'FRISCO.
Our first glimpse of 'Frisco made us like the place. Near the ferry slip
were eating joints by the bushel, more saloons than you could shake a
stick at, sailors' boarding houses, fruit stands containing fruit that
made our teeth water; oyster-houses, lodging-houses--in fact there was
everything there to make a fellow feel right at home. 'Frisco is all
right and everyone who has been there will tell you so. What she ain't
got ain't worth having. Every bum that I ever saw spoke well of the town
and gave it a good name. It is a paradise for grafters. You can get as
good a meal there for ten cents as you will have to pay double for
anywhere else. Fruit is fine, plentiful and cheap; vegetables are
enormous in size and don't cost anything, hardly; any and every kind of
fish is there; meats are wonderful to behold, and not dear; and say,
it's an all-around paradise, sure enough. Every kind of people can be
found there--Greasers, Greeks, Scandinavians, Spanish, Turks, Armenians,
Hebrews, Italians, Germans, Chinese, Japanese, negroes and all sorts. It
is a vast international city.
Bums are there in unlimited quantities, any number of criminals,
bunco-men, "chippies" till you can't rest, highbinders by the score up
in Chinatown, and lots of bad people. The town is noted for being pretty
lively. It surely is wide open and you can sit in a little game at any
time. Californians in particular and Westerners generally take to
gambling as naturally as a darky does to watermelons and pork chops. The
'Frisco gambling houses are never closed. Efforts have been made to
close them but they were futile. Might as well try to sweep back the
ocean with a broom. There are lots of good people in 'Frisco, but the
bad ones are more than numerous. I think 'Frisco is about the liveliest,
dizziest place on the continent today, of its size. It has more
restaurants, saloons, theaters, dance halls, pull-in-and-drag-out
places, groceries with saloon attachments to them, than any place I
ever struck. Money is plentiful, easy to obtain and is spent lavishly. A
dollar seems less to a Californian than a dime to an Easterner. He will
let it go quicker and think less of it. If he goes into a restaurant or
saloon and buys a drink or meal which does not suit him, he pays the
price and makes no kick, but don't go there again. He don't believe in
kicking. He was not brought up that way. He will lose his money at the
races and try his luck again. "Better luck next time," says he, and his
friends to him. He will take his girl out and blow in his money for her
on the very best of everything. The best theater, the best wine supper
are none too good for his girl. What if he does go broke, there's plenty
more money to be had. Money is no object to a 'Friscoite. Billy and I
weren't in 'Frisco long before we got onto these things. Californians
are sociable and will talk to anyone. Billy concluded to live and die
there, the place suited him so well. Work was plentiful, wages were
high, and the working hours few. Billy said it beat the old country all
hollow. Ha'-pennies or tup-pennies didn't go here; the least money used
was nickels and dimes. Nothing could be purchased for less than a nickel
(five cents) for even a newspaper of any kind cost that much. No wonder
the newsboys could shoot craps or play the races. Even the servant girls
gambled in something or other. 'Frisco is all right. Bet your sweet
life! The rest of America ain't in it with her. Lots of Britishers live
there, too; that is why Billy liked it so well. Everyone who ain't sick
or got the belly ache, or some other trouble, likes 'Frisco. As regards
climate! They have it in 'Frisco. About sixty degrees by the thermometer
all the year round. No snow, ice, cyclones or mosquitoes; but bed-bugs,
fleas, earthquakes and fogs. As for fleas, they are thick in 'Frisco and
mighty troublesome. When you see a lady or gent pinch his or her leg
that means a bite--flea. As 'Frisco is built on a sandy peninsula, that
may be the reason why fleas are so plentiful, for it is said they like
sandy spots.
Billy and I had a little money which we earned in Sacramento, so we
concluded that the first thing to do was to get a square meal. We sought
out a likely looking restaurant along the water front where a good meal
could be had for ten cents and in we went. I ordered a steak and Billy
ordered mutton chops; Billy wanted tea and I wanted coffee. Each of us
had a bowl of mush first, then potatoes, bread and butter, hot cakes,
tea or coffee, and meat. More than we could eat was put before us and I
had a horse-like appetite. Billy was a little off his feed. The meal was
as good as it was cheap. The next thing to be done was to hunt up a
lodging place. There were any number of them in the vicinity, and we
soon found a joint where the two of us could room together for a dollar
and a half per week. The place was over a saloon, and though it wasn't
high-toned, it seemed neat enough.
The next event on the program was sight-seeing. We left our things under
lock and key in our room and leisurely strolled along the water front
to see what we could see. While strolling along the street facing the
wharves, we were passing a clothing store when a Hebrew gentleman
stepped out and asked us if we wanted to buy a suit of clothes. We told
him no, but he didn't seem to want to take "no" for an answer.
