The San Francisco call., 1908-11-22

and most often is he picking for her.
A shy, slender thing of rose dropped
manner, the daughter of a small farmer,
and one who has never seen life as the
halfback knows it, what can the sturdy
Stanford man see in her that he does
not merely "fiirt," as it is his nature to
do? But Marguerite has turned her
head to something he has said. She is
looking at him with clear, unconscious
eyes-eyes that have not seen life as
he has seen 1T, but with an infinite
truth back of them. Her face is dawn
dream of possibilities; its dirt stains
are pathos spots to kiss. All, what can
the Stanford man see in her-if he look
long enough, of hope, of delicacy, of
truth So does Cupid trip it in a hop
field as anywhere else-perhaps we
should say most of all; neither are his
arrows seaside" arrows, nor their
wounds scratches. And if everybody is
not young. everybody is in comradeship
with you, and appreciation reigns as
nowhere else on earth.
It's spirit of equality and true fell
lowship that makes you worthy of it
if you have it in you; if you haven't.
the hopfeld, as no other place, does not
want you, nor will accept you. AS one
hobo, who could be more than a hobo.
put it, he always, came out to the
fruit country to get into society,"" and
that society was a good thing once in
a while. because it made a man wash
his face, gave him a square appetite
on a square job, and a hankering TO
recover from the ragman the manners
left neglected with many other things
in the pockets of castaway, youthful
trousers. The statement is illustrative.
Made up in the main of artisans
tradesmen's and farmers families, the
hop pickers are society in real truth.
and a most respectable one 1t is a
society SO absolutely natural, however
that below or above it lifts you to it.
self in the most natural way AS Won
yield so it accepts you-and its spirit
is spontaneity. Within that spirit It
may gather everything from tramps 10
counts, its elements be as diverse in
their foatage as life itself-but thev
are all hop pickers.
Unlike the City
The girlish school mistress from San
Francisco, who provided a bit of pas
sionate italian opera with the younp
devil may care dago of better caste
for the entertainment of the crowd. and
took his unexpected salute on the lips
without reprimand and even liking
was rather taken back when some one
suggested afterward: eff it had been
in San Francisco?'
But were not IN San Francisco -
she expostulated. He would be diff
ferent person there-and so would
These are the hopfields."
The two Britons were known as
Mothers Own"-they stuck so close
together. One was the nephew of an
English baronet, but Tommy, the mid
get, was of the hoi polloi from the
ground up-bow legs, accent and all. AS
a matter of caste Tommy wouldn,t
have been in it; as matter of taste
Tommy was delighted with such 4
friendship.
Wy" he said, up in vallhao, / was
nutlin' more'n bloomin' piker to i'm.
in San Francisco no more'n a bevosh. :.
but ere in the 'opfields there's no
cawste an I'm the comrade O. his
soul. But to hev that time with i'm
when were through. as he says. I'll not
go. In town, by Jowve, and he'd for
get me between drinks"
In the hopfields, however, as Tommy
said, the nephew of the baronet was .
pretty good fellow--forgettin even TO
boast more than once that he got aw',,
with 100000 in his d'y. AS for the
third lime juicer-or rather the onlv
other one incapable of eaven or ell in
his accent-he was quite as much of a
character. Back in England Old Bill
had led a choir and played Rugby at
Harrow. Now at nights when the
candle spluttered beside his lonely mate