this sturdy little creature to haul you about. Nice little, old
hilly-cum-go.



I'll Get It Changed, Lady



This expressman was a regular San Franciscan. And there is such a thing,
you know, as a regular San Franciscan. He is a native son and more. His
speech betrays him. He calls a "car" a "cahh," and when he's surprised
he says: "Yeah"! He has a permanent laugh in his eyes, and the only
thing he gets mad about is prohibition. But the particular thing that I
started to say of him is that money is to him a thing to spend. Money is
an incident to life, that's all.

He said it would be a "dollar, six-bits," and I was sorry, but I only
had a ten-dollar bill. When I said that, he just reached out and took it
from me, and said he'd get it changed, and disappeared. Now, the
significant thing, and the one that made him a regular San Franciscan,
was that he never dreamed that I would doubt his honesty in returning
with the change. And I didn't. It was this last that surprised me. If it
had been in New York - I gasp - if it had been in New York, no
expressman would have dared do such a thing because no one would have
trusted him, and if they had been so hick as to trust him, the
expressman would have had no respect for himself if he himself were so
hick as to return with the change.

I never shall forget the shock of seeing a pile of newspapers in front