"Shentlemens, I got some mighty fine clothes inside and I'll sell them
very cheap."
"Ain't got no money, today," said I, as we tried to pass on.
"Don't be in der hurry," said the Hebrew gentleman; "come in and take a
look, it won't cost you noddings."
I was for moving on, but Billy said, "What's the harm? Let's go in and
see what he's got."
In we went, slowly and cautiously, but we knew the old Jew couldn't rob
us in open daylight.
"What size do you wear?" asked he of Billy.
"Damfino," says Billy; "I didn't come in to buy any clothes today."
"Let me measure you," says the Israelite, "I got some clothes here that
will make your eyes water when you see dem."
Billy stood up and let his measure be taken. This done, the vender of
clothes made an inspection of the clothing-piles, calling out to Jakie
in a back room to come forth and assist. Jakie appeared, and seemed a
husky chap of twenty-five or so. Jakie had been eating his breakfast.
The two storekeepers went through the clothing piles.
"Aha!" triumphantly exclaimed the old Hebrew. "I've got a fine suit
here. Dey'll make you look like a gentleman. Try 'em on," turning to
Billy.
He brought forth the clothes where Billy could examine them, but after
examination Billy shook his head.
"You don't like 'em?" exclaimed the old gent; "what's de matter with
'em?"
"Oh, I don't fancy that kind of cloth," said Billy.
It looked like gray blotting paper.
"What kind do you like?" asked the Hebrew, rather aggressively.
"Oh, I don't know," answered Billy.
The Jew was getting mad, but he brought forth another suit after a
short search.
"Here is something fine; you kin wear 'em for efery day or Sunday."
Billy examined the clothes, but shook his head.
"Dry 'em on! Dry 'em on! You'll see they'll fid you like der paper on
der vall!"
"What's the use trying 'em on?" said Billy, quietly; "I don't like 'em
and they wouldn't fit me anyway."
"Not like 'em!" exclaimed the now thoroughly enraged clothing merchant;
"I don't think you want to buy no clothes at all; you couldn't get a
finer suit of clothes in San Francisco, and look at der price, too; only
ten dollars, so hellup me Isaac!"
"The price is all right, but I don't like the cut of the clothes," said
Billy.
"You don't like der style?"
The angry man now got the thought through his noddle that Billy wasn't
going to buy any clothes, whereupon he grew furious.
"What you come in here for, you dirty tramp. Get out of here, or I trow
you out."
Here I stepped up and told the miserable duffer what I thought of him. I
expected there was going to be a knock down and drag out scene, but as
there were two of us, the two Israelites thought better of it than to
tackle us. The young feller hadn't said a word, but the old man was mad
clear through. If he had been younger I would have swiped him one just
for luck. We got out of the place all right, the old man and I telling
each other pretty loud what we thought of each other. I told Billy he
ought not to have gone in there at all for he didn't intend to buy any
clothes.
"He wanted me to go in, didn't he, whether I wanted to or not?" asked
Billy.
"Of course, he did. You should have given him a kick in the rump and
skipped out. That's what I would have done."
"I'm glad it didn't end in a row. We might have got into trouble,"
concluded Billy.
We strolled along the wharves to see the shipping. The ferry-house at
the foot of Market Street is a huge granite building (with a lofty
clock-tower on top) wherein are to be found the various ticket offices
of the Southern Pacific, Santa Fe, the North Shore, California & North
Western and other railroads. Up stairs in the second story is an
extensive horticultural exhibit, where are displayed the products of
California; there are the offices of various railroad and other
officials, there, too. To take a train on any railroad one must cross
the bay on a ferry-boat. Each railroad line has its own line of
ferry-boats and slips. One line of boats crosses to Oakland, Alameda and
Berkeley; another to Tiburon; a third to Sausalito; a fourth to Point
Richmond, etc. Every boat is a fine one and those of the Santa Fe
Railroad plying to Point Richmond are all painted yellow. The traffic at
the ferry building is considerable at all hours of the day and night.
The next wharf, which is also a covered one like the ferry-house, is
the landing-place of the Stockton steamboats. There are two lines of
these boats plying between 'Frisco and Stockton, and they are rivals.
The distance between Stockton and 'Frisco by water is about one hundred
miles, yet the fare is only fifty cents. There are sleeping berths
aboard, if one cares to use them, at fifty cents each, and meals may be
had for twenty-five cents. Fifty cents in Western lingo is called four
bits, and twenty-five cents, two bits. A dime is a short bit and fifteen
cents a long bit; six bits is seventy-five cents, and a dollar is simply
called a dollar.
