Keith's first plunge into the teeming life of the place had to suffice
him for all the rest of that week. There seemed so many pressing things
to do at home. The Boyle house was only partly furnished. Each morning
he and Nan went downtown and prospected for things needed. This was
Nan's first experience of the sort; and she confessed to a ludicrous
surprise over the fact that pots, pans, brooms, kitchen utensils, and
such homely matters had to be thought of and bought.
"I had a sort of notion they grew on the premises," she said.
Mrs. Sherwood gave them much valuable advice, particularly as to
auctions. In the Keiths limited experience auctions generally had meant
cheap or second-hand articles, but out here the reverse was the case. A
madness possessed otherwise conservative Eastern merchants--especially
of the staid city of Boston--to send out on speculation immense cargoes
of all sorts of goods. These were the despair of consignees. Heavy
freights, high interest charges, tremendous warehouse rates, speedily
ate up whatever chance of profits a fresh consignment might have. The
only solution was to sell out as promptly as possible; and the quickest
method was the auction. Therefore, auctions were everywhere in
progress, and the professional auctioneers were a large, influential,
and skilful class of people. Their advertisements made the bulk of the
newspapers. They dressed well, carried an air of consequence, furnished
refreshments, brass bands, or other entertainments to their patrons.
The era of fabulous prices was at an end, but the era of wild
speculation as to what the public was going to want was in full tide.
Keith and Nan found these auctions great fun, and piece by piece they
accumulated the items of their house furnishing. It was slow work, but
amusing. At times Mrs. Sherwood accompanied them, but not often. Her
advice was always good.
As to Mrs. Sherwood, Nan Keith found her attitude very vague. There was
no doubt that she liked her personally, admired her slow, purposeful,
half-indolent movements, the poise of her small, patrician head, the
unconscious, easy grace of her body, the direct commonsense quality of
her mind. One met her face to face; there were no frills and furbelows
of the spirit. Also, Nan was grateful for the other woman's first
kindness and real sympathy, and she wanted to "play the game." But, on
the other hand, all her social training and her instinct of formalism
tended to hold her aloof. She blamed herself intellectually for this
feeling; but since it was a feeling, and had nothing to do with
intellect, it persisted.
In the auction rooms, also, she seemed to meet--be formally introduced
to--a bewildering number of people, most of whom she could not place at
all. There seemed to be no reason for meeting them; certainly she would
not have met them in the East. Nevertheless, they all shook her by the
hand, and bowed to her whenever subsequently they passed her on the
street. Keith told her this was all usual and proper in this new and
mixed social order; and she was perfectly willing to make the effort.
She was really charming to everybody. The consciousness that she was
successfully adapting herself to their primitive provincial scope, and
her very gracious condescension to all types, filled her with respect
for her democracy and breadth of mind.
The afternoon they spent at the house receiving boxes and packages.
Keith worked busily, happily, feverishly, in his shirt sleeves. He
attacked the job on the principle of a whirlwind campaign, hammering,
ripping, throwing papers down, deciding instantly where this or that
chair or table was to stand, tearing on to the next, enjoying himself
dustily and hugely.
Nan was more leisurely. She found time to gossip with the drayman who
brought up the goods, actually came to a liking and a warm friendly
feeling for him as a person. This was a new experience for Nan, and she
explored it curiously.
John McGlynn was a teamster, but likewise a thoroughly independent and
capable citizen. He was of the lank, hewn, lean-faced, hawk-nosed type,
deliberate in movement and speech, with a twinkling, contemplative,
appraising eye, and an unhurried drawl. He told Nan he had come out in
'49.
"No, ma'am," he disclaimed vigorously, "I didn't go to the mines. I am
a teamster, and I always did teaming." He did not add, as he might have
done, that in those days of the individual he had been an important
influence.
His great pride was his team and wagon, and that pride was justified.
The wagon was a heavy flat affair, gayly decorated, and on the sides of
the box were paintings of landscapes. The horses were great,
magnificent creatures, with arching thick necks, long wavy manes and
forelocks, soft, intelligent eyes, and with great hoofs and hairy
fetlocks. They carried themselves in conscious pride, Their harness was
heavy with silver and with many white and coloured rings. In colour
they were dapple gray.
