prohibition. I think he
would do lots better in Kansas or Iowa. A particularly fascinating one
is the man of mending wax who stands before his table like some
professor of chemistry with a tiny flame and saucers of mysterious
powders and, I almost said, a blow pipe.

But, pshaw, I can't write them up. I take them too seriously. "Logic is
logic, that's all I say."

The San Francisco Police

The San Francisco police are the handsomest and most-willing-to-flirt
policemen in the United States, if not in the world. What a surly lot,
the New York policemen. They treat one as though he were a blackguard
for merely asking some direction.

"What car shall I take for the New Jersey Central Ferry?" we ask.

"Zippity-ip," he snaps, moving off.

"What did you say?" we ask in timid desperation.

"Zippity-ip," he yells, shaking his fist at us.

But ask a San Francisco policeman the way and how different. He will
take your arm and smile down at you and even go away with you chatting
all the time--"Stranger here? Well, you'll never go back East again."
And somehow after that you never do.

Of course, the San Francisco police are many things beside being
handsome and willing to flirt. But these are important qualifications
which, up to this time, have never had their place in journalism. Ah,
many a Raleigh and Don Quixote in the roster of the S. F. police.

A policeman is all things to all people. What a policeman is depends
upon what we are. To those who are fast, either in reputation or
driving, he is a limb of the law to be either evaded or cajoled. To the
small boy he is a hero to aspire to become when grown. To the
public-spirited citizen of the reforming order he is a piece of
community linen to be periodically washed in public with a great hue in
the papers about graft expose. To almost anybody in the dead of night
with burglars prowling about, he is a friend to be called--in case one
has a nickel handy.

But to the great army of women who are hopelessly respectable, the
policeman is something quite different. And what we women think of the
police is important. We pay taxes, we vote and we cross the street. We
like our policemen to be handsome and cavalier and, again I say, the
S. F. police are both. Any fine day they will make a funeral procession
out of the motor traffic to escort a nice woman across Market street.

It goes without saying and is an unwritten law that policemen should be
Irish. I enjoy Gree