Burroughs's writings, their scope and
influence, what he stood for as a nature writer, his place in
literature, and then described his appearance, and said, "And
this noted man, this great nature lover, is right here--a guest
in our city!" A little lad broke in with, "I know--I saw him
yesterday--he was in our yard stealing mangoes."
One day, while still in Pasadena, I told Mr. Muir that on April 3d
a few of us wished to celebrate Mr. Burroughs's birthday, his
seventy-second, by a picnic up one of the Mount Lowe canons. He
said it would be impossible for him to be with us on that day, as he
had to go up to San Francisco. On my expressing keen disappointment
he teasingly said:--"Why, you will have Johnnie, and Mr. Browne, and
the mountains--what more do you want?"
"But we want /you/ ," I protested, assuring him that this was not a
case where one could say,--
"How happy could I be with either,
Were t'other dear Johnnie away!"
"Well, then, why can't you have it some other day?"
"Because he wasn't born some other day."
"But why must you be tied to the calendar? Can't you celebrate
Johnnie's birthday a few days later just as well? Such a stickler
for the exact date as you are, I never saw."
Thus he bantered, but when he had to leave us, we knew he was as
disappointed as we all were that he could not be with us on that
"exact date.
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