A few of the wharves we noticed were roofed over, but some were not. The
Folsom Street Wharf is devoted to the United States Army transport
service, and a huge transport ship going to Manila and other eastern
countries can be seen there at any time, almost. No one is allowed on
this wharf, except on business. As we hadn't any particular business on
this wharf we didn't care to go upon it. There was a watchman at the
gate. At a wharf or two from this one all the whaling vessels dock, and
'Frisco today is the greatest whaling port in America, we were told.
There was one whaling vessel there at the time, but she didn't look good
to us. She was short, squat, black and grimy, and smelled loudly of oil.
Billy and I concluded we wouldn't care to sail in such a ship for a
hundred dollars per month. Near by was a long uncovered wharf which
extended quite a way out into the water. At either side of it were
moored big deep-sea going vessels. One was the Dumbarton, of Glasgow,
another the Selkirk, a third the Necker--all foreigners. The Selkirk was
British, and Billy's heart warmed to her. When he saw an English flag
flying on one of the masts tears came to his eyes and he got homesick.
He walked up the gang-plank and wanted to go on board, but a sailor on
deck told him there was no admittance. Billy marched down again much
crestfallen. There are lots of evil characters in 'Frisco, so that is
why the mariners are wary.
We slowly sauntered along the wharf, and at a string piece at the end
of it we came across other idlers, several of whom were engaged in
fishing. We saw several young sharks pulled up and several other kinds
of fish that we didn't know the names of. After watching the fishing for
a while we moved on and went into some of the side streets. They were
full of saloons, some of which were fitted up very handsomely with
plate-glass, fine woodwork, marble floors and elaborate bars with free
lunch counter. Other saloons were mere groggeries in which we could see
and hear sailors and longshoremen singing and dancing. Steam beer and
lager was five cents a glass and whiskey ten cents. Sailors'
boarding-houses were numerous in these localities, as were hotels,
stores of all kinds, ship-outfitting shops, lumber yards, coal offices,
foundries, iron works and the like.
We now strolled up Market Street, which is the main thoroughfare of
'Frisco. It is a broad street, flanked on either side by wholesale and
retail commercial establishments, high-toned saloons and restaurants.
Many street car lines traverse this street by means of cables, and
there are one or two horse-car lines.
The street was a lively one, and thronged with people and vehicles.
Billy and I had heard a great deal about the Golden Gate Park, the Cliff
House, the Seal Rocks and the Sutro Baths, so we concluded to take a
little jaunt out that way to see what those places were like.
The first things we wanted to see were the seals.
We boarded a street-car running out to the Cliff House, and found the
ride a long and interesting one. The distance was many miles and the
fare only five cents. There was much to be seen. Long stretches of
unfamiliar streets rolled by, residence and business sections, strange
looking houses, hills and valleys, and the like. The air was wonderfully
balmy and bracing and not a bit cold. The car whirled us along very
rapidly and revealed to us a great deal of Golden Gate Park, and further
on lofty tree-covered hills, bare sand hills, and a very extensive
public building of some sort which was perched on a tree clad hillside,
and then it skimmed along parallel with the ocean. We saw no ships on
the ocean, but it was a grand sight nevertheless. We rushed by a
life-saving station at railroad speed, which we regretted, for we should
like to have seen more of it, and after riding about a mile or so more,
finally stopped alongside a shed, which was the end of the car line.
Here we hopped off with the rest of the crowd, and walked along a wooden
sidewalk which was laid over the sands. Two or three restaurants and
saloons were to be seen in the vicinity, and about a half dozen booths.
There was a picture gallery or two, and fruit and peanut stands.
We bought some candy and peanuts to keep from getting hungry, and then
followed the crowd to the beach. We walked along the beach and then up a
hill leading to the Cliff House. The views along this road were fine. We
came to the Cliff House and saw it was nothing more nor less than a
large hotel built on a cliff. It looked pretty high-toned to us, so me
and Billy hesitated about going in.
"They'll soak us when we get in there, Windy," warned Billy.
"Nary time, Billy," retorted I. "We'll go in and if they try to hold us
up we'll skip."
"All right, then; let's try our luck," said Billy.
In we went, and saw a barroom, which we didn't enter. Further on was a
glass covered porch, along which were disposed tables and chairs, and
which invited us to sit down and have something. We were not hungry or
thirsty just then, so we kept a-walking, and through an open window
facing the sea we saw some tall rocks in the water, about a quarter of a
mile distant, upon which were a whole lot of seals that were barking to
beat the band.
"There's the seals, Billy, large as life, sure enough," remarked I.
Billy stared.
"I'll be blowed if they ain't cheeky beggars," said he, with a face full
of astonishment. "It's a wonder they'd come so near to the shore."
