indifferent singing and some clog
dancing. It is getting late. The fumes of tobacco and of stale beer are
stifling. Four-fifths of the men have not moved from the tables since we
came in. Here and there one is lopped over asleep. But the waiter in
female clothing comes along to wake him up and induce him to order more
beer. Your glass must always be before you if you want to stay at
McGlory's.

"'What are they all waiting for?' I ask. But no one will tell me. Across
the balcony a girl is hugging her fellow in a maudlin and hysterical
manner. Another girl is hanging with her arms around the neck of one of
the creatures I described some time ago. She is pressing her lips to his
as if in ecstasy. He takes it all as a matter of course, like an
indifferent young husband after the honeymoon is over. His companion
joins him--the moon-faced fellow--and they come around to our box and
ogle us. They talk in simpering, dudish tones, and bestow the most
lackadaisical glances on different members of our party. The girls
shrink back as if contamination itself had come among them. 'We are
pretty hard,' says one of them, 'but not so hard as they.'

"The piano gives a bang and a crash. The gray light is beginning to
stream through the windows. There is a hurrying and a scurrying among
the females, and there are a precious lot of young fellows, with low
brows and plug-ugly looks gathering on the floor. There are twenty odd
women with them, mostly young, none good-looking, all bearing marks of a
life that kill. The band strikes up a fantastic air. The whole place is
attention at once. The sleepy beer-bummers rouse up. The persons on the
balcony hang over the railings. The figures on the floor go reeling off
in a mixture of dancing and by-play as fantastic as the music. The
pianist seems to get excited and to want to prove himself a Hans von
Bulow of rapid execution. The fiddler weaves excitedly over his fiddle.
The cornetist toots in a screech like a car-engine whistle. The
movements of the dancers grow licentious and more and more rapid. They
have begun the Cancan. Feet go up. Legs are exhibited in wild abandon.
Hats fly off. There are occasional exhibitions of nature that would put
Adam and Eve to shame. The draperies of modern costumes for a time
covers the wanton forms, but as the performers grow heated wraps are
thrown off. The music assumes a hideous wildness. The hangers-on about
the place pat their hands and stamp and shout. The