fact that it is weak in
strong men, that all its salient leaders are what you so elegantly term
'blatherskites.' If I go in for American politics, I must fight so hard
that I cannot help becoming absorbed body and soul; with only the
present and the future--no past. Let us take a walk over these hills."

III

"Do you run this thing yourself?" asked Gwynne, as they boarded the
launch, which was at anchor by the end of the sea wall at the foot of
Russian Hill.

"Rather. How do you expect me to make a fortune in this paradise of the
labor-union if I don't do things myself? I have a hard time being
economical, and I suspect that where I save once I spend twice, but I
try not to think about it. Theories make life so palatable! This old
launch belonged to Uncle Hiram. I had it repaired, and take my eggs to
the hatcheries and my produce to Rosewater three times a week. There I
deal direct with the San Francisco buyers--and in this launch; it serves
me very well as an office. Then I come down in it every week. The
railroad is exorbitant, and the boats are too slow. It may be that
gasolene and repairs cost more than a railroad fare once a week, but I
have abstained from making a comparison. The trip is so delightful!"

The launch was about twenty feet long with a small cabin and a fresh
coat of brown paint. It shot lightly over the smooth water, and Gwynne
sat on top of the cabin above Isabel swinging his long legs, and looked
with some envy at the hundreds of yachts that skimmed the bay. They
appeared and vanished about the corners of the Islands and promontories
like birds swooping after prey. The Islands and all the mainland had
lost their greens long since, but the burnt grasses shone in the sun
like hammered gold; were tan and brown and fawn on the shadowed eastern
slopes. The chain of mountains beyond the towns across the bay and
facing San Francisco glittered like bronze, but the lofty volcanic peak
of Monte Diablo, farther still, was a pale and misty blue. North of the
Golden Gate and high above the mountains of Marin County, Mount
Tamalpais was so intense and hard a blue, and was cut against the
fleckless sky with so sharp an outline, that it produced in Gwynne a
vague sense of unreality and uneasiness. The Marconi poles on the summit
looked like the masts of a mammoth ship, and every window of The Tavern,
close by them, shone like a plate of brass.

They steered for the southern point of Angel Island, and