these men the
practice. They had been there. They knew all about it. They banged their
fists on the table and spoke of political "pulls," the vending of votes,
and so forth. Theirs was not the talk of village babblers
reconstructing the affairs of the nation, but of strong, coarse, lustful
men fighting for spoil and thoroughly understanding the best methods of
reaching it. I listened long and intently to speech I could not
understand, or only in spots. It was the speech of business, however. I
had sense enough to know _that_, and to do my laughing outside the door.
Then I began to understand why my pleasant and well-educated hosts in
San Francisco spoke with a bitter scorn of such duties of citizenship as
voting and taking an interest in the distribution of offices. Scores of
men have told me with no false pride that they would as soon concern
themselves with the public affairs of the city or State as rake muck.
Read about politics as the cultured writer of the magazines regards 'em,
and then, _and not till then_, pay your respects to the gentlemen who
run the grimy reality.

I'm sick of interviewing night-editors, who, in response to my demand
for the record of a prominent citizen, answer: "Well, you see, he began
by keeping a saloon," etc. I prefer to believe that my informants are
treating me as in the old sinful days in India I was used to treat our
wandering Globe-trotters. They declare that they speak the truth, and
the news of dog-politics lately vouchsafed to me in groggeries incline
me to believe--but I won't. The people are much too nice to slangander
as recklessly as I have been doing. Besides, I am hopelessly in love
with about eight American maidens--all perfectly delightful till the
next one comes into the room. O-Toyo was a darling, but she lacked
several things; conversation, for one. You cannot live on giggles. She
shall remain unmoved at Nagasaki while I roast a battered heart before
the shrine of a big Kentucky blonde who had for a nurse, when she was
little, a negro "mammy." By consequence she has welded on to Californian
beauty, Paris dresses, Eastern culture, Europe trips, and wild Western
originality, the queer dreamy superstitions of the negro quarters, and
the result is soul-shattering. And she is but one of many stars. _Item_,
a maiden who believes in education and possesses it, with a few hundred
thousand dollars to boot, and a taste for slumming. _Item_, the leader
of a sort of informal salon