ABSTRACT
ON THE fifth day of our life in San Francisco we noticed that the city began to suck us in, just as long ago—thousands of cities, a score of deserts, and a score of states ago—we had been almost sucked in by New York. Our notebooks were filled with a multitude of notes, signifying the dates of business appointments, of business luncheons, and business cocktail parties. We were leading the life of businesslike Americans, without having any business at all. Our days were tremulous with the fear of being late for an appointment. Cursing, we crept around the room, looking for the lost collar button. Like Chichikov, we paid a visit to the mayor of the city, a very charming Italian by the name of Rossi, a bald-headed gentleman with black eyebrows. He showed us a letter from Honolulu which had been sent only the day before. The letter had been brought over by the China Clipper, a flying boat of Sikorsky’s. Tor exactly five minutes we praised the city of San 203Francisco to the mayor and he treated us to excellent cigars. It was our luck that San Francisco really is a fine city and we were not obliged to lie to Mr. Rossi. We walked out of the City Hall with pleasant smiles on our faces and with apprehension in our hearts. It was high time to break through the ring of business appointments and really begin a business life—that is, wander aimlessly through the city.
