V SEEING MR. CHESTERTON 55 VI WHEN IS A GREAT CITY A SMALL VILLAGE? 72 VII THE UNUSUALNESS OF PARISIAN PHILADELPHIA 81 VIII OUR LAST SOCIAL ENGAGEMENT AS A FINE ART 90 IX WRITING IN ROOMS 99 X TAKING THE AIR IN SAN FRANCISCO 115 XI BIDDING MR. CHESTERTON GOOD-BYE 124 XII NO SYSTEM AT ALL TO THE HUMAN SYSTEM 141 XIII SEEING THE "SITUATIONS WANTED" SCENE 151 XIV LITERARY LIVES 162 XV SO VERY THEATRICAL 173 XVI OUR STEEPLEJACK OF THE SEVEN ARTS 182 XVII FORMER TENANT OF HIS ROOM 196 XVIII ONLY SHE WAS THERE 205 XIX A HUMORIST'S NOTE-BOOK 216 XX INCLUDING STUDIES OF TRAFFIC "COPS" 228 XXI THREE WORDS ABOUT LITERATURE 236 XXII RECOLLECTIONS OF LANDLADIES 242 XXIII AN IDIOSYNCRASY 256 XXIV THE SEXLESS CAMERA 271 XXV I KNOW AN EDITOR 276 XXVI A DIP INTO THE UNDERWORLD 281 XXVII NOSING 'ROUND WASHINGTON 290 XXVIII FAME: A STORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE 328 TURNS ABOUT TOWN TURNS ABOUT TOWN CHAPTER I THE HOTEL GUEST Some people just go to a hotel (sometimes referred to as "an hotel") and stay awhile and go away again. And think nothing about the matter. Of course, some may complain more or less at the place about the "service." Or swank round outside about the address, saying carelessly: "Oh! yes: at the Blackstone, you know." Or again, if it's a rather inexpensive place, remark to friends: "Isn't it a funny hole! But the cuisine is excellent. You'd be surprised! That's why I stop there. And then it's much more homey, too, than those garish places." Now I myself am a fan for hotels. If I was a rich man I'd do like an aristocratic and restless young man I know, who used to go to one New York hotel about twelve at night (after the evening's entertainment) and leave a call for ten in the morning, when he would get up and drive to another hotel, check in, eat lunch and dinner there, and move on to a third New York hotel that night. A cheerful way he had of adding variety to his life.