others," he commented. "None
could fail to be refreshed by it. My strength is renewed. Let us
ascend," and he turned up Filbert Street.

Dark-eyed women lounged in the doorways of the houses that cling to the
perpendicular sides of the hill. "The Italian pervades," I volunteered,
"but there are Greek, Sicilians, Spaniards and French." The whole was
reminiscent of the South of Europe, but the Neapolitan scene of cleated
walks and steep steps lacked the enlivening color notes of the homeland.

"Not even a red shirt on a clothes line," I regretted, but a flood of
soft voweled Italian from a woman in a third story window, musically
answered by a man in the street below, brought consolation.

"The opera's own tongue," the Bostonian commented.

"Well, you leave it to me," finished the man in the street.

"Sure, Mike, I will," responded the woman.

My companion halted in consternation.

"We make American citizens of them all," I asserted.

"Les petits enfants aussi," I added as a child ran past, shouting a
response in irreproachable English to the Parisian command of her
mother.

We turned through the rude stone wall into Pioneer Park and along the
unkept paths shaded by eucalyptus, cypress and acacia trees and came
upon the open height where the mountain-hemmed bay lay in broad expanse
before us, dotted with islands and with ferries streaking their way
across its blue-gray surface.

"Wonderful," he exclaimed under his breath.

'"O, Telegraft Hill, she sits proud as a Queen,
And th' docks lie below in th' glare,'"

I quoted from Wallace Irwin.

He lowered his gaze to the numerous wharves running out into the water,
with teams appearing and disappearing at the entrances of the covered
docks, like lines of busy ants.

"'And th' bay runs beyant her, all purple and green
Wid th' gingerbread island out there,'"

I continued the quotation.

"What are those terraced buildings?" he queried.

"It has been the military prison for years. It is Alcatraz Island."

He looked his inquiry.

"Spanish for Pelican," I answered, seating myself on a rock. "Ayala, the
captain of the 'San Carlos,' the first ship to enter the bay, named it
from the large number of the birds he found on it, and the big island to
the right that looks like a portion of the main land is Angel Island,
abbreviated from Ayala's Isla de Nuestra Senora de los Angeles."

"And Goat Island?" he questioned as he threw himself down on the grass