"That team," said John McGlynn, "is a perfect match. Took me two years
to get them together. Wuth a mint of money. That Kate, there, is a
regular character. You'd be surprised how cute she is. I often wonder
who Kate _is_. She must be some very famous woman."
John McGlynn was a very wonderful and very accommodating person, Nan
thought. He would help carry things in, and was willing to unpack or to
carry out the mess Keith's mad career left behind, it. Also he cast an
eye on the garden possibilities, and issued friendly, expert advice to
which Nan listened, breathless. They held long intimate consultations
as to the treatment of the soil.
"A few posies does sort of brighten things up; they're wuth while,"
quoth John.
Without previous consultation, he appeared one day accompanied by a
rotund, bland, gorgeous Chinaman, perched beside him on his elevated
seat.
"This is Wing Woh, a friend of mine," he announced. "You got to have a
Chink, of course. You can't run that sized house without help. Wing
knows all the Chinks in town, and bosses about half of them."
Wing Woh descended and without a word walked into the house. He was a
very ornate person, dressed in a skull cap with a red coral button
atop, a brocaded pale lavendar tunic of silk, baggy pale green trousers
tied close around the ankles, snow-white socks and the typical shoe.
Gravely, solemnly, methodically he went over the entire house; then
returned and clambered up beside John.
"All light," he vouchsafed to the astonished Nan.
Next morning she found waiting on the veranda a smiling "china boy"
dressed all in clean white. A small cloth bundle lay at his feet.
"My name Wing Sam," he announced; "I wo'k you thi'ty dolla' month.
Where you keep him bloom?"
That day John McGlynn stopped after unloading his boxes to give a
little advice.
"Chinks are queer," said he. "When you show this fellow how to do
anything, be sure to show him right, because that's the way he's going
to do it forever after. You can't change him. And show him; don't tell
him. And let him do things his own way as much as you can, instead of
insisting on your way."
McGlynn also advised Keith as to where he could to the best advantage
hire a horse and buggy by the month.
"You want a good safe animal, so Mrs. Keith can drive him; but you
don't want a cow. Jump aboard and I'll take you around. Never mind your
coat," he told Keith, "it's warm."
So they "jumped aboard" and drove down the street. Nan gurgled with
amusement over the episode. She sat on the high seat beside John
McGlynn's lank figure, above the broad backs of the great horses; and
Keith in his shirtsleeves, his hair every which way, a smudge of black
across his nose, balanced in the flat dray body behind. Nan tried to
imagine the sensation they would create in Baltimore, and laughed aloud.
"Is sort of funny," commented John McGlynn sympathetically. "But
everything goes out here."
Nan, aghast at the uncanny perspicacity of the man, choked silently. In
her world there had always been a sort of vague, unexpressed feeling
that the "lower classes" were dull.
They used the horse and buggy a great deal. It was delivered at the
hotel door every morning and taken from the same place every evening.
Innumerable errands downtown for things forgotten kept it busy. At
night they returned to the hotel pretty well tired out. It was a
tremendous task, much as they might be enjoying it.
"Seems to me the more we do the worse it gets," said Keith. "Let's dig
some sort of a hole and move in anyway."
"In a few days," agreed Nan, who as general-in-chief had a much clearer
idea of the actual state of affairs than the dusty private.
X
One morning the accumulated fatigue had its way, and they overslept
scandalously. It was after ten o'clock before they were ready to drive
up the street. As they turned the corner from Kearney Street they were
saluted by the ringing of numerous bells.
"Why, it's Sunday!" cried Keith, after a moment's calculation. In the
unexpectedness of this discovery he reined in the horse.
"It will never do to work to-day," she answered his unspoken thought.
"I suppose we ought to go to church."
But Keith turned the horse's head to the left.
"Church?" he returned with great decision. "We're going on a spree.
This is a day of rest, and we've earned it."
"Where?" asked Nan, a trifle shocked at his implication as to church.
"I haven't the remotest idea," said Keith.
