TOUTING THE TOURIST 



BY MARK DANIELS 



FORMER SUPERINTENDENT AND LANDSCAPE ENGINEER OF UNITED STATES NATIONAL PARKS 



NOT so long ago that the incident cannot be remem- 

 bered by Mr. Brandt, the manager of El Tovar, 

 an effete easterner was lured for the first time 

 from his fireside in Brooklyn to the Grand Canyon, way 

 west of the Appalachian Mountains. Having read up 

 thoroughly on the subject of accoutrement and attire he 

 selected an outfit well calculated to render him quite in- 

 conspicuous in a western setting and succeeded in man- 

 fully repressing a growing desire to don the picturesque 

 habiliments until within an hour's ride from the canyon. 

 There he arose and, in the stillness of the early morning 

 completed his toilet in the otherwise unoccupied dressing 

 room. As the train came to a stop he stepped from the 

 platform arrayed in full panoply of the western cowboy 

 as set forth in the illustrated catalogue. Around his neck 

 was the omnipresent bandana. On his head was a sweep- 

 ing sombrero with lines that would have thrilled Gains- 

 borough, and in the tops of black leather boots that 

 reached nearly to the knees, he had carefully tucked his 



spotless khaki trousers. The blue flannel shirt scratched 

 his neck and a pistol pressed painfully against his appen- 

 dix, but in spite of these he stalked proudly to the hotel. 



The scene that confronted him as he stepped into the 

 lobby occasioned an acute attack of eczema that could not ' 

 be entirely attributed to the flannel shirt, for lounging 

 languidly in some of the chairs were women immaculate- 

 ly dressed as if ready for a morning stroll in Central 

 Park. Here and there were men in tennis flannels with 

 spotless white shoes. A few were dressed in the ordinary 

 street attire of the New York business man. 



The pseudo cowboy registered with a trembling hand 

 as he recalled that all his clothes, with the exception of 

 what was on his back, were in trunks on the way to Los 

 Angeles. His efforts to shrink to a size that would per- 

 mit hiding behind the cuspidor brought beads of per- 

 spiration that fell upon the bandana, disclosing the fact 

 that its colors were in full sympathy with his inclination 

 to run. Having been assigned his room by a clerk whose 



THE PAINTED CLIFFS, APACHE TRAIL 



The broken and multicolored canyons of Apache Land are not to be duplicated anywhere else in the world In the spring the colors of the 

 tone cliffs are put to shame by the orchid-like blossoms of cacti which bloom in great profusion. 



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