According To Custom, We
Went Our Several Ways, Each Drawn By What Appealed To Him The Most At
The Moment.
When ready to depart, finding no trace of my companion at
the hotel, I left word that I had returned to Grass Valley; where an
hour or two later, he rejoined me.
More fortunate than I, my friend by chance encountered Mr. Morrison M.
Green, on the street in front of his home upon the hill which looks down
upon the town. This gentleman, who is in his eighty-third year, related
an almost incredible incident in connection with the fire in 1857, which
wiped out the town, with the exception of one house. Three prominent
citizens who chanced to have met in a saloon when the fire broke out,
having the utmost confidence in the safety of a certain building, on
account of its massive walls and iron door, made a vow to lock
themselves in it, and actually did so. They might perhaps have withstood
the ordeal, had not the roof been broken in by the fall of the walls of
the adjoining building. The iron door having been warped with the heat,
it was impossible to open it; when last seen, they were standing with
their arms around one another in the center of the store.
At Grass Valley, my friend - greatly to my regret and I think also to
his own - received word which rendered his return to San Francisco
imperative. After a farewell dinner at the restaurant before mentioned,
I accompanied him to the railway station, and in the words of Christian
in "The Pilgrim's Progress," "I saw him no more in my dream." I confess
to a feeling of depression after his departure, for however enjoyable
the experiences of the road, they are rendered doubly so by the
sympathetic companionship of a man endowed not only with a keen sense of
humor but also with an unusual perception of human nature.
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