“You know why I came,” he said gently, with his eyes on my face.

I felt the blood creeping to my cheeks and turned quickly to look for an out-of-doors seat.  In the crowd we were jostled by a little slant-eyed man of the Orient, resplendent in baggy blue silk trousers tied neatly at the ankles and a loose coat lined with lavender, whose flowing sleeves half concealed his slender brown hands.

“There’s a man who has centuries at his back.”  My companion’s eyes traveled from the soft padded shoes to the little red button on the top of the black skull cap.  “Even his costume is the same as his forefathers’.”

“If you are interested in the Chinese, I’ll show you Oriental San Francisco.  It lies in the heart of the city and its very atmosphere is saturated with Eastern customs.  It is much more sanitary but not as picturesque as it was before the fire.”  I flushed as I saw his amusement, and quickly called his attention to the receding shores where the encircling green hills had thrown out long banners of yellow mustard and blue lupins.  To the right was Mt.  Tamalpais, a sturdy sentinel looking out to the ocean, its summit pressed against the sky’s blue canopy and its base lost in a network of purple forests.  In front of the Golden Gate was Alcatraz Island, like a huge dismantled warship, guarding the entrance to the bay, and before us, San Francisco rested upon undulating hills, its tall buildings piercing the sky at irregular intervals.  We made our way to the forward deck in order to have the full sweep of the waterfront.

“You should see it at night!” I said, “it is a marvelous tiara.  The red and green lights on these wharves close to the water’s edge are the rubies and emeralds, while above, sweeping the hills, the lights of the residences sparkle like rows and rows of diamonds.”

A crowd of passengers surged around us as the boat poked its nose into the slip.  “There was nothing left of this part of the city but a fringe of wharves, after the fire.”  I bit the last word in two, for it was evident the expression was getting on his nerves.  I was thankful that the clanging chains of the descending gang plank and the tramp of many feet made further conversation impossible.

“Hurry,” he urged, “there’s the Exposition car.”  We were in front of the Ferry Building and the crowd was jostling us in every direction.

“You surely are not going to the Exposition!” I exclaimed in mock surprise.

“Of course I am.  Where else should we go?”

“But, my dear Antiquary, those buildings are only a few months old!”

He laughed good naturedly.  “It ought to suit you Westerners, anyway,” he retaliated.  Then taking my arm, “Let us hurry!  Look, the car is starting!”

“I am going to take the one behind,” I announced.  “There must be something old in San Francisco and I am going to find it.”

“You’ll have a long hunt,” rejoined the skeptic, and with his eyes still on the tail of the disappearing Exposition car, he reluctantly followed me.