1 66 Life and Sport on the Pacific Slope 



California. The mere thought irritates a sensitive 

 skin. Yet you may see these garments any day 

 you please to walk through Los Angeles. There 

 they are in the glare of a semi- tropic sun, as ab- 

 surdly out of place as a mackintosh in the Sahara 

 desert. 



An Englishman whom the writer knows used 

 to drive tandem in California. Once, coming out 

 of a livery stable, his leader slipped and fell 

 upon the asphalt pavement, rolling over like a 

 shot rabbit. He had no groom with him, no 

 friend. He dared not descend from his lofty 

 perch, because the wheeler was kicking savagely, 

 but some good Samaritan set the leader on his 

 legs and cunningly unravelled the tangled skein 

 of traces and ribbons. As he drove on, these 

 words drifted after him : " It takes lots of trouble 

 to be an Englishman." 



Johnnie, of course, despises American whisky 

 and American methods. He drives his four work- 

 horses after the fashion of his kinsman of the 

 Coaching Club. He would scorn to call the reins 

 " lines," or to hold them, western fashion, in both 

 hands; he dearly loves to turn sharp corners — 

 smartly. One day he turns too smartly: the 

 waggon is smashed, the horses injured, the harness 

 ruined. "By Gad," exclaims Johnnie. "We took 

 a toss — didn't we?" 



These accidents — one a week would be a fair 

 average — are not altogether displeasing to his 

 neighbours. Indeed, Johnnie's little ways have 

 not commended him to the favour of what he 

 calls "the unwashed." He prances upon Yankee 



