anywhere in the city, Chinatown, the Hall of Justice, the Chamber of
Commerce, the Barbary Coast, St. Francis Church - sinners, saints and
merchants may travel its way - Portsmouth Square, Telegraph Hill, Little
Italy, Russian Hill, Automobile Row, Fillmore street, the Presidio and I
expect with a little coaxing it would switch about and run over to the
Mission. It has actually been known on stormy nights to take its
constituents up the side streets to their very doors.

It is a surprising little boat which looks like nothing more than a bug
crawling up the backs of the hills with its antenna of khaki-wound legs
sticking out fore and aft. Those who have traveled in Ireland tell us
that it is much like the jaunting cars, and it is not unlike the
Toomerville Trolley.

One night I set out to find the little thing to take me home. I was in a
strange part of the city and when my friends told me to get on and get
off and get on again I did as I was told. With blind faith I told the
conductors to put me off and they did. I continued in this way until
long after midnight when I found myself at a lonely corner with no one
in sight. I waited and waited and was getting nervous when I spied a
blue uniform. I looked sharply to see if he were a motorman, a fireman
or an officer from the Presidio. I am careful about these matters since
last summer when I was coming North on the President, and asked a naval
officer for some ice water. I rushed up to him and told him, which was
true, that it was the first time I had ever seen a policeman when I
wanted one. This led him into a defense of the San Francisco police,
which I told him was quite unnecessary with me for I thought them the
finest policemen in the world, probably because they are so Irish.

"Irish," said he with a twinkle, "I'm not Irish."