The Washington times., 1911-04-16
CHAPTER XXI.

- AN DIEGO Is a city set upon
sands, a city of two streets and
- many narrow, filthy, reeking
lanes. IT is a ribbon of houses.
one might say, running along the water
front, on either side of the Paseo or
main avenue. A second avenue leads
from the railway station, situate where
me rising ground begins, down to the
massive, fortress-like custom house
where IT develops into the plaza, lead,
ing down to the beach, and the great
on the side of the plaza, facing the
statue OF the Iiberator, is the Fountain
saloon which the city boasts. The
Grace of God is its only rival, and it
Is much like unto other pulouerias-
low, vile dive which deals in nothing
out rum, pulque. aguardiehte, chica, and
nice, warm, bitter decoctton miscsIIed
beer. But the Fountain, as has been
SAID: Is fairly respectable: It has an
awning spread over the sidewalk, which
congresses the heat, and beneath which
one can SIT Of nights and be served
with helados and dulces, wines of a
sort and very good imitation of real
WHISKY ana cognac; also, If one will pay
the price. Ice, real cold ice, may be had
society, therefore, when IL cannot get
away from San Diego, goes to the Foun-
tain Of Gladness to spend its money
OF evenings the band plays in the plaza
the senoritas promenade with their at
tendant cavaliers, there is laughter: and
IL one be blessed with imagination of a
Vividness extraordinary, one can pre-
leho tnat sea breeze has succeeded In
overcoming the heat-that il fans ones
brow. This is purely self-deception, but
il harms none
The Fountain never closes; It does not
have to: very few drink to excess in
San Diego-the heat makes IL danger
1hPTaTnTp 81
sale of LIQUOR.
For these reasons the admiral patron
lied the Fountain, and for another; he
SAID that this scheme of never closing,
even on sunday. reminded him Of
home and of Geoghehan's on the Bow
cry. He was native of New York.
and an exile therefrom. He was big and
brawny, as BELTS one who commands
men, was the admiral of Anahuac; his
eye was bright and merry, and his
tongue was free and unrestrained. He
said that his name was Hippolyte
Michael Jesu Maria Hennessy, and that
he feared no man on this green earth
save one, Malone, his president. In view
OF his temper, which was none of the
sweetest when contradicted, the state
ment was never disputed.
HIS uniform, which he wore habitu-
ally throughout the rainy season, con-
sisted of red flannel shirt, white duck
trousers, three-cornered hat, a coat Of
great weight because of its magnifi-
cence of epaulets and gold braid, and
his sword dependent from a sash of
brilliant blue. In the dry season, If
nothing threatened the peace of the re-
public, he requested and obtained leave
of absence. Then he doffed his official
rsiment, and, attired simply in plug
hat, red shirt, and white trousers-sans
shoes-betook himself to the uplands
There he bestirred him profanely as
foreman of a railroad construction
gang, drawing pay beside which his
salary as admiral dwindled into-insigni-
fcance.
Upon a certain evening he sat dream
ing of Manhattan in front of the Foun-
tain of Gladness. 1t neared midnight; ;
the plaza was quiet; the promenade had
ceased, the musicians long since had
packed their brassy instruments and
taken themselves off to their homes. A
party of excitable poems, having made
the early part of the evening to ring
With blowless fight had now absorbed
sufficient of aguardiente to hear the
hovering whir of the peace doves
wings. They gurgled affectionate nick
names and INDUCED in fervent en-
braces. swearing eternal friendship one
10 another.
The admiral regarded them with pro-
found disgust. He was sober-a rare
rondition, which put him out of SYM
pathy with these, his fellow citizens. In
Ills minds eye he pictured mental
contrast to them; SO much firewater
fairly divided among an equal number
Of denizcns of little old New York would
have the desirable and exhilarating ef-
feet Of delightful shindy.
He shut his eyes. He could see the
old street. BY now the night would be
in full swing: the yellow lights would
be f1aring across the wide thoroughfare:
the sidewalks would be black with
strollins people Of his kind. Overhead
the elevated railroad would be thunder
ing. there the hnrSA 90 ho
crawling with tinkling bells (the cable
and the trolley came after Hennessys
time): and shrill and sharp above the
shuttle Of countless feet you'd be hear
ing the rasp of the barkers in, front
Of the Joints" 1t would be hot rlaybe.
and Geoghehan would have pink and
blue netting tackled up over his mirrors
behind the bar and the free lunch: in
front Of that bar there'd be crowd
of wardmen, heelers, and politicians,
smoking big black cigars and keeping
the perspiring bartenders busy with
orders for sky. shells, and tall ones.
Geoghehan would be out in front, of
course sitting I'm the bootblack's chair
and watching the crowds, shooting his
cuffs and swelling out his pink-and-
white-shirted chest the better that none
should fail to notice the big solitaire
stud anchored securely beneath the red
tie, which would be pushed inside the
flap so as not to obstruct the view.
The admiral sighed; he could see and
hear II all. but he couldn't taste one Of
Geoghehans ice-cold schooners. He
opened his eyes again and saw nothing
but the same old plaza and the shining
black sea beyond, with the ships lights
twinkling and nodding to the electric
lights on the pier, and the sultry, heavy
sky over all, sagging with the weight
OF the big, gaudy stars. 1t was 50
different!
Hennessy sighed once more with his
nostalgia, and finished his drink. The
demonstrative party of poems at the
neighboring table were preparing to
leave, and the admiral concluded 1t
would be best for him to go to his
berth. In the morning he would be
steaming out of the harhSr, en- route
for Curacao, upon a little private mat
ter of his very good friend Malone's.
''If II wasn't FIR him." unused the ad-
miral. rising and moving down toward
the pier. I'D be re-signin' tn morrer.
'Tis meself that has no manner av use
rr this land av greasers an stinks an
no good whisky. New York f'r mine,
He menaced with his clenched fist the
departing group of unconscious poems.
''Th' likes av We may kape yer dom
country FIR all av me. T1s no better
Xhan We deserve"'
anfnra him straiair1u af lis M mir eyS