Some of the animals were snoozing on the rocks, others were crawling up
the rocky sides of the islet, a few were bellowing, and the whole place
seemed covered with them. A wonderful sight it was! We looked until we
grew tired, and I wanted to drag Billy away, but he didn't seem to want
to go.
"There's other things to be seen, Billy," said I; "we can't stay here
all day."
Billy tore himself away reluctantly and then we wandered over to the
Sutro Heights, which is a tall hill with fine and extensive gardens upon
it. From this hill a fine view of the ocean may be obtained. There are
fine drives in these gardens bordered with flowers, shady walks,
statues, fountains, rustic arbors and seats, cosy niches where one could
sit and view the ocean, roads built terrace-like upon the cliffs, and
other very pretty features. A lovely spot indeed, it was. It was built
by Mr. Adolph Sutro, a millionaire. It was free to all. We walked in the
gardens until we grew tired, and then sat down and contemplated the
ocean. Afterward we strolled toward Golden Gate Park and inspected it.
It was close by and we found it a very extensive one. It seemed endless,
indeed, to us, for long before we reached an entrance where we could
take a car, we were dead tired. We took another route going cityward,
for we wanted to see as much of the city as we could. The more we saw of
'Frisco, the better we liked it. It must be seen to be appreciated. We
reached Market Street all right, and then we knew where we were. We
strolled down toward the ferry-house, near which we knew our
lodging-house to be, and after having a good supper, we went to our room
to lay off until evening, when there would be more sight-seeing.
"What do you think of 'Frisco, Windy?" asked Billy.
"Suits me to a T, Billy. Believe I'll camp here for a while."
"Same here, Windy. I never struck a place I like better. I think a
fellow can get on here. I'm going to try it, anyway."
"I'm with you, Billy," said I. "Where'll we go this evening?"
"I've heard a lot about Chiney town. Suppose we go there."
"Good idea! Let's take it in."
Accordingly, about eight o'clock that evening we strolled forth, bent on
seeing 'Frisco by gaslight. The streets were well lighted, and we found
no difficulty in moving about. By making inquiries we readily found our
way to the Mongolian district. What we saw there filled us with
amazement. Street after street we saw (and long ones at that) inhabited
solely by slanty-eyed Asiatics. There were thousands of them, and it
seemed to us that we were transplanted into a Chinese city. All kinds of
Chinese establishments were located in this quarter; barber shops, drug
stores, furnishing goods stores, butcher shops, cigar manufacturing
establishments, restaurants (chop suey), temples, theaters, opium joints
in back alleys and basements, street venders who sold fruits, street
cobblers, open air fortune tellers, newspapers, bookbinderies, vegetable
stores, and not a few high-class curio establishments. Any number of
Chinese children were noisily playing in the streets, Chinese women
were walking about the streets and all over the quarter was an oriental
atmosphere. It made us feel mighty foreign-like. Billy wanted to know
whether he was in Asia or America, and I told him Asia. The Chinese
women and children interested us considerably. The women were habited in
loose flowing robes and trousers, and their lips and faces were painted
scarlet. Their hair was done up in thick folds, with long golden pins
stuck through them. They were mighty gaudy, I thought. The kids were
noisy but interesting. They played all kinds of games like white
children. Of course the games they played were Chinese, and what kind of
games they were, I don't know. The articles of food and wear displayed
were very curious. So were the books, photographs, etc.
Billy and I took in the sights, and felt mighty interested in it all. It
was better than a circus to us. At about ten o'clock we meandered
homeward.
We talked late that night about what we had seen, and it was after
midnight before we fell asleep. Billy was unaccountably restless that
night and kept a-tossing and a-rolling. He kept this up so long that
finally I got huffy and asked him what the trouble was. He kept quiet
for a while but suddenly he rose up and said he'd be ---- if he didn't
think there were bugs in the bed. I felt a bite or two myself, but
didn't mind it.
"I'm going to get up and see what's in this bed," said Billy.
He got up, lit a candle, and I hopped out too, so as to give him a
chance to examine things. Billy threw back the clothes and saw three or
four good-sized fleas hopping about and trying to escape to a safe
shelter. We both went for them bodily, but they were too swift for us.
We did a pile of cussing and swearing just then, but the fleas were
probably laughing at us from some safe retreat. We couldn't catch a one
of them. We went to bed again and I slept soundly, but Billy put in a
bad night. I told Billy the next morning he oughtn't to mind such
trifling things as fleas.
"Trifles, are they?" snorted he, and showed me his bare white skin,
which was all eaten up. "Look at that; call them trifles?"
"What are you going to do about it, Billy?" inquired I.
"Do?" retorted he, with disgust, "why, grin and bear it, of course; what
else can I do; but those bites itch like blazes."
