ul to see the change come over him.

"For that matter," I went on, "I might say even more. I could say that,
while I admire my companion as a man, and as an artist, he lacks
ingenuity in ordering breakfast. He always reads over the menu and then
orders a baked apple and scrambled eggs and bacon. Would you like me to
attack him on that line also?"

"Oh, no," said the secretary. "Nothing of that kind. It's just about
these pictures. They aren't representative. If you'll say that, I'll be
more than satisfied."

Presently we parted.

"Don't forget!" he said as we shook hands in farewell.

And I have not forgotten. Moreover, to give full measure, I am going to
ask the printer to set the statement in italics:

_The drawings accompanying this chapter are not representative of what
is typical of Montgomery life._

With this statement my companion is in full accord. He admits that he
would have drawn the State House had there been no fair, to interfere.
But, as with certain items on the breakfast bill, street fairs are a
passion with him. And so they are with me.

CHAPTER LVI

THE CITY OF THE CREOLE

When a poet, a painter, or a sculptor wishes to personify a city, why
does he invariably give it the feminine gender? Why is this so, even
though the city be named for a man, or for a masculine saint? And why is
it so in the case of commonplace cities, commercial cities, and ugly,
sordid cities? It is not difficult to understand why a beautiful,
sparkling city, like Washington or Paris, suggests a handsome woman,
richly gowned and bedecked with jewels, but it is hard to understand why
some other cities, far less pleasing, seem somehow to be stamped with
the qualities of woman-nature rather than man-nature. Is it perhaps
because the nature of all cities is so complicated? Is it because they
are volatile, changeful, baffling? Or is it only that they are the
mothers of great families of men?

When I arrive in a strange city I feel as though I were making the
acquaintance of a woman of whom I have often heard. I am curious about
her. I am alert. I gaze at her eagerly, wondering if she is as I have
imagined her. I try to read her expression while listening to her voice.
I consider her raiment, noticing whether it is fine, whether it is good
only in spots, and whether it is well put together. I inspect the
important buildings, boulevards, parks, and monuments with which she is
jeweled, and judge by them not only of h