And it wasn't Washington, and we didn't live lives of ease; no banker
ever toiled from dawn until all hours of the night, Sunday included!

I made pothooks and translated them. I put figures down and added them
up. For the road crew I checked in equipment and for the cook I chucked
out rotten beef. The Superintendent had boasted that three weeks of the
program he had laid out for me would be plenty to send me back where I
came from and then he would have a regular place again. But I really
didn't mind the work. I was learning to love the Arizona climate and the
high thin air that kept one's spirits buoyed up in spite of little
irritations. I was not lonely, for I had found many friends.

When I had been at the Canyon a few days the young people gave a party
for me. It was my début, so to speak. The world-famous stone building at
Hermit's Rest was turned over to us for the evening by the Fred Harvey
people, and, attended by the entire ranger force, I drove out the nine
miles from Headquarters. We found the house crowded with guides,
cowboys, stage-drivers, and their girls. Most of the girls were Fred
Harvey waitresses, and if you think there is any discredit attached to
that job you had better change your mind. The girls there were
bookkeepers, teachers, college girls, and stenographers. They see the
world and get well paid while doing it.

The big rendezvous at Hermit's Rest resembles an enormous cavern. The
fireplace is among the largest anywhere in the world, and the cave
impression is further carried out by having flat stones laid for the
floor, and rock benches covered with bearskins and Navajo rugs. Many
distinguished guests from all parts of the globe have been entertained
in that room, but we forgot all about distinguished personages and had a
real old-fashioned party. We played cards and danced, and roasted