Billy had to do what all 'Frisco people do when they are bitten--grin
and bear it, or cuss and scratch. The 'Frisco fleas sure are lively, and
the best way to catch them is to wet your finger and bear down on them
suddenly. They'll wiggle away from a dry finger.
The next morning was a fine one, balmy and sunny. We arose, dressed,
breakfasted, and then felt happy.
"How are we going to put in the day, Windy?" asked Billy, after we
emerged from a restaurant and stood picking our teeth in front of the
place.
"Blest if I know," responded I. "Suppose we put it in sight-seeing?"
"I'll go you," said Billy. "We haven't seen much of 'Frisco yet. Suppose
we take a stroll up Market Street and see what there is to see up that
way."
Accordingly, up Market Street we leisurely strolled, taking in the
sights by the wayside.
Market Street, as I said before, is the main thoroughfare of 'Frisco,
and is a broad one. The sidewalks are wide enough for a dozen or more
people to walk abreast along them and the driveway in the middle of the
street contains two or three sets of street-car tracks, and sufficient
room on either side for vehicles. The lower portion of the street,
toward the ferry-house, is taken up with wholesale business
establishments, and the upper portion toward which we were now walking
contains retail shops, high-class saloons, restaurants, newspaper
buildings, sky-scrapers, banks, department stores, etc. We came to
Market and Third Street, and turned down Third Street. It, too, was
rather a broad thoroughfare, but not nearly so wide as Market Street. It
wasn't high-toned like Market Street, nor were the buildings on it of a
high class, for they were mostly of frame, one and two stories in
height. The ground floors of these buildings were used as stores and
the upper portions as dwellings. Fruit, fish and vegetable stores
abounded, and saloons were more than numerous. The size and varieties of
the fruit, fish and vegetables in the stores pleased the eye. Fine crabs
and clams were there, but the California oysters seemed small. We
stepped into a saloon called "The Whale," where a fine free lunch was
set out on a side table. There were huge dishes of cheese on the table,
tripe, various kinds of sausage sliced up thin, pickled tongue,
radishes, cold slaw, pickles, sliced tomatoes and big trays of bread of
various kinds. The layout was generous. Having had breakfast but a short
time before, all these dainties did not tempt us, but we sat down for
awhile and indulged in a smoke, in the meanwhile observing the ways of
the patrons of the place. Some seedy looking bums were lined up against
the bar chinning whilst others were sipping beer and paying their best
respects to the lunch counter. They were a dirty lot, and if some of
them weren't hobos, I miss my guess. We didn't remain in the place
long, but strolled into a similar establishment further on. In one
saloon we noticed a sign over the lunch counter which informed the
hungry one to--
"Please regulate your appetite according to your thirst; this is not a
restaurant."
Notwithstanding the gentle hint conveyed on the sign, the place did a
roaring trade, for the liquids as well as the solids were excellent.
Beginning from Market and running parallel with Market were Mission,
Howard, Folsom, Bryant, Brannan, Bluxome, Townsend, Channel and other
streets. Nearly all of them were broad, but a few were narrow, such as
Stevenson, Jessie, Minna, Natoma, Tehama, etc., being hardly more than
alleys. This was the poorer residence section, inhabited by the working
classes. Some of the alleys were tough and contained cheap
lodging-houses wherein dwelt many a hard case and criminal.
We walked down Third Street as far as the railroad depot and saw lots
of things to interest us. All the goods displayed in the store windows
seemed dirt cheap. How they did tempt us, but as we were not
overburdened with wealth just then we didn't feel like buying. Silk
pocket handkerchiefs, dandy hats, elegant trousers, mouth harmonicas,
pistols, knives, razors, accordions were there in great variety. Why
were we born poor? Had we been rich we would have blowed ourselves for
fair. The display was too tempting. We walked to Fourth Street, which is
the next one to Third, and then slowly sauntered up toward Market again.
The blocks along Third and Fourth Streets were long ones, and from
Market Street down to the railroad depot the distance is a mile or more.
But we were not tired, so on we kept. Fourth Street was about like Third
Street, and afforded many interesting sights. Billy and me liked
everything we saw. When we finally reached Market Street again we
crossed it and took in another quarter of the city. Where we had been
was called south of Market; so this must be north of Market. We didn't
like it half as well as we did south of Market. Here were pretentious
shops and restaurants, and a fine class of dwellings, but even here the
buildings were all of wood and hardly two were alike. In this quarter is
located what is called "The Tenderloin," which means gambling joints,
fast houses and the like. We, being strangers, could not locate them. It
was now nearing noon and as we had become hungry, we concluded to step
into a saloon to have a beer and a free lunch, but the free lunch
establishments in that neighborhood seemed few and far between. Some
saloons had signs on them which stated that free clam chowder, beef
stew, roasted clams, or a ham sandwich with every drink was to be had
today, but those were not the kind of a place we were after. We were
looking for some place like "The Whale," but couldn't find one. We
finally got tired of hunting for such a place, and stepped into a
ten-cent restaurant, where we had a bum meal. After dining we strolled
back to our lodging-house, where we laid off the rest of the day.
