“Don’t you think it’s rather dangerous?” inquired Mr. Lewis. “‘Most anything might happen at such a late hour.”
“I don’t see why it should be,” returned his son. “Bob and I are old enough to take care of ourselves. If we could come safely out of the jungles of Brazil, the Sahara, and the Andes, we surely ought to be able to watch ourselves here in America.”
“Well, maybe so. Chinatown, after all, isn’t like it used to be,” admitted Mr. Holton. “But be on the lookout. Any idea what time you’ll be back?”
Bob shook his head.
“We won’t stay any longer than we have to,” he assured him. “And don’t worry. We’ll be all right.”
The chums left the hotel without delay. They realized that they had barely a half hour to get to the Chinaman’s shop, and they knew this would mean some hustling.
“The trouble is,” said Joe, “we’re too near Grant Avenue to take a street car and too far away to walk.”
“That is a problem,” laughed Bob. “But if we hurry I think we’ll get there in time.”
The boys hastened down busy Market Street in the direction of the Ferry Building, amid the crowd of pleasure seekers. As they walked, they took in the sights of the great city. Lights, lights. Tall buildings. Four rows of street cars. An ever-moving procession of pedestrians. This was San Francisco.