The Washington herald., 1918-08-27
B. DMc

New York. Aug. &-There IL a little
cafe down on Houston street that
is patronized by the canaille, the
curious and the smsn sprinkling Of
the Broadway opulents. The wine
is red. yellow, purple and white, and
flows from various spigots within the
diners reach. One may become corn
ed between the soup and the entree
and the check is tn same.
A long-haired Bohemian leads the
orchestra and Is repaid for his plain
tive notes by the showers OF small
change from the diners. At about
10 in the evening sentiment reaches
the high tide. 1t is the hour Of H.
lusionR.
Flushed by the wine, the motley
crowd turns selnshness into courage
and the parasite becomes heroic.
There are squalls and sunshine. tears
and ribald laughter. And then at
12 when the lights go out the false
joy IL stripped Of its mask and crum-
bles into black despair.
True Romance lives for q few hours
and then fades out. The next night
it is the same. At closing time the
curb is lined with beggars-bedraggled
men, fake cripples and the like
who know they can reap a harvest
from the wine-nushed crowd,
In the center of the cafe is a small
polished spot where dancing is per-
mitted. 1t is always SO crowded that
all the dancers can do Is mill about
like the crowds at the gallery en-
trance OF the Metropolitan when Ca
0in1a
An electric apparatus throws varf-
ous-colored rays on the dancers, The
other night q spark from the ma
chine fell into folds OF chiffon worn
by one OF the dancers. There was
nash Of flame and a scream. Pan
demonium reigned and then on the
fringe Of the crowd someone charged
into the thick Of II. He grabbed the
frightened girl away from hystericai
men and women and skpfully ex-
tinguished the fire.
The crowd fell back. The rescuer
was q clean-limbed young American
place with a group Of rubber neck
sailor who had dropped into the
tourists. The fiddlers struck up the
Star Spangled Banner and the young
man, .abashed. rushed from the place,
not even stopping to get his hat. Out
side he said to a policeman: Il don't
want to be here among a bunch Of
nuts"
Roy K. Moulton at the Press Club
the other evening told of a young
American soldier who stood knee
deep In the mud In a front line trench.
Shrapnel was screaming all about him
and the big shells were bursting over
his head. Suddenly the soldier burst
into wild At Of laughing.
whats the matter with your said
trench mate sarcastically.
Il was just thinkin' Bill" was the
response, about the guy who held
me up one night in Memphis with a
q caliber revolver"
Langurorous ladies loiling about In
their hmousines used to look through
their lorgnettes at the longshoremen
on the water front-when they hap
pened to be In that vicinity-with a
feeling Of great pity.
But IL Is not 50 any more. Nike
and Bill. Of the waterfront. are now
plutocrats and wash down their bits
Of terrapin with golden bubbles. Al
most any longshoreman who comes
off an ammunition ship IL now drag
ling down his 5000 q year.
The internal revenue collector got
rfter them the other day and made
them pay their income tax. They
hadn't paid the tax because they did
not know anything about II, but when
they were told they willingly paid
up. Even auto statesmen find a mar
ket among the longshoremen and men
who used to smoke three-for stogies
now puff their Havana weeds.