"What'll it be tonight; a ten-cent show or Chinatown once more?"
"A ten-cent show," answered Billy; "we did Chinatown last night, and can
do it again some other night, so let's take in a show."
Accordingly we went to a fine big theater that evening where the prices
ranged from ten to fifty cents, and went up to "nigger heaven" (price
ten cents), from whence we saw a pretty fair variety show. The show
consisted of singing, dancing, moving pictures, a vaudeville play, negro
act, monologue speaker and an acrobatic act. The performance lasted
about two hours. The negro act made Billy laugh until he nearly grew
sick, and we both enjoyed ourselves hugely. One singer, an Australian
gentleman, sang the "Holy City," and he sang it so well that he was
recalled many times. The little vaudeville play was good, and so were
the moving pictures. It was about ten o'clock when the play let out, and
it was after midnight when Billy and I turned in.
We continued our sightseeing tour about a week and saw about all worth
seeing of 'Frisco, and then as funds began to run low, we concluded it
was about time for us to look for work. I struck a job as helper in a
foundry the very next day, but Billy was not so fortunate. He did not
find a job for several days. Of course I went "snucks" with him when he
wasn't working, and saw to it that he had a bed to sleep in and
something to eat, for he would have done as much for me.
Billy struck a job a few days afterward and it was one that seemed to
please him mightily. It was in a swell hotel run by an Englishman and
Billy was installed as pantryman. His duties were to take good care of
and clean the glassware and silverware. The job was an easy one, with
the pay fairly good. Billy said it was like getting money from home. He
worked from seven o'clock in the morning until eight at night, and had
three hours off in the afternoon. The waiters took a shine to him, for
they, like himself, were English, and brought him all kinds of good
things to eat in the pantry, which was his headquarters.
They brought him oysters, roast fowl of various kinds, game, ice cream,
water ices, plum pudding, the choicest of wines, etc., and were sociable
enough to help Billy eat and drink these things. No one molested them so
long as they did their work, for the cast-off victuals would have gone
into the swill-barrel, anyway. Billy was in clover and had the best
opportunity in the world to grow stout on "the fat of the land." I was
glad to know that he was getting along so well for he sure was a true
and steady little pard.
One night, several weeks after this, when we were in our room chinning,
I remarked to Billy: "Say, Billy, you have told me so much about the old
country that I've a notion to go there."
Billy looked at me keenly to see if I was joking, but I wasn't. "I mean
it, Billy," said I. "I've always had a notion that I'd like to see the
old country, and if you can get along here I guess I can get along over
there."
"You're way off, Windy," replied Billy, "the old country is different
from this, in every way."
"In what way."
"Why, you can't beat your way over there as you can here, and you
couldn't earn as much there in a week as you can here in a day. And the
ways of people are different, too. Stay where you are, Windy; that's my
advice to you."
"You say I can't beat my way in the old country, Billy; why not?" asked
I.
"You'll get pinched the first thing, if you try it. In the first place
there are no railroad trains running across to Europe, so how are you
going to cross the little duck pond; swim across?"
"How do others cross it; can't I ride over in a boat?"
"Of course you can but it will cost you lots of money, and where are you
going to get it?"
"What's the matter with earning it or getting a job on a steamer; didn't
you do it?"
"Of course I did; but the steamship companies hire their help on the
other side of the ocean, not on this side."
"Go on, Billy; you are giving me a fairy tale."
"No, I'm not," earnestly responded Billy; "it's true as preaching."
I doubted just the same.
"You say I can't beat my way when I get across to Europe; why not?"
"Because they won't let you. The towns are close together, for the
country is small, and if you beat your way on a train you'd be spotted
before you traveled ten miles. And another thing, there are no
brake-beams on the other side, no blind baggage and no bumpers, so where
are you going to ride? And another thing, too; the railway cars over
there are totally different from those here. The coaches are different,
the engines are different, the freight cars are different; everything is
so different," said Billy with a reminiscent smile.
"Go on, Billy; you're only talking to hear yourself talk," said I,
thinking he was romancing.
"You say, Billy," continued I, "that the ways of the people are
different over there; in what way?"
"In every way. I couldn't begin to explain it all to you, if I tried six
months."
"They talk English over there, don't they? Can't I talk English?"
