f friends and freight, and the sorting of the mail
by Postmaster Geary."

My companion made a telescope of his two hands and examined the Nippon
Maru. "You are discharged for inefficiency," he said. "You are reporting
a side-wheeler for a screw-propeller."

"There is no signal in the code for such modern inventions," I retorted.
"I suppose the fog of your practical realism is too obscuring for you to
see that clipper just coming in," I continued, as a full-rigged ship
spread its filled sails against the glowing sky of the late afternoon.

"The lady is a bit sarcastic, Billy," he addressed the goat, "but we'll
examine it." Then peering through his telescoped hands again, "It's the
clipper ship Eclipse," he announced, "built especially for speed, in the
exigencies of the San Francisco trade, with long, narrow hull, and
carrying an extra amount of canvas. She has made the trip from New York
in three-quarters of the time required by any other kind of craft, and
demands, therefore, nearly double the price for freight." He looked at
me for approval.

"What a whetstone for the imagination the business sense is!" I
commented. "Perhaps if your grandfather owned shares in the Eclipse, you
will be able to see the second signal station erected the next year on
Point Lobos, just beyond the Fort. From there a vessel could be decried
many miles outside the Heads and the signal repeated by the station here
on Telegraph Hill, relieved the inhabitants of several more hours of
anxiety."

"Anxiety is a mild term if one couldn't hear for a whole month from the
girl who had his heart," he commented. "It's bad enough when she won't
write, even with a telegraph and railroad between." He was tracing some
characters in the ground at my feet, with a stick. "Thirty-four days," I
made out.

"If you've sufficiently recovered from the climb, shall we see how the
city looks from up here?" I asked.

For answer he sprang up and assisted me to my feet. We walked to the
opposite side of the park, where the city lay extended before us.

"Imagine a forest of masts here in the bay, about seven or eight
hundred; the water laying Montgomery Street beyond the Merchants'
Exchange--that yellow brick building with the little arched cupola; and
wharves running out from every street to reach the ships lying in deep
water, every one swarming with teams and men hurrying to and fro.
Connect them with piled walks over the water on the lines of Sansome and
Batt