Evening star., 1913-12-05

EV ENJNG SIAR, FIJI
lnent the orchestra began men and wom-
en- began to edge sidewise through the
narrow alleys to the tiny dancing floor.
Soon 1t was but huddle of twisting fig
ures. They bumped and apologiZed and
bounced and grinned in friendly fashion
on. The best dancers We're those who
took up the least space. Now and then
they revolved into a table
Mr. Gordon-The fellow with the girl in
Black
Mr. Condor, interpolating-And some
girl.
Mr.. Gordon-Thinks he's lost control of
the committee. Watch!
The fellow with the girl in black was
listening to her chatter with an intensely
the tabecloth he was unfurling a roll of
bills and trying to count his money. Woe
unutterable radiated from fim as he put
the bundle back.
sure took him a fast furlong She's got
the heels of any other colt in the place
when she goes out for "A canter. She'd
make Diamond Jim himself fold
We looked at him inquiringly. That is
not the way they talk in la belle France.
''Bowery, IA" said he, grnning. THE
only think | can savvy in French is to
move my shoulders and wiggle myS ears -
The Girl-Look at that party Of dress
makers from the west sketching the gown
of that pretty girl in black
Mr.. Condor texcitedly)-Where?
The Girl don't believe half of the
people here are New Workers. The rest
just came to look on.
Many Women Smoking.
Every other woman is smoking a cigar
ette. They light their escorts cigarettes,
putting coquettishl!-. Three or four beau
tiful women are sitting at a big table at
the edge of the Rancing floor. They are
Young but their SyeS seem tired. Their
gowns are miracles and revelations. An
impossibly slim youngster with bottle
neck shoulders and an evening coat that
fits like the shell of beetle fiicks wine
on one as she leans forward. Every one
laughs shrilly. The walters grin.
Mr.. Condon-Who is she?
The Waiter-There' was a prettier one
than her used to be the star of Rectors
old place. But they can't hold the dirt.
them DANES. They skid.
The Girl-What sWank!
She was admiring the tall girl in a
notable costume of blue. Even mascu-
line eyes could see that it had been cut
by an artist and a poet. 1t combined
wonderful tints. but the colors We're not
overemphasiZed She clung closely as a
scarf to her partner in the dance.
Mr.. Gordon-Show girl. See that set
smile? They taught her that in the cho-
rus and she can't remember to forget.
The girl in blue sat down at her table
Mr.. Condon-Pretty girl. all right. all
right. but where's the blue?
Asks Girl to Dance.
An impossibly slender man-in his even
the dark lines in X-ray photographs
~Jo tlx-
in all directions.
Pardon" he SAYS. Il ob-Sairve that
mamselle has not dance Viii she dance
Wit me?'
The Gloom-Take the air.
The Girl-The idea! / never saw the
man before
Mr. Gordon-My borrowed chauffeur is
Mr. Condon-Let's go to the grill across
the street and see some real New York
ers Ladies belonging to the polonaise
era never get in there.
The Gloom-A year ago Regan said the
turkey trot was dying out and he
wouldn't let it be danced in his hotel,
anyhow. This year he put a ballroom in
his grill. Hah, hah,
The Girl-There'S more decorum, fewer
and better clothes there than
anywhere else on Broadway.
The crowd was different. but il was
equally worth seeing. Evening dress was
practically unanimous. Tints did not run
quite SO much to the aurora horealis. No
one stands in the archways that lead to
the ballroom to look at the dancers. No
one particularly bothers about his neigh
bors. AT the first restaurant one noted
groups of obvious strangers charged with
a hushed. dFessmakinG ecstasy. In here
three women in ten wouldn't lift their
eyes to Paul Poiret himself. The men
run more TO gray hair square shoulders,
and solidity.
Vision in Pink Lather.
Mr.. Condon-Dont turn around now
But when You get the chance. toss a
hasty glance toward the vision who looks
as though she were dressed in pink
lather.
The dancing is we'll done here but
somewhat more amateurish than across
the street. The professional element is
absent. Magazine writer's and illustrators
have had the public pop-eyed about the
trot for months. Wapakoneta and Duluth
believe that the contripetal little wigele
that made Chicago famous is positively
petrifieti compared to the trot and tango.
The moral is that space writing is an art.
Mr.. Gordon-The borrowed wagon
waits.
At the next place north on Broadway
many show girls danced the little
lloOT. MOI every one WAS III evening
Every one seemed to be talking at once.
Many of the men wore three heavy dia
monds in their shirt fronts. None of them
wore a glove on the left, or diamond,
hand.
The Girl-There are some Harvard fell
lows. Can't you tell them by the way
they dance?
The Gloom-No.
The Girl-They hold themselves stiffly-
as though they had all been taught by
the same teacher.
Mr.. Condon-More millinery buyers in
slit skirts and cravenetted stockings, see
Ing New York's brightest lights
Out-of-Town Trade Liberal.
Perhaps So for every So spent in some