Golden Gate was Alcatraz Island, like a huge dismantled warship,
guarding the entrance to the bay, and before us, San Francisco rested
upon undulating hills, its tall buildings piercing the sky at irregular
intervals. We made our way to the forward deck in order to have the full
sweep of the waterfront.

"You should see it at night!" I said, "it is a marvelous tiara. The red
and green lights on these wharves close to the water's edge are the
rubies and emeralds, while above, sweeping the hills, the lights of the
residences sparkle like rows and rows of diamonds."

A crowd of passengers surged around us as the boat poked its nose into
the slip. "There was nothing left of this part of the city but a fringe
of wharves, after the fire." I bit the last word in two, for it was
evident the expression was getting on his nerves. I was thankful that
the clanging chains of the descending gang plank and the tramp of many
feet made further conversation impossible.

"Hurry," he urged, "there's the Exposition car." We were in front of the
Ferry Building and the crowd was jostling us in every direction.

"You surely are not going to the Exposition!" I exclaimed in mock
surprise.

"Of course I am. Where else should we go?"

"But, my dear Antiquary, those buildings are only a few months old!"

He laughed good naturedly. "It ought to suit you Westerners, anyway," he
retaliated. Then taking my arm, "Let us hurry! Look, the car is