Oh, the things our eyes discover as we walk along on Market street. Such
a medley--infinite, incongruous, comical, pathetic, motley and sublime.
Harding in a window with “pure buttermilk.” He’ll be in more difficult
situations before he is done, I’m thinking. An electric fan above him
that keeps the buttermilk “pure” and flies the American flag in crepe
paper.
“Crabs to take home.” They are freshly cooked, very large and forty
cents apiece. I decide that some I shall really buy one and take it home
when I confronted with the fact that “All Hair Goods Must Be Sold.” Why,
I wonder. Why must they be sold? And here are “Eggs any style,” so close
to the hair goods that I immediately visualize them as marcelled “style”
and pompadoured.
“Shoes Drastically Reduced.” It is the truth. The Oxfords I wear are
reduced by a drastic five dollars. Well, I couldn’t go barefooted, I
comfort myself and hurry on.
A shooting gallery and a man standing there trying to make up his mind
to try it. A second’s glimpse of him and all that he is is revealed.
One knows immediately that his favorite song is “My Bonnie Lies Over the
Ocean,” and that his ideal man is Governor Allen and that he is on his
way to spend his “remaining days” with his sister Lottie in Los Angeles.
Who would eat “stewed tripe Spanish.” Someone must or they wouldn’t
advertise it on the outside of he restaurant. Well, it takes all sorts
of people to make a world. Probably the man who would order “stewed
tripe Spanish” wouldn’t touch an alligator pear salad. To him alligator
pears taste exactly like lard. To the person who wouldn’t eat “stewed
tripe Spanish” they are a delicacy.
A crowd around a window. On your tip-toes to see. It’s that fascinating
Lilliputian with a beard and electric bowels who stands in drug store
windows and administers corn cure to his own toes with a smile.
The professional window shopper is a vagabond at heart--a loiterer
by nature. Here is one gazing in a photographer’s window to discover
someone he knows. These two are not professionals though but a spring
couple looking in furniture windows for nest material. And sailors
wandering about, nothing but kiddies, lonesome looking and no doubt
wishing we were at War again and hospitable once more.
Here is a “Pershing Market” and a “Grant Market,” beside it. There’s a
lot of that in San Francisco. Is there an “Imperial Doughnut?” Up goes a
“Supreme Doughnut” next door. It’s the spirit of “I’ll go you one better
every time.” It’s the spirit of Market street.