They drove along a plank road leading out of town. It proved to be
thronged with people, all going in the same direction. The shuffle of
their feet on the planks and the murmur of their many voices were
punctuated by the _klop, klop_ of hoofs and occasional shouts of
laughter. All races of the earth seemed to be represented. It was like
a Congress of the Nations at some great exposition. French, Germans,
Italians, Russians, Dutchmen, British, were to be recognized and to be
expected. But also were strange peoples--Turks, Arabs, Negroes,
Chinese, Kanakas, East Indians, the gorgeous members of the Spanish
races, and nondescript queer people to whom neither Nan nor Keith could
assign a native habitat. At every step one or the other called
delighted attention to some new exhibit. Most extraordinary were,
possibly, the men from the gold mines of the Sierras, These were mostly
young, but long haired, bearded, rough, wilder than any mortal man need
be. They walked with a wide swagger. Their clothes were exaggeratedly
coarse, but they ornamented themselves with bright silk handkerchiefs;
with feathers, flowers; with squirrel or buck-tails In their hats; with
long heavy chains of nuggets; with glittering and prominently displayed
pistols, revolvers, stilettos, knives, or dirks. Some had plaited their
beards in three tails; others had tied their long hair under their
chins. But even the most bizarre seemed to attract no attention. San
Francisco was accustomed to it.
Indeed, the few fashionable strollers were much more stared at. Most of
the well dressed were in some sort of vehicle. The Keiths saw many
buggies like their own. A few very smart, or rather very ornamental,
double rigs dashed by. In these sat generally good-looking but rather
loud young women, who stared straight ahead with an assumption of
supreme indifference. Hacks or omnibuses careered along. In these the
company was generally merry but mixed, though occasionally a
good-looking couple had hired an ordinary public conveyance. Horsemen
and horsewomen were numerous. Some of these were very dashing indeed,
the women with long trailing skirts and high hats from which floated
veils; the men with skin-tight trousers strapped under varnished boots,
and long split-skirted coats. Others were simply plain a-horseback. The
native Californians with their heavy, silver-mounted saddles, braided
rawhide reins and bridles, their sombreros, their picturesque costumes,
and their magnificent fiery horses made a fine appearance. Occasionally
screaming, bouncing Chinese, hanging on with both hands, would dash by
at full speed, their horses quite uncontrolled, their garments flying,
ecstatically scared and happy, causing great confusion, and pursued by
curses.
"Evidently we're headed in the right direction," remarked Keith.
After a drive of two or three miles, never far from the bay they
arrived at what had evidently been a sleepy little village. The
original low, picturesque, red-tiled adobe buildings still clustered
about the Mission. But much had been added. The Keiths found themselves
in an immense confusion. Screaming signs cried everywhere for
attention--advertising bear pits, cock fights, theatrical attractions,
side shows, and the like. Innumerable hotels and restaurants, small,
cheap, and tawdry, offered their hospitality, the liquid part of which
was already being widely accepted. Men were striking pegs with hammers,
throwing balls at negroes' heads thrust through canvas, shooting at
targets. A racecourse was surrounded. Dust rose in choking clouds, and
the sun beat down heavily.
"Goodness, what a place!" cried Nan in dismay.
Had they known it, there were many quiet, attractive, outlying resorts
catering to and frequented by the fashionables, for "the Mission" was
at that time in its heyday as a Sunday amusement for all classes. As it
was, Keith drove on through the village, and so out to a winding
country road.
"This is heavenly," said Nan, and laid aside her veil.
The road wound and meandered through the low hills of the peninsula.
The sun beat down on them in a flood, only its heat, no longer
oppressive, had become grateful.
"Doesn't it feel good on your back!" exclaimed Nan, recognizing this
quality. "One seems to soak it in--just the way a thirsty plant soaks
water."
The rounded hills were turning a ripe soft brown. Across their crests
the sky looked very blue. High in the heavens some buzzards were
sailing. Innumerable quail called. On tree tops perched yellow-breasted
meadow larks with golden voices. In the bottom of the narrow valley
where the road wound were green willow trees and a little trickle of
water. From the ground came upward waves of heat and a pungent clean
odour of some weed. Nan was excited and keenly receptive to impressions.
