New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1917-05-13


mullins with jelly to another, and then
trying to find the coffee again. There
was the constant clink of nickels on
marble, as the cashier tossed out change
to the reckless players. One acquainted
with Monte Carlo missed only the cries
Of LES ieues sont faites" and "Rien ne
va plus" 70 make him think that he was
in the midst of the gaming hall, where I
the world dissipates its wealth, when it |
has no war to fall back on.
Here is a couple at this little white
TONED table. a young woman with a |
kind face and young man with kind
face. What grip has the great city
fixed on them. that they should be
swiring about in its night life. drinking
of it's Luculan pleasures to the very
dregs? They are eating special combina-
ton No. 4, and now and again the girl
raised to her lips a cup of something
steaming hot and lowered it again
quickly with a muttered oath. 1t is
clam broth, and she has burned her
tongue. Poor little thing! Poor little
butterfly!
Let us pass on from this scene. We
have witnessed one side of New York's
early morning dissipation; let us lift the
curtain on another On the corner
stands an all-night drug store. 1t IS a
drug store, because it has window dis
play of Songs of Fifty Years Ago, in red
bindings, at 70 cents copy. Inside. the
proprietor sits trying to stick together
the soda checks that the clerk has torn
and tossed into the box during the day.
"One-two, one-two," he counts, in
monotonous voice. All, old drug store
manager, are you not, after all, the typi
tcaton of the SordidneSs of New York?
Well, then, maybe you are not. The
question was fair one, at any rate.
Suddenly at the door comes man.
He is dressed in the height of fashion.
and wears a green turtle neck sweater.
One can see at glance that he is
man-about- town.
Quickly he approaches the counter
and says to the old manager:
. "a package of papers and bag of
Luckily Struck" At that, he looks tow
ard the door.
Silently, and without a word, the old
man reaches into the tobacco case and
withdraws the desired goods. These he
gives in exchange for certain moneys
which the man-about-to gives him in
exchange for the desired goods.
Then, without word, the latter peck
cts his purchases and goes out into the
night, while the old drug store man goes
on sticking soda tickets together, "One-
two! One-two"
Some day, New York, some day you
will break one heart too many in your
night debaucheries, and then
one heart too many will have been
broken.
Saddened by what we had seen, and
determined to see more, we passed on.
The only class of people who seemed to
be out in any number were taxicab driv-
ers. There were hordes of them, stand
ing on the curbing and bandying taxi
cab drivers pleasantries, but going no
where at all. They probably can't real
ize the thing yet. They can't make it
seem possible that, even though they
should wait there all night, no one will
come out of Churchill's and say,
"Healy's," or out of Healy's and say,
"Montmartre," or out of all of them and
say, Jacks" And so they stand there,
beside their heaving steeds, waiting for
fares that are at home and in bed, saw
ing money for the first time in their
lives.
| don't suppose the taxi drivers
could go home if they wanted to, for
they, probably, under the old conditions,
rented their rooms for daytime occu-
pancy, expecting to be out all night,
and, now that the blight has come, they
have to stick by their contracts. That's
one of the penalties of living in these