During our busy two weeks in Los Angeles we found time to accept invitations to inspect several motion picture studios, among them Universal City and the Katherine MacDonald studio. Miss MacDonald is a very charming and very good-looking young woman—and we feel sorry that such estimable young artists as Miss MacDonald, Miss Bebe Daniels and others must suffer some of the reflected criticism that is brought against the motion picture colony by the antics of some of the lame-brained and low-browed satyrs and satellites. Out at Universal, Director Eddie Laemmle grabbed a picture of us in a wild-west scene—a Minnesota farmer entirely surrounded by cowboys and “Injuns.” While in the south I also enjoyed a trip to Tia Juana, the Mexican Monte Carlo, just across the border from San Diego. Started to fly down from Rogers’ airport in Los Angeles, but had to confine my aerial pilgrimage to a jaunt over the city and beaches. They don’t allow American planes to fly across the border because there is so much booze running. * * * * * Through the good offices of the Oil King of Breckenridge, Texas, Bob Henderson, it was our fortune to meet Vice Admiral Wm. Shoemaker. We were gathered in Bob’s magnificent home in Los Angeles, formerly occupied by Mary Pickford and Mary Miles Minter (on the q. t., folks, you’ll have to admit it was pretty soft for a decrepit old Robbinsdale farmer) indulging in the ornery duties of testing the champagny contents of Robert’s cellar. It was while the sparkling bubbles bubbled that the subject of a visit to Admiral Shoemaker’s Pacific fleet bobbed up. Next day we received a personal invitation from the Admiral, who insisted that we board his barge at the San Pedro dock. On the Red River of the North my Dad hauled wheat for the Northern Pacific railroad in a barge and not having been on speaking terms with naval language I assumed that a barge was a heluvan ugly looking thing. Imagine my surprise, please, when the bare-foot jackies heaved ho with an immaculate launch with three golden stars. Pretty soft for a hardened old rascal, I claim. We rolled on to the Flagship “Pennsylvania” and were greeted by the Admiral’s aide, Lieut. L. S. Lewis. It was my first view of a battleship and at once I was impressed with the fact that the “Pennsylvania” probably could have licked any of the numerous boats that father once owned on the Red River. I was surprised to learn that the 14-inch guns I had read about were really about 40 feet long instead of 14 inches. Anyway, we had a delightful time aboard the “Pennsylvania” and it was the first time in my life I ever cussed Josephus Daniels (say it sweet and low: “gawsch darn him”) I had to drink tea. But the Admiral was a wonderful fellow—hale, hearty and well met. We exchanged anecdotes and spent a grand, though dry afternoon. Lieutenant Lewis and his crew of noblemen returned us to the dock in the starry BARGE.