"It's a hot day!" she cried, "and the road is dusty. By rights it ought
to be disagreeable. But it isn't! Why is that?"
The little valley widened into a pocket. Back from the road stood a low
white much house. Its veranda was smothered in the gorgeousness of
bougainvillaea. A grave, elderly, bearded Spaniard, on horseback,
passed them at a smooth shuffling little trot, and gave them a sonorous
_buenas dias_, The road mounted rapidly. Once when Keith had reined in
to breathe the horse, they heard the droning crescendo hum of a new
swarm of bees passing overhead.
"Isn't this nice!" cried Nan, snuggling against Keith's arm.
Suddenly, over the crest and down the other side, they came on sand
hills. The horse plodded along at a walk. Nan hung far out watching,
fascinated, the smooth, clean sand dividing before the wheels and
flowing back over the rim, and so over a little rise, and the sea was
before them.
"Oh, the Pacific!" exclaimed she, sitting up very straight.
The horse broke into a trot along the smooth hard shore. The wind was
coming in from the wide spaces. A taste of salt was in the air. Foam
wreaths advanced and receded with the edge of the wash, or occasionally
blew in a mass across the flat, until gradually they scattered and
dissipated. The horse pricked up his ears, breathed deep of the fresh
cool air, expanded his nostrils snorting softly, pretended to shy at
the foam wreaths. The wash advanced and drew back with a soft hissing
sound; the wind blew flat and low, so that even on the wet parts a
fine, white, dried mist of sand was always scurrying and hurrying along
close to the ground. Outside the surges reared and fell with a crash.
After the tepid or heated atmosphere of the hills the air was
unexpectedly cool and vital. A flock of sickle-billed curlews stood
motionless until they were within fifty yards; then rose and flew just
inside the line of the breakers, uttering indescribably weird and
lonely cries. A long file of pelicans, their wings outspread, sailed
close to the surface of the ocean, undulating over the waves and into
the hollows exactly paralleling, at a height of only a few feet, the
restless contour of the sea. Occasionally they would all flop their
wings two or three times in unison.
"I believe it's a sort of game--they're having fun!" stated Nan with
conviction.
Everything seemed to be having fun. Close to the wash were forty or
fifty tiny white sanderlings in a compact band. When the wash receded
they followed it with an incredibly rapid twinkling of little legs; and
when again the wave rushed, shoreward, _scuttle, scuttle, scuttle_ went
they, keeping always just at the edge of the water. Never were they
forced to wing; yet never did they permit the distance to widen between
themselves and the inrushing or outrushing wave. There were also sundry
ducks. These swam just inside the breakers, and were carried backward
and forward by the surges. Always they faced seaward. At the very last
instant, as a great curler bent over them, they dipped their heads and
dived. If the wave did not break, however, they rode over its top.
Their accuracy of eye was uncanny. Time after time they gauged the wave
so closely that they just flipped over the crest as it crashed with a
roar beneath them. A tenth of a second later would have destroyed them.
Keith reined up the horse to watch them and the sanderlings.
"It _is_ a game," he agreed after a while, "just like the pelicans. It
isn't considered sporting for sanderlings to get more than three inches
away from the edge of the wash; or for a duck to dive unless he
actually has to. It must be a game; for they certainly aren't catching
anything."
At this moment the sanderlings as though at a signal sprang into the
air, wheeled back and forth with instantaneous precision, and departed.
The ducks, too, dove, and came up only outside the surf.
"Good little sportsmen," laughed Keith; "they play the game for its own
sake. They don't like an audience."
After a few miles they came to a cliff reaching down to the beach and
completely barring the way. Off shore were rocky islets covered with
seals and sea lions. A lone blue heron stood atop a sand dune,
absolutely motionless.
"I don't know where we are, or how we get out," said Keith, "but I'm
going to take that chap there as a sign post," and he turned his horse
directly toward the heron.
Sure enough, a track led them through the sand, and by a zigzag route
to the top of the knoll that had barred their way along the shore. They
came to an edge. Before them lay an arm of the sea, sweeping and
eddying with a strong incoming tide. Over the way stood a great
mountain, like a sentinel. Far to their right the arm widened. There
was a glimpse of sparkling blue, and of the pearl of far-off hills, and
the haze of a distant dim peak.
