The day was so fine that they hurried through their dinner, a hearty and lavish meal, the chef-d’œuvre of Hannah’s housekeeping, and, loath to lose a moment of the sunshine, determined to walk down to Van Ness Avenue and there catch an outgoing car to the park. It was the middle of the afternoon and the great thoroughfare lay still and idle in the slanting light. There was something foreign, almost tropical in its vista, in the scene that hung like a drop curtain at the limit of sight—pale blue hills dotted with ochre-colored houses—in the background of sky deep in tint, the foliage dark against it as if printed upon its intense glaring blue, in the sharp lines of palms and spiky leaves crossing stuccoed walls. The people that moved slowly along the sidewalks fitted into this high-colored exotic setting. There was no hurry or crowding among them. They progressed with an un-American deliberation, tasting the delicate sweetness of the air, rejoicing in the sky and the sun, pausing to look at the dark bushiness of a dracæna against a wash of blue, the skeleton blossom of a Century plant, the pool of thick scarlet made by a parterre of geranium.
The three sisters—Hannah and Pearl leading, Berny and Hazel walking behind with Josh—fared buoyantly down the street. As they passed, they commented on the houses and their inmates. They had plenty of stories of the dwellers in those solemn palaces, many of whom were people whose humble beginnings they knew by heart, and whose rapid rise had been watched almost awe-stricken by an admiring and envious community.
As the Ryan house loomed into view their chatter ceased and their eyes, serious with staring attention, were fixed on the mansion which had so stubbornly closed its doors on one of them. Sensations of varying degrees of animosity stirred in each of them, except the child, still too young to be tainted by the corroding sense of worldly injustice. She skipped along sidewise, her warm, soft hand clasped in her Aunt Hannah’s decently-gloved palm. Some wave or vibration of the intense feelings of her elders passed to her, and as they drew nearer the house she, too, began to grow grave, and her skipping quieted down into a sober walk.
“That’s Uncle Dominick’s house, isn’t it?” she said to Hannah.
Hannah nodded. By far the most amiable and wide-minded of the sisters, she could not rise above the sense of rankling indignation that she felt against the Ryans for their treatment of Berny.
“That’s the biggest house in San Francisco,” said Pearl over her shoulder to her parents. “Ain’t it, Popper?”
“I guess it is,” answered Josh, giving his head a confirmatory wag, “and even if it ain’t, it’s big enough, the Lord knows!”
“I can’t see what a private family wants with all that room,” said Hannah with a condemnatory air. “There must be whole sootes of rooms on that upper floor that nobody lives in.”
“Don’t you fret. They’re all occupied,” said Berny. “Each one of them has their own particular soote. Cornie has three rooms all of her own, and even the housekeeper has a private bath!”
“And there’s twelve indoor servants,” said Hazel. “They want a lot of space for them. Twelve servants, just think of it!”