Dot Huntington found San Francisco to exceed her wildest imaginings of what a great city really was. Born of the desert and having been an intimate part of that desert all her life and, until the establishment of Geerusalem, knowing nothing of those centers where men forgathered and schemed and battled and died in a fury of commercial competition, she had always pictured a metropolis as similar to an ant hill for life and activity; but she had never thought it so spectacular, so dynamic in potentialities, so gigantic a thing as that architectural pile which greeted her eyes on that memorable morning when she and her father crossed the seven miles of green bay from Oakland, toward the picturesque horizon of buildings rising step on step, miles long and wide, tier on tier, up the steep slope
