Of course, the San Francisco police are many things beside being
handsome and willing to flirt. But these are important qualifications
which, up to this time, have never had their place in journalism. Ah,
many a Raleigh and Don Quixote in the roster of the S. F. police.

A policeman is all things to all people. What a policeman is depends
upon what we are. To those who are fast, either in reputation or
driving, he is a limb of the law to be either evaded or cajoled. To the
small boy he is a hero to aspire to become when grown. To the
public-spirited citizen of the reforming order he is a piece of
community linen to be periodically washed in public with a great hue in
the papers about graft expose. To almost anybody in the dead of night
with burglars prowling about, he is a friend to be called - in case one
has a nickel handy.

But to the great army of women who are hopelessly respectable, the
policeman is something quite different. And what we women think of the
police is important. We pay taxes, we vote and we cross the street. We
like our policemen to be handsome and cavalier and, again I say, the
S. F. police are both. Any fine day they will make a funeral procession
out of the motor traffic to escort a nice woman across Market street.

It goes without saying and is an unwritten law that policemen should be
Irish. I enjoy Greeks in classic literature or in restaurants, but not
as policemen. There is a saying in the city that when Greek meets Greek
they go together to get a job on the Market Street Railways. But when
they get upon the police force, I for one, shall move to the country.
Policemen should always be Irish.

And handsome. This is a woman's reason, but listen: O men, are they not,