e cost him eighteen-seventy.

A hat would have been more.

It would be more in Southern California--I'm sure of that. There the
tipping habit is made more expensive by reason of the prevalent spirit
of Western generosity. The born Westerner never has got used to dimes
and nickels. To him quarters are still chicken-feed and a half dollar is
small change. So the tips are just as numerous as in New York and for
the same service they are frequently larger.

A lot has been said and written about the marvelous palms of Lower
California and a lot more might be said--for they are outstretched
everywhere; and if you don't cross them with silver at frequent
intervals you would do well to try camping out for a change. Likewise a
cursory glance at the prices on some of the menus is calculated to make
a New Yorker homesick--they're so familiarly and unreasonably steep. And
frequently the dishes you get aren't typical of the country; they
are--thanks again be to the Easterner--mostly transplanted imitations of
the concoctions of the Broadway and the Fifth Avenue chefs.

There are compensations, though. There are some hotels that are operated
on admirably different lines, and there are abundant opportunities for
escaping altogether from hotel life and seeing this Land of the Living
Backdrop where it is untainted and unspoiled; where the hills are
clothed in green and yellow; where little Spanishy looking towns nestle
below the Missions, and the mocking-birds sing, and the real-estate
boomer leaps from crag to crag, sounding his flute-like note. And don't
forget the climate! But that is unnecessary advice. You won't have a
chance to forget it--not for a minute you won't!

_IN THE HAUNT OF THE NATIVE SON_

[Illustration]

_In the Haunt of the Native Son_

THERE are various ways of entering San Francisco, and the traveling
general passenger agent of any one of half a dozen trunklines stands
ready to prove to you--absolutely beyond the peradventure of a
doubt--that his particular way is incomparably the best one; but to my
mind a very satisfactory way is to go overland from Monterey.

The route we followed led us lengthwise through the wonderful Santa
Clara country, straight up a wide box plait of valley tucked in between
an ornamental double ruffle of mountains. I suppose if we passed one
ranch we passed a thousand--cattle ranches, fruit ranches, hen ranches,
chicken ranches, bee ranches--all the known varieties and sub