Part 3 (2/2)

These smaller and less important vehicles were painted in the same scheme of colour, were equally glittering and polished. Keith commented on all this admiringly.

”Yes,” said Sherwood, ”you see, since the big fires, it has become a good deal a matter of pride. There are eleven volunteer companies, and they are great rivals in everything, political and social, as well as in the line of regular business, so to speak. Mighty efficient. You'll have to join a company, of course; and you better look around a little before deciding. Each represents something different--some different element. They are really as much clubs as fire companies.”

They mounted to the upper story, where Keith found himself in a long room, comfortably fitted with chairs, tables, books, and papers. A double door showed a billiard table in action. Sherwood indicated a closed door across the hall.

”Card rooms,” said he briefly.

The air was blue with smoke and noisy with rather vociferative conversation and laughter. Several groups of men were gathered in little knots. A negro in white duck moved here and there carrying a tray.

Sherwood promptly introduced Keith to many of these men, and he was as promptly asked to name his drink. Keith caught few of the names, but he liked the hearty, instant cordiality. Remarking on the beauty and order of the machines, loud cries arose for ”Taylor! Bert Taylor!” After a moment's delay a short, stocky, very red-faced man, with rather a fussy manner, came forward.

”Mr. Keith,” said a tall, dark youth, with a p.r.o.nounced Southern accent, ”I want foh to make you acquainted with Mr. Tayloh. Mr. Tayloh is at once the patron saint of the Monumentals, but to a large extent its 'angel' as well--I hope you understand the theatrical significance of that term, suh. He is motheh, fatheh, guardeen, and dry nurse to every stick, stone, and brick, every piece of wood, bra.s.s, or rubbah, every inch of hose, and every man _and_ Irishman on these premises.”

Taylor had turned an embarra.s.sed brick red. ”Mr. Keith,” went on the dark youth, explanatorily, ”was just sayin' that though he had inspected carefully many fire equipments, per'fessional and amateur, he had nevah feasted his eyes on so complete an outfit as that of our Monumentals.”

Keith had not said all this, but possibly he had meant it. The brick-red, stocky little man was so plainly embarra.s.sed and anxious to depart that Keith racked his brains for something to say. All he could remember was the manufacturer's nameplate on the machine downstairs.

”I see you have selected the Hunaman engine, sir,” said he. The little man's eye brightened.

”It may be, sir, that you favour the piano-box type--of the sort made by Smith or Van Ness?” he inquired politely.

”It is a point on which my opinion is still-suspended,” replied Keith with great gravity.

The little man moved nearer, and his shyness fell from him.

”Oh, but really there is no choice, none whatever!” he cried. ”I'm sure, sir, I can convince you in five minutes. I a.s.sure you we have gone into the subject thoroughly--this Hunaman cost us over five thousand dollars; and you may be certain we went very thoroughly into the matter before making the investment----”

He went on talking in his self-effacing, deprecatory, but very earnest fas.h.i.+on. The other men in the group, Keith felt, were watching with covert amus.e.m.e.nt. Occasionally, he thought to catch half-concealed grins at his predicament. In less than the five minutes the claims of the piano box were utterly demolished. Followed a dissertation on methods of fighting fire; and then a history of the Monumental Company--its members, its officers, and its proud record. ”And our bell--did you know that?--is the bell used by the Vigilantes--” He broke off suddenly in confusion, his embarra.s.sment descending on him again. A moment later he sidled away.

”But I found him very interesting!” protested Keith, in answer to implied apologies.

”Bert is invaluable here; but he's a lunatic on fire apparatus. We couldn't get along without him, but it's sometimes mighty difficult to get on _with_ him,” said some one.

Keith was making a good impression without consciously trying to do so.

His high spirits of youth and enthusiasm were in his favour; and as yet he had no interests to come into conflict with those of any one present. More drinks were ordered and fresh cigars lighted. From Sherwood they now learned that Keith had but just landed, and intended to settle as a permanent resident. As one man they uprose.

”And yo' wastin' of yo' time indoors!” mourned the dark Southerner.

”And so much to see!”

Enthusiastically they surrounded him and led him forth. Only a very old, very small, very decadent village is devoid of what is modernly called the ”booster” spirit. In those early days of slow transportation and isolated communities, local patriotism was much stronger than it is now. And something about the air's wine of the Pacific slope has always, and probably will always, make of every man an earnest proselyte for whatever patch of soil he calls home. But add to these general considerations the indubitable facts of harbour, hill, health, opportunity, activity, and a genuine history, if of only three years, one can no longer marvel that every man, each in his own way, saw visions.

In the course of the next few hours Keith got confused and mixed impressions of many things. The fortresslike warehouses; the plank roads; the new Jenny Lind Theatre; the steam paddies eating steadily into the sand hills at the edge of town; the Dramatic Museum; houses perched on the crumbling edges of hills; houses sunk far below the level of new streets, with tin cans and ducks floating around them; new office buildings; places where new office buildings were going to be or merely ought to be; land that in five years was going to be worth fabulous sums; unlikely looking spots where historic things had stood or had happened--all these were pointed out to him. He was called upon to exercise the eye of faith; to reconstruct; to eliminate the unfinished, the mean, the sordid; to overlook the inadequate; to build the city as it was sure to be; and to concern himself with that and that only. He admired Mount Tamalpais over the way. He was taken up a high hill--a laborious journey--to gaze on the spot where he would have been able to see Mount Diabolo, if only Mount Diabolo had been visible.

And every few blocks he was halted and made to shake hands with some one who was always immediately characterized to him impressively, under the breath--”Colonel Baker, sir, one of the most divinely endowed men with the gift of eloquence, sir”; ”Mr. Rowlee, sir, editor of one of our leading journals”; ”Judge Caldwell, sir at present one of the ornaments of our bench”; ”Mr. Ben Sansome, sir, a leadin' young man in our young but vigorous social life”; and so on.

These introductions safely and ceremoniously accomplished, each newcomer insisted on leading the way to the nearest bar.

”I insist, sir. It is just the hour for my afternoon toddy.”

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