y to
recognize, here and there, a waiter, a bell-boy, or a chambermaid whom
you tipped, some weeks earlier, preparatory to leaving a latitude
several degrees nearer the Equator. When you leave the Poinciana or the
Breakers at the season's close, your waiter may, for all you know, be in
the Jim Crow car, ahead, and when you go in to dinner at the Ponce de
Leon at St. Augustine, or the Mason at Jacksonville, you may discover
that he too has stopped off there for a few days, to gather in the
final tips. Nor must you fancy, when you depart for the North, that you
have seen the last of him. Next summer when you take a boat up the
Hudson, or go to Boston by the Fall River Line, or drop in at a hotel at
Saratoga, there he will be, like an old friend. The bartender who mixes
you a pick-me-up on the morning that you leave the Breakers, will be
ready to start you on the downward path, at the beginning of the summer,
at some Northern country club; the barber who cuts your hair at the
Royal Palm in Miami will be ready to perform a like service, later on,
at some hotel in the Adirondacks or the White Mountains; the neat
waitress who serves you at the Belleview at Belleair will appear before
you three or four months hence at the Griswold near New London; the
adept waiter from the Beach Club at Palm Beach will seem to you to look
like some one you have seen before when, presently, he places viands
before you at Sherry's, or the Ritz, or some fashionable restaurant in
London or Paris. Likewise, when you enter the barber shop of a large
hostelry just off the board walk in Atlantic City, next July, you will
find there, in the same generously ventilated shirt waist, the
manicurist who caused your nails to glisten so superbly in the Florida
sunlight; and if she has the memory for faces which is no small part of
a successful manicurist's stock in trade, she will remember you, and
where she saw you last, and will tell you just which of the young women
from "The Follies" and the Century Theater are to be seen upon the
beach that day, and whether they are wearing, here on the Jersey coast,
those same surprising bathing suits which, last February, caused blase
gentlemen basking upon the Florida sands to sit up, arise, say it was
time for one last dip before luncheon, and then, without seeming too
deliberate about it, follow the amazing nymphs in the direction of a
matchless sea--that sea which, as a background for these Broadway girls
in their l