"It's the Golden Gate!" cried Keith in sudden enlightenment.
He told her that the mountain over the way must be Tamalpais; that the
pearl-gray, far-off hills must be Contra Costa; that the distant dim
peak was undoubtedly Mount Diabolo. She repeated the syllables after
him softly, charmed by their music.
Simultaneously they discovered that they were hungry. The wind whipped
in from the sea. An outpost tent or so marked the distant invisible
city over the hills. Keith turned his horse's head toward them. They
drove back across what are now the Presidio hills.
But in a hollow they came upon another ranch house, like the
first--low, white, red roofed, covered with vines. Keith insisted on
driving to it. A number of saddled horses dozed before the door, a
half-dozen dogs sprawled in the dust, fowls picked their way between
the horses' legs or over the dogs' recumbent forms. At the sound of
wheels several people came from the shadow of the porch into the open.
They proved to be Spanish Californians dressed in the flat sombreros,
the short velvet jackets, the slashed trousers, and soft leather
_zapatos_. The men, handsome, lithe, indolent, pressed around the
wheels of the buggy, showing their white teeth in pleasant smiles.
"Can we get anything to eat here?" asked Keith.
They all smiled again most amiably. The elder swept off his hat with a
free gesture.
"_A piedes ouestros, señora_," he said, "_pero no hablo Inglés. Habla
usted Español?_"
Keith understood the last three words.
"No," he shook his head violently, "no _Español_. Hungry." He pointed
to Nan, then to himself: "She, me, hungry."
This noble effort brought no results, except that the Californians
looked more politely distressed and solicitous than ever.
"They don't understand us," murmured Nan; "don't you think we'd better
drive on?"
But Keith, who had now descended from the buggy, resorted to sign
language. He rubbed his stomach pathetically and pointed down his open
mouth; as an afterthought he rubbed the horse's belly; then, with
apparent intention, he advanced toward Nan. A furious red inundated her
face and neck, and she held her little parasol threateningly between
them. Everybody burst into laughter.
"_Si! si! si!_" they cried.
Several started to unharness the horse. Others held out their hands.
After a moment's hesitation Nan accepted their aid and descended.
Keith's performance was evidently considered a great joke.
On the low veranda were two women, one most enormously fat, the other
young and lithe. They were dressed almost exactly alike, their
blue--black hair parted smoothly over their foreheads but built up to a
high structure behind, filmy _rebosas_ over high combs, and skirts with
many flowered flounces. They both had soft, gentle eyes, and they were
both so heavily powdered that their complexions were almost blue. All
the men explained to them at once. The younger answered gayly; the
older listened with entire placidity. But when the account was
finished, she reached out to pat Nan's hand, and to smile reassuringly.
Various foods and a flask of red wine were brought. There was no
constraint, for Keith threw himself with delighted abandon into
experiments with sign language.
"_Esta simpatica_," the Californians told each other over and again.
Their manners were elaborate, dignified, deliberate, and beautiful.
Keith, ordinarily rather direct and brusque, to Nan's great amusement
became exactly like them. They outvied each other. The women touched
smilingly the stuff of Nan's gown, and directly admired her various
feminine trappings. She, thus encouraged, begged permission to examine
more closely the lace of the _rebosas_ or the beautiful embroidery on
the shawls. A little feeling of intimacy drew them all together,
although they understood no word of each other's language.
One of the dogs now approached and gravely laid its nose on Nan's knee,
gazing up at her with searching soft eyes. The older woman cried out
scandalized, but Nan shook her head, and patted the beast's nose.
"You like?" asked the woman.
"Why, you do talk English!" cried Nan.
But either these two words were all the woman had, or she was unwilling
to adventure further.
"You like?" she repeated again, after a moment, and then, observing
Nan's interest, she uttered a command to one of the numerous ragged
small boys standing about. The urchin darted away, to return after a
moment with a basket, which he emptied on the ground. Four fuzzy
puppies rolled out.
"Oh, the darlings!" cried Nan.
