IV
But if Bob imagined for one moment that he had acquired even a notion ofCalifornia in his experiences and observations down the San Joaquin andin Los Angeles, the next few stages of his Sentimental Journey very soonundeceived him. Baker's business interests soon took him away. Bob,armed with letters of introduction from his friend, visited in turn suchplaces as Santa Barbara, Riverside, San Diego, Redlands and Pasadena. Hecould not but be struck by the absolute differences that existed, notonly in the physical aspects but in the spirit and aims of the peoples.If these communities had been separated by thousands of miles ofdistance they could not have been more unlike.
At one place he found the semi-tropical luxuriance of flowers and treesand fruits, the soft, warm sunshine, the tepid, langourous, musicalnights, the mellow haze of romance over mountain and velvet hill andsoft sea, the low-shaded cottages, the leisurely attractive people oneassociates with the story-book conception of California. The place wascharming in its surroundings and in its graces of life, but it was acheerful, happy, out-at-the-heels, raggedy little town, whose brightgardens adorned its abyssmal streets, whose beautiful mountainspalliated the naivete of its natural and atrocious roads. Bob mingledwith its people with the pardonable amusement of a man fresh from thedoing of big things. There seemed to be such long, grave and futilediscussions over the undertaking of that which a more energeticcommunity would do as a matter of course in the day's work. Theliveryman from whom Bob hired his saddle horse proved to be a person ofa leisurely and sardonic humour.
"Their chief asset here is tourists," said he. "That's the leadingindustry. They can't see it, and they don't want to. They have just oneroad through the county. It's a bum one. You'd think it was a dozen, tohear them talk about the immense undertaking of making it halfwaydecent. Any other place would do these things they've been talking aboutfor ten years just on the side, as part of the get-ready. Lucky theydidn't have to do anything in the way of getting those mountains setproper, or there'd be a hole there yet."
"Why don't you go East?" asked Bob.
"I did once. Didn't like it."
"What's the matter?"
"Well, I'll tell you. Back East when you don't do nothing, you feel kindof guilty. Out here when you don't do nothing, _you don't give a damn!_"
Nevertheless, Bob was very sorry when he had to leave this quiet andbeautiful little town, with its happy, careless, charming people.
Thence he went directly to a town built in a half-circle of themountains. The sunshine here was warm and grateful, but when its rayswere withdrawn a stinging chill crept down from the snow. No sitting outon the verandah after dinner, but often a most grateful fire in theClub's fireplace. The mornings were crisp and enlivening. And again bythe middle of the day the soft California warmth laid the land under itsspell.
This was a place of orange-growers, young fellows from the East. ItsUniversity Club was large and prosperous. Its streets were wide. Flowerslined the curbs. There were few fences. The houses were in good taste.Even the telephone poles were painted green so as to be unobtrusive. Bobthought it one of the most attractive places he had ever seen, as indeedit should be, for it was built practically to order by people ofintelligence.
Thence he drove through miles and miles of orange groves, so large thatthe numerous workmen go about their work on bicycles. Even here in thecountry, the roadsides were planted with palms and other ornamentaltrees, and gay with flowers. Abruptly he came upon a squalid village ofthe old regime, with ugly frame houses, littered streets, saggingsidewalks foul with puddles, old tin cans, rubbish; populous withchildren and women in back-yard dressing sacks--a distressing reminderof the worst from the older-established countries. And again, at the endof the week, he most unexpectedly found himself seated on a country-clubverandah, having a very good time, indeed, with some charming specimensof the idle rich. He talked polo, golf, tennis and horses; he dined atseveral most elaborate "cottages"; he rode forth on glossy, bang-tailedhorses, perfectly appointed; he drove in marvellously conceived traps incompany with most engaging damsels. When, finally, he reached LosAngeles again he carried with him, as standing for California, not eventhe heterogeneous but fairly coherent idea one usually gains of a singlecommonwealth, but an impression of many climes and many peoples.
"Yes," said Baker, "and if you'd gone North to where I live, you'd havestruck a different layout entirely."