for old--"

"If you would like to see the home of Luis Argüello, I will show it to
you. It is at the Presidio."

"A hopeless mass of neglected ruins, I suppose. But still I should like
to see the old walls, if you can find them."

"Shall we take the Camino Real on foot, just as the old padres used to?"

"Not if I have my way. I'll acknowledge that the Spanish friars have
left you Californians one legacy that no Easterner can vie with, that is
your love of tramping over these hills. I've seen streets in San
Francisco so steep that teams seldom attempt them, as is evident from
the grass between the cobblestones, and yet they are lined with
dwellings."

"Houses that are never vacant," I assured him. "We like to get off the
level, and value our residence real estate by the view it affords."

Noticing that the sun was now high, my companion drew out his watch.
"Luncheon time," he announced. "Shall it be the Palace or St. Francis
hotel?"

"Let's keep in the spirit of the times and go to a Spanish restaurant,"
I suggested, and soon we were on a car headed for the Latin quarter.

"May I replace the violets you left at the Mission?" he asked, as
stepping from the car at Lotta's fountain, we lingered before the gay
flower stands edging the sidewalk.