The Waterbury Democrat., 1939-03-03


 tion. Yet, I've never failed to cure
 a cold in this atmosphere, and to
 gain new strength for the job in
 town AS the train reels off
 the desert miles, I dwell upon
 memories of San Francisco i. .
 and the sight of Treasure Island,
 ablaze with light, as we passed
 over the bridge to Oakland in the
 railway busses.
 Those hospitable people almost
 persuaded me to stay one more
 day .. but I said to Paul Smith, newspaper man and labor concilia- tor, My conscience won't permit me to stay away from New York any longer" Put the con- science out to pasture and come to my party tomorrow" he said. and I was tempted, but re- membered the Lotus-eaters, who came unto a land that seemed always afternoon. and those boys stayed in their San Francisco so long that most of their wives had them declared Judge Craters and married somebody else. |. Back, then, to Troy-or Babylon!
 So this Paul Smith, one of the rising young Californians who's going to do interesting things un- less most of us guess wrong, took me to tea at the picturesque home of Publisher Cameron of the Chronicle and his charming wife, daughter of famous Michael de Young.
 Lucius Beebe, of whom I've seen
 much in California, was there, wearing an item of dress that would make his Manhattan cronies open their eyes wide. To a cos- tune that included a shirt with pinkish-red cross-stripes and short blood-red socks, he had added a 45-calibre pistol, in a bright yel- low holster supported by a yellow leather belt that wasn't quite strong enough for its heavy bur- den.
 Pistol and belt made the im- maculate clothing of the stylish Beebe set very much awry.
 In many parts of San Francisco there have been kangaroo courts set up informally, named by bearded fellows in early western costume. Anybody is likely to be taken before these courts and fined, or, in case of hardy young natives, tossed into a tub of wa ter. was arrested by a pretty young vigilante before I'd been in town ten minutes. She car- ried lasso over one shoulder and a pistol on her hip. She led me to a court, where I gladly paid a dollar for mot talking" thought it worth the dollar for a profess sional word-monger to have a record of being fined for refus- ing to talk.
 Beebe had been arrested several times and was once abused, I'm told, for wearing funny clothes that weren't Western. So he strapped on pistol, just to con- form with local style.
 During the carnival high jinks that ushered in the fair, there was much shooting of pistols.
 Elsa Maxwell, the extremely plump little lady who has made New Workers pay her a fortune for running their parties, was just another guest at the little tea at the Camerons. She show ed us proudly a picture of herself on a ski-jump, and it was really worth seeing.
 Arvid Erickson, manager of one of the San Francisco theaters, isS one whom I regret having miss ed. He wrote me, phoned me, and we tried to meet, but engage ments interfered. Arvid workd with me on the old St. Paul Daily News, under the strict but kindly rule of Arthur Vance, now gone. (Not the Arthur Vance who used to edit a popular magazine in Manhattan, but one much like him in many ways)
 At my hotel, with their car, ready to take me to the depart ing train, were MT. ad Mrs. Bun- nie Booher. Bunnie was a pretty little boy in kits when I first met him at the one-room country school in Kansas. He is now in the U. s. Mint in San Francisco. His wife, a professional singer of not a ble accomplishments, is a rench- Californian beauty.
 Bunie's fathner, Frank Booher, and his grandfather, Bill, were the oldest settlers in our At the opening of the first Indian lands in Okla homa, they stake claims. For many years they toiled for small reward, lived in poor circum- stances. A few years ago they struck one of the richest oil wells in the country. Now Bunnie's par- ents, well on in years, are wealthy have a beautiful home by the Pacific, and travel wherever they please.
 What pleasanter story could I find to speed me on my home- ward -ay! Good fortune for good friends and old neighbors is about the happiest tidings one can hear. And we have all heard too much of the opposite kind of news in our time.
 Copyright, 1889, McNaught