Then man says: "I have enjoyed the view. I will note the fact in the visitors' book if there happens to be one, after which I will retire from this high elevation to the world below."
Going down the mountain he begins to say to himself: "What wonderful thoughts I have been thinking up there! I have had thoughts which very few other men are capable of thinking! I have a remarkable mind if I only take the time to use it!"
So, as he goes down, his ego keeps on swelling up again until it not only reaches its normal size, but becomes larger than ever, because the man now believes that, in addition to all he was before, he has become a philosopher.
"I must write a book!" he says to himself. "I must give these remarkable ideas of mine to the world!"
[Illustration: The homes of Colorado Springs really explain the place and the society is as cosmopolitan as the architecture]
In a certain city that I visited upon my travels, I met one night at dinner, one of those tall, pink-cheeked, slim-legged young polo-playing Englishmen, who proceeded to tell me in his positive, British way, exactly what the United States amounted to. He said New York was ripping. He said San Francisco was ripping. He said American girls were ripping.
"But," said he, "there are just two really civilized places between your Atlantic and Pacific coasts."
The idea entertained me. I asked which places he meant.
"Chicago," he said, "and Colorado Springs."
"But Colorado Springs is a little bit of a place, isn't it?" I asked him.
"It just _is_, y'know," he answered. "There's polo there."
"But polo doesn't make civilization," I said.
"Oh, yes, it does," he insisted. "I mean to say wherever you find polo you find good clubs and good society and--usually--good tea."
This, and further rumors of a like nature, plus some pleasant letters of introduction, caused my companion and me to remove ourselves, one afternoon, from Denver to the vaunted seat of civilization, some miles to the south.
Colorado Springs is somewhat higher than Denver and seems to nestle closer to the mountains. The moment you alight from the train and see the park, facing the station and the pleasant façade of the Antlers Hotel, beyond, you feel the peculiar charm of the little city. It is well laid-out, with very wide streets, very good public buildings and office buildings, and really remarkable homes.