After the
manner of my species I wanted to see over the edge and the young man,
thinking that I might be suspecting a blind pig, boosted me up to peck
over. I asked him why they didn't remove the bar entirely and he said
with unsmiling naivete that they were waiting "to see" and that they had
saved the rail, "in case."
If I were a reformer I should agitate and have that remarkably joyous
and beautiful Parrish painting placed where it could be seen. I'd take
it out to some San Francisco school so that the dear Pied Piper and all
the little round kiddies running after should be a delight to school
children.
And now I have come to the end and all that I have said is that the
Palace Hotel is the San Francisco tradition and everyone in the United
States knew that long ago.
Zoe's Garden
Zoe says emphatically that it is not her garden, but everybody's garden.
But it is her garden because she tends it, and every morning goes around
among her flowers lovingly, giving a little dig of dirt here, and tying
some frail sisters up there and then, with her scissors, clipping,
snipping and nipping away. Yes, it is Zoe's garden.
Anything that has spunk to grow is welcome in this essentially San
Franciscan garden. And no one is allowed to bully the others. Big burly
geraniums and proud dahlias must keep in their places and give the
dainty lobelia, cinnamon pinks, oxalis and candy tuft their chance.
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