“Good!” he muttered.
He tossed himself away with ludicrous dignity, singing:
“Pon pili, yon, pon, pon!”
“This is undeniably a tough place!” I exclaimed.
15th—Night has just arrived.
Only ten minutes ago a white-capped “Jim” (I overheard people calling him so) lighted a paper lantern labelled “Tomales.” He is an eating-stand keeper across the street. The loafers passed. There was some time to watch the lazy parade. It was a blank hour of Saturday when he could puff a whiff of smoke.
The prankish songs ceased.
Even in Dupont Street I am given a page of dream.
The barkeeper of “Remember the Maine” called at my store.
“Remember the Maine?”