ummer silk,
while that woman is dressed for mid-winter!"

"Of course," I assented. "She's on the shady side of the street."

But still his face did not lighten. "We've been in the sun all morning,"
I continued to explain. "People talk about San Francisco being an
expensive place to live in, but really it is the cheapest in the world.
If a woman has a handsome set of furs, she wears them and keeps in the
shadow, or if her new spring suit has just come home, she puts that on
and walks on the sunny side of the street, being comfortably and
appropriately, dressed in either."

"Great heavens!" he cried, "what a city!"

We passed through the shopping district and lingered for a moment at the
edge of Portsmouth Square. My eyes rested affectionately on the
clean-cut lawns and blossoming shrubs. Then I turned to the skeptic, but
before I could speak, he had dismissed it with a nod.

"Too modern," he commented. "Looks as if it had been planted yesterday.
Now the Boston Common--"

A rasping discordant sound burst from a near-by store and the Easterner
sent me a questioning glance.

"A Chinese orchestra," I replied. "We are in Oriental San Francisco."

"That park was doubtless made as a breathing place for this congested
Chinese quarter," he glanced back at the green square. "A good civic
improvement."

"That park is a relic of old Spanish days and one of the most historic
spots in San Francisco," I said severely.

He stopped short. "You don't mean--I didn't suppose there was anything
old in commercial San Francisco."

"Portsmouth Square was once the Plaza of the little Spanish town of
Yerba Buena, and the public meeting place of the community when there
were not half a dozen houses in San Francisco."

"Let's go back." He wheeled about abruptly and started in the direction
of the square, but I protested.

"I am hungry and I want some luncheon!" "Then we'll return this
afternoon." There was determination in his voice.

"We will hardly have time if we visit Luis Argueello's home at the
Presidio," I objected.

"All right, we'll take it in tomorrow, then."

Hastening on, we were soon in the midst of the huddled houses of the
Latin quarter. Tucked away between two larger buildings, we found a
quaint Spanish restaurant. As we opened our tamales, my companion again
referred to Portsmouth Square.

"Tell me about it," he demanded. "Does it date with the Mission and
Presidio?"

"No, it is of later birth, but still of