"Of course you can," laughed Billy; "but their language is different
from yours and so are their ways. Their victuals are different; their
dress, their politics--"
"Cut out the politics, Billy; I ain't going over there to run for
office. They must be a queer lot on the other side of the pond to judge
from what you say."
"Not a bit queer," warmly responded Billy. "They are just different,
that is all. We will suppose you are over there, Windy. What will you
do?"
"Do the Britishers, of course; what else?"
"Better stay at home and do your own countrymen. You'll find it easier,"
gravely admonished Billy. "You are on your own ground and know the
country and the ways of the people. You'd have a hard time of it over
there; mind now, I'm giving it to you straight. I don't think you're
serious about going."
"Serious and sober as a judge, Billy. I've been thinking about this
thing for a long time. Let me tell you something else, Billy, that I
haven't told you before. I intend to keep a diary when I get on the
other side and write down everything I see worth noting."
"The hell you are," profanely responded Billy; "what are you going to do
with it after it is written down?"
"Have it printed in a book," calmly responded I.
Billy regarded me intently, as a dog does a human being whom he is
trying to understand and cannot, and then when the full force of my
revelation struck him he dropped on the bed and laughed and laughed
until I thought he'd split his sides.
"What's tickling you, Billy?" asked I, grinning, for his antics made me
laugh.
"You--you--" here he went off into another fit. "_You_ write a book?
Say, Windy, I've been traveling with you a long while but I never
suspected you were touched in the upper story."
"No more touched than you are, Billy," said I indignantly. Billy rose
up.
"So you're going to write a book, eh?" asked Billy, still laughing. "Do
you know anything about grammar, geography or composition?"
"You bet I do, Billy; I was pretty fair at composition when I was at
school, but I always hated grammar and don't know much about it."
"That settles it," said Billy. "How could you write a book if you don't
know anything about grammar?"
"That stumps me, Billy, but I guess the printer can help me out."
"The printer ain't paid for doing that sort of thing; he won't help you
out."
"The h---- he won't," responded I, angrily; "that's what he's paid for,
isn't it?"
"I don't think," said Billy. "Say, Windy, you're clean off. Better turn
in and sleep over it."
"Sleep over nothing," quickly retorted I; "am I the first man who ever
wrote a book?"
"No, you ain't the first, nor the last damn fool who has tried it."
"Now, see here, Billy," said I, getting heated, "let me tell you
something. I've read a whole lot of books in my time, and a good many of
them weren't worth hell room. I've read detective stories that were
written by fellows that didn't know anything about the detective
business. Look at all the blood-and-thunder novels will you, that are
turned out every year by the hundred. Not a word in them is true, yet
lots of people read them. Why? Because they like them. See what kids
read, will you? All about cowboys, Indians, scalping, buffalo hunting,
the Wild West, etc. After the kids read such books they get loony and
want to go on scalping expeditions themselves, so they steal money, run
away from home, buy scalping knives, pistols and ammunition, and play
hell generally. My book ain't that kind. When I write a book it will
contain the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."
"So help you ----," irreverently put in Billy.
"No foolishness, Billy; I'm serious."
"Oh, you are, are you?" answered Billy; "well, let's hear something
serious, then."
"Did you ever read the life of the James boys, Billy?"
"No, I never did? Who were they?"
"They were outlaws and robbers, and the book I read about them was the
most interesting one I ever read. It was all facts, solid facts, and no
nonsense about it. That's what I want to write, solid facts."
"About the James boys?"
"No, you little ignoramus; about what I see in the old country."
"There are many smarter men than you are that have written books about
the old country, Windy, and some of these writers were English and some
were American. Are you going to go in opposition to them?"
"Opposition your grandmother! Haven't I got as good a right to write a
book as anyone else?"
"Who says you haven't? After you get the book printed who's going to
sell it for you; going around peddling it?"
"No, I expect the printer to print what I write, and buy the book from
me."
"Who gets all the money from the sale of the book?" asked Billy, with a
huge grin on his face.
"Why, I expect that the printer and me'll go snucks. He gets half for
printing it, and I get half for writing it."
"Oh, that's the game, is it? I think you'll have a sweet time of it
finding a printer on that sort of a deal."
"Don't you think that would be a fair divvy?"
"No, the printer is taking all the chances and you're taking none. He
puts up the dough and what do you put up?"
"My time and ability."
"Your _ability_!" shouted Billy as he went off into a spasm; "well,
you've got lots of time, but I never know'd you had any ability."
"Laugh away, old boy," said I, considerably nettled; "it takes ability
to write a book."
"Of course it does," said Billy, meaningly.
"Maybe you think I ain't got any?"
"Maybe you have, but you'll have to show me."