The little animals proceeded at once to roll one another over, growling
fiercely, charging uncertainly about, gazing indeterminately through
their blue infantile eyes. The mother left her position at Nan's knee
to hover over them; turning them over with her nose, licking them,
skipping nimbly sidewise when they charged down upon her with an idea
of nourishment.
Nan was enchanted. She left the bench to stoop to their level, tumbling
them over on their backs; playfully boxing their ears, working them up
to a wild state of yapping enthusiasm.
"The little darlings!" she cried; "just see their fat little tummies!
And their teeth are just like needles. No, no, you mustn't! You'll tear
my flounces! Look, Milton, see this little rascal pull at my
handkerchief!"
Her cheeks were flushed, and as she looked up laughing from beneath her
hat, she made a very charming picture.
"You like," stated the Californian woman with conviction.
After a while it became time to go. Vaqueros brought out the horse and
harnessed it to the buggy. Keith made a movement to offer payment, but
correctly interpreted the situation and refrained. They mounted the
vehicle.
"_Muchas gracias!_" Nan enunciated slowly.
This effort was received with an admiring acclaim that flushed Nan with
an inordinate pride. She had picked up the phrase from hearing it used
at table. The fat woman came forward, one of the puppies tucked under
her arm. In spite of her apparently unwieldy size she moved gracefully
and lightly.
"You like?" she inquired, holding the squirming puppy at arm's length.
"_Si, si, muchas gracias!_" cried Nan eagerly, and employing at once
all her Spanish vocabulary. She deposited the puppy in her lap and
reached out to shake hands. Keith flicked the horse with his whip. He,
too, had recollected a word of Spanish, and he used it now.
"_Adios!_" he shouted.
But their hosts had a better phrase.
"_Vaya Con Dios!_" they cried in chorus.
Nan was in raptures over the whole episode, but especially over the
puppy. The latter, with the instantaneous adaptability of extreme
youth, had snuggled down into a compact ball, and was blinking one hazy
dark blue eye upward at his new mistress.
"Weren't they nice people," cried Nan, "and wasn't it an adventure? And
isn't he just the dearest, cutest little thing? You're not a little
Spanish dog any more, you know. You're a--what is it they call us?--oh,
yes! You're a gringo now. Why, that's a fine idea! Your name is Gringo!"
And Gringo he became henceforth.
"What kind of a dog is he?" she asked.
Keith grinned sardonically.
"Of course I do not know his honoured father," said he, "so I cannot
offer an opinion as to that half of him. But on his mother's side he is
bloodhound, bulldog, collie, setter, pointer, St. Bernard, and Old
English sheepdog."
"Which?"' asked Nan puzzled.
"All," asserted Keith.
Now suddenly the sun was blotted out. They looked back: a white bank of
fog was rolling in from the sea. It flowed over the hills like a flood,
reaching long wisps down into the hollows, setting inertly in the flats
and valleys, the upper part rolling on and over in a cascade. Beneath
its shadow the warmth and brightness of the world had died.
"It strikes me we're going to be cold," remarked Keith, urging forward
the horse.
The roadbed became more solid, and they trotted along freely. The
horse, also, was anxious to get home. Signs of habitations thickened.
The wide waste hills of the ranchos had been left behind. Here and
there were outlying dwellings, or road houses, the objectives of
pleasure excursions of various sorts and degrees of respectability from
the city. From one of the latter came a hail.
"Oh, Keith! I say, Keith!"
From a group of people preparing to enter a number of vehicles two men
came running. Ben Sansome and Morrell, somewhat out of breath, came
alongside. They were a little flushed and elevated, but very cordial,
and full of reproaches that Keith had so entirely dropped out of sight
during the past week.
"I tell you, you must come over to our house for supper," said Morrell
finally. "Everybody comes."
"The Morrells' Sunday night suppers are an institution," supplemented
Sansome.
"I wish I could persuade you," urged Morrell. "I wonder where Mimi is.
I know Mrs. Morrell ought to call, and all that sort of thing, but this
is not a conventional place. We live next door, y'know. Do be
delightful and neighbourly, and come!"
Nan hesitated; but the lure of the well-dressed company, so thoroughly
at ease with one another, was irresistible in the reaction. She
accepted.