ickets to it and had 'em on
him untouched. But we shut down firmly on this. Even Ben was firm. He
said the last bazaar he'd survived was their big church fair in Nome
that lasted two nights and one day and the champagne booth alone took in
six thousand dollars, and even the beer booth took in something like
twelve hundred, and he didn't feel equal to another affair like that
just yet.

So we landed uptown at a very swell joint full of tables and orchestras
around a dancing floor and more palms--which is the national flower of
New York--and about eighty or a hundred slightly inebriated debutantes
and well-known Broadway social favourites and their gentlemen friends.
And here everything seemed satisfactory at last, except to the New
Yorker who said that the prices would be something shameful. However, no
one was paying any attention to him by now. None of us but Ben cared a
hoot where he had been born and most of us was sorry he had been at all.

Jake Berger bought a table for ten dollars, which was seven more than it
had ever cost the owner, and Ben ordered stuff for us, including a
vintage champagne that the price of stuck out far enough beyond other
prices on the wine list, and a porterhouse steak, family style, for
himself, and everything seemed on a sane and rational basis again. It
looked as if we might have a little enjoyment during the evening after
all. It was a good lively place, with all these brilliant society people
mingling up in the dance in a way that would of got 'em thrown out of
that gangsters' haunt on the Bowery. Lon Price said he'd never witnessed
so many human shoulder blades in his whole history and Jeff Tuttle sent
off a lot of picture cards of this here ballroom or saloon that a waiter
give him. The one he sent Egbert Floud showed the floor full of
beautiful reckless women in the dance and prominent society matrons
drinking highballs, and Jeff wrote on it, "This is my room; wish you was
here." Jeff was getting right into the spirit of this bohemian night
life; you could tell that. Lon Price also. In ten minutes Lon had made
the acquaintance of a New York social leader at the next table and was
dancing with her in an ardent or ribald manner before Ben had finished
his steak.

I now noticed that the New Yorker was looking at his gun-metal watch
about every two minutes with an expression of alarm. Jake Berger noticed
it, too, and again leaned heavily on the conversation. "Not keeping you
up, are