, he at first refused to believe that it could be so perfect all through the year.

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But as the weeks passed he gradually came to admit it.

"I never want to g,o back," he said. "I shall have rheumatism all winter in Philadelphia." He be&an to talk about lots and the cost of building.

But now certain letters had come and he was leaving on the afternoon train.

As we walked across the sand to the hotel it may have been fancy of course, but I thought he cleared his throat unnecessarily hard as he looked back over his shoulder toward Point Loma.

J

*r)

YC l'5!

♦>

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY