The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1891-09-13
A DAY In TOWN.
A Country Girls Experience in The Great Me-
uOpOlS.
Written for THE SUNDAY CALI

From hill or valley, from sweet-smelling
hooks in the woods, from the ever-changing
delights of the seaside, we take train or
boat to "the city," which in this part OF the
world always means San Francisco.
There is perhaps a trifle of shopping to
be done or dressmaker (ohl fearful
thoughtD to be interviewed, AT the ferry
or train we are met by our nearest and
dearest of the allowedtO-vote sex-a hus-
band or brother Ia model of his kind, be it
UNDERSTOOD. We feel that our coming is q
concession on our part; our nearest and
dearest thinks so. tool How CALAMITY he
takes our hand-luggagel We make a tri-
umphant entry into townl
We exclaim about the dust as IL we
never saw any of it before. And we chat
pleasantly of the pleasures we have left be-
hind US.
We are allowed to do our shopping in
peace. as our interview with her majesty
the dressmaker is completed; then our
nearest and dearest" takes us to lunch.
he gets or takes few hours OF vacation,
which he devotes to us. We feel that we
are highly complimented, hut think we de-
serve it, for nave we not come to town"P
After lunch we go for walk along
Kearny or Market streets. We peep into
the show windows; perhaps we meet
friends who have come to town for the
day." as we have. We exchange condolences
and give and get bit of gossip-innOcent
gossip, of course. Our friend may not
have been out of town this seasons. we ad-
wise her to ego away, by all means"
Evening approaches; we decide to stay
over night. John" promises US an even.
ing to the theater; we think we will enjoy
1t lust for a change"
We dine at some restaurant, then meander
along as we would not think Of doing if we
we're legitimately at home. The stores
close, we meet the shop girls and cler ks
going home, we feel intensely sorry for
them. We remember how pure Is the air
we have been breathing for the last few
weeks, how perfect the dolce-far- niente we
have INDUCED in.
We are taken to the theater, we enjoy the
performance immensely, we wouldn't laugh
half so freely at the comic parts if we were
not lin town just for the day"
John is so agreeable, SO honestly glad to
be with US. We wear his flowers, we think
him nicer than ever. After the play comes
| a "petit soupe we eat salads recklessly.
At last we start home. We have not had
the courage to 90 near it befOrel We know
| just how shut-up and deserted it looks
bereft of its curtains and bric-a-brac. fur
niture hidden away by those shroud-like
covers-because his sister, who is house
keeper, Is in the country, When we arrive
| the whole place is dark. John stumbles in
and flights up" in an hospitable manner
| the girl, of course, is "out."
Next morning we arise early and look
| about us. We shiver at the fog. Every
| thing shows neglect. John isn't much of a
| bousekeeper. Perhaps we find more empty
| bottles about than usual. We scan the
| labels and draw a sigh of relief as we read,
| Lager beer" only. Cigar stumps meet
us in unexpected places.
| The girl is little more presuming than
| usual-our breakfast is unsatisfactory
| John, however, sees nothing amissl We
| feel depressed; the effect of last nights
| salad, perhapsl
| When the time comes for US to go we are
heartily pleased-our spirits grow ighterl
| At the ferry or train we kiss dear John
| and say we have had lovely time" and
| TO be "sure to come over on Saturday"
| But as we are sped back to the country we
| take solemn vow that it will be many day
before we come to town again. NJ. G. t.