ks in classic literature or in restaurants, but not
as policemen. There is a saying in the city that when Greek meets Greek
they go together to get a job on the Market Street Railways. But when
they get upon the police force, I for one, shall move to the country.
Policemen should always be Irish.

And handsome. This is a woman's reason, but listen: O men, are they not,
I ask, a part of the civic beauty of the city? Is it not important that
these animated equestrian statues should be gallant men upon noble and
spirited horses? And who is more imperial in the pictorial life of the
city than the officer on the Lotta Fountain pedestal by the raising of
whose sceptered hand the life of the city moves or stays. Yes, policemen
should be handsome and gallant. It is written.

A Marine View

Russian Hill had always seemed economically remote to me as an abiding
place until recently I was invited out where some people were living in
a modest apartment with a good view of the bay. And when they suggested
that I try to get an apartment over there I decided to do it.

It was a beautiful morning when I started out. There stood Russian Hill
and as Gibraltar bristles with armaments so it glittered with windows
facing the sea and one of them for me. Perhaps I could get a few rooms
from a nice Italian family and fix them up. Ah, the Latin quarter,
Greenwich village, the ghosts of artists haunting the place, Bohemians,
enthusiasm, the lust for adventure. I bristled with personality.

"Oh, you want a marine view," said the real estate man. "Not for that
price, lady."

A "marine view." I didn't want a marine view; I only wanted one window
facing the sea. Surely with all those windows--.

I left the real estate man and began wandering about. I asked a group of
Italian women and they exclaimed in a chorus "No marine views left." I
hadn't said a thing about a "marine view." I wandered further and it was
always the same. Some were smug and some were sorry but they all spoke
of a "marine view" in a certain tone of voice, as Boston people say
"Boston."

It was getting hot. I could not remove my coat because my waist was a
lace front. Only a hair net restrained me from utter frumpiness. Still I
was not altogether beaten and when I came to a nice countrified looking
house standing alone in the midst of modern art and a man came out I
asked him. The moment I did there came into his eyes a hunted glitter
and he told me how he had held