hands, would dash by at full speed, their horses quite uncontrolled, their
garments flying, ecstatically scared and happy, causing great confusion,
and pursued by curses.

"Evidently we're headed in the right direction," remarked Keith.

After a drive of two or three miles, never far from the bay they arrived
at what had evidently been a sleepy little village. The original low,
picturesque, red-tiled adobe buildings still clustered about the Mission.
But much had been added. The Keiths found themselves in an immense
confusion. Screaming signs cried everywhere for attention--advertising bear
pits, cock fights, theatrical attractions, side shows, and the like.
Innumerable hotels and restaurants, small, cheap, and tawdry, offered their
hospitality, the liquid part of which was already being widely accepted.
Men were striking pegs with hammers, throwing balls at negroes' heads
thrust through canvas, shooting at targets. A racecourse was surrounded.
Dust rose in choking clouds, and the sun beat down heavily.

"Goodness, what a place!" cried Nan in dismay.

Had they known it, there were many quiet, attractive, outlying resorts
catering to and frequented by the fashionables, for "the Mission" was at
that time in its heyday as a Sunday amusement for all classes. As it was,
Keith drove on through the village, and so out to a winding country road.

"This is heavenly," said Nan, and laid aside her veil.

The road wound and meandered through the low hills of the peninsula. The
sun beat down on them in a flood, only its heat, no longer oppressive, had
become grateful.