"Well, Billy," said I, "we've discussed this matter long enough; suppose
we go to bed."
Nothing more was said on the subject that night. The next morning we
went to our separate jobs as usual, and I did a good deal of thinking
during the day over some of the information Billy had given me about the
old country. It made me waver at times about going, but at other times
it did not. That night, after we came home from work, Billy and me took
a stroll as usual through Chinatown, and every time we went through it
we found something new to see. The streets were always thronged with
celestials and sightseers, the stores of the Chinese and Japanese were
all lit up, the queer goods in the windows still riveted our attention
and the ways of the orientals proved a source of never-ending interest
to us. There were several Chinese theaters in the quarter, too, in
which the beating of gongs and the "high-toned" singing could plainly be
heard by us, but as the admission fees to these theaters to the "Melican
man" was fifty cents, we didn't go in. Some of the plays lasted about
six weeks.
We were strolling along quietly enjoying ourselves, when suddenly Billy
banteringly remarked: "By the way, Windy, when are you going to take
that little flier across the duck-pond?"
"Don't know, Billy; haven't decided yet."
"What are you going to do with all the money you make out of that book
of yourn?"
"Never you mind, Billy; I'm going to write the book just the same; don't
you worry about that."
"I suppose you'll get rich some day, and cut me the first thing. Fellers
who write books make lots of money. I suppose you'll buy a mansion on
Nob Hill, have a coach and four with a coachman in livery on the box and
the regulation flunkey behind. Maybe you'll drive tandem and handle the
ribbons yourself?"
"Stop roasting me, Billy; let up!"
But Billy continued mercilessly; "Of course you'll have a box at the
opera, wear a claw hammer coat and a plug hat, put on white kids and
take your lady-love to a little supper after the play is over. Be lots
of champagne flowing about that time, eh?"
"Let up, you darned little Britisher," said I laughing. "Greater things
than that have come to pass. I'll cut you, the first thing, Billy."
"I knew it. Rich people ain't got any use for their poor friends or
relations.
"Which bank will you put your money in?"
"Haven't decided yet; ain't going to let that worry me."
"Maybe you'll fall in love with some girl and get married. When a feller
has money he'll do fool things."
"The girl I marry will have to be a pretty good looker, and will have to
have a little money of her own," responded I.
"Of course, Windy; I'm glad to see you've got some sense. After that
old country trip yarn of yours I didn't think you had any."
"No yarn about it, Billy; I'm going."
"Where to?"
"To the old country."
"When?"
"Oh, you're asking me too many questions. Better go to the old country
with me, Billy."
"Not I, Windy; I've been there and know what it is. I'll never return to
it until I'm rich."
"Hope that'll be soon, Billy."
"So do I, Windy; but it don't look that way now."
"Can you blame me for trying to make a stake?" asked I.
"Blame you, no; but you'll never make a stake writing a book."
"Faint heart never won a fair lady, my boy, and I'm going to try it, if
it takes a leg off."
"I believe you are serious, Windy; I thought you were kiddin'!"
"Kiddin' nothing; I was serious from the go-off."
"Well, Windy, old pard, I wish you luck but it don't look to me as if
you'd make it. Too big a contract."
"Time will tell."
We had many another talk on the subject, Billy bantering me every time,
for he either couldn't or wouldn't believe I was serious. We had been
together so long, that he was loath to believe I would desert him.
One evening when I came home from work I informed Billy that I had made
up my mind positively to start out on my trip at the end of the week.
You should have seen him when I told him this. At first he argued, then,
seeing that did no good, he called me all kinds of a fool, and cursed
and fumed. He finally told me to go to hades if I wished, for he had no
strings on me. He didn't care a tinker's damn how soon I went, or what
became of me. He hoped I'd get drowned, or, if not that, then pinched as
soon as I set foot on British soil. The little fellow was badly wrought
up. I informed him it was my intention to beat my way to New York and
that when I got that far, I would plan the next move. I told him also
that I didn't believe in crossing a river until I got to it, and that I
would find some means of crossing the ocean. He sarcastically advised me
again to swim across, but I took no heed. We parted the next morning and
I knew Billy felt sore, but he didn't show it. He told me that he should
remain in 'Frisco, and that I would find him there when I came back,
that is, if I ever came back.
"Oh, I'll come back, my boy; never fear."
"And mind what I told you about my folks. If you go to London they live
only a short way from there, and if you see them tell them all about
me."
"I'll do it, old pard, and write you everything," responded I.
"Good-bye, then, Windy, and don't take in any bad money while you're
gone," was Billy's parting bit of advice.
I felt bad, too, but didn't show it. I was leaving the true-heartedest
little fellow that ever lived, but the best of friends must part
sometimes.