The Washington herald., 1919-07-03

NoPecidl correspondent OF Inc w aSu-
ington Herald.l
New York, July 3.-Up a few miles
on the Hudson from New York q lit
erary factory Is in full operation. It
Is known as Drowsy Saint Inn, and
the uncanonised and unobtrusive head
OF the institution Is Jane Burr, also
writer. 1t was founded for men
and women who want to write, but
want to get away from the fanfare
of New York.
All that is asked Of the prospective
guest Is to refrain from interfering
with the work Of other dodgers or
bother the landlady-Miss Burr, No
attempt is made to make money. but
merely to make ends meet. Each
room has an unlockable lock, with
big table for a typewriter. and a
fireplace and many windows for fresh
, air and sunshine.
There Is an unwritten law that writ
/ ers must not try to impress their the
ories of life upon other guests. Re-
ligious discussions are barred. But
everybody may knock editors. That
Is not only rule. It Is a command
Drowsy Saint Inn echoes at night
with footballs of ghosts. It Is 200
years old, and for long decades It
was known as the Post Tavern. and
the stages running between Albany
and New York used to stop overnight
| there. Prisoners en- route to Sing
Sing used to be quartered there over
night.
For amusement the old tavern barn
has been fitted up as a theater, and
pays are presented weekly. The pro-
ceeds go to the Home forr Friendless
Cornet Players or the INDECENT Fly
paper Statesmen Outing Fund.
Some Of the writer's come from
Greenwich Village and have short hair
and wear smocks. After a few weeks
Of looking out over the Tappan Zee.
that shimmering lake which Is part
OF the Hudson. and into the haze
covered crags of the Catskill Noun
ttains, close to Rip Van Wrinkles i'm
mortal haunts. they are cured. Many
have been known to 60 back home
and go to work.
Louis Sherry feared to face pro-
hibition. and his ornate restaurant on
Fifth avenue has been closed. 1t was
long the scene of the most brilliant
social functions OF the select social
circles. Titles have been welded to
millions in the great banquet hall.
Many a debutante has made her bow
in the private dining rooms, and In
the cafe which looks out over Fifth
avenue the smartest people Of the
town went to eat. admire. be admired.
and gossip. The other day l strolled
down Fifth avenue, and Sherry's was
being dismantled. The great glass
chandeliers still hung and at the win
dow was a slender-legged gilt table
Seated at the table in the dainty
chairs were two red-shirted Italian
workmn. On the table was a loaf
Of bread-its vitals gone-and passing
back and forth between the diners
was rusty tin bucket holding foam
ing quantity of beer. And both puffed
eontentedly at their corncob pipes.
There are at liberty in Manhattan s
Eating Belt about fifty of the bright
est-face sardine statesmen one would
care to meet. The cause: prohibition,
The humble sardine. the poor mans
delight, the desired OF the thirst
quencher, has been left high and dry
on the dry shoals OF prohibition's s
shore. Most of the statesmen repre-
sent Maine sardine factories. The
bulk of the trade was In the bar
rooms. Nothing was considered such
a reviver Of the jaded appetite as the
sardine. But now that the country
faces the Great Thirst the sardine is
not in demand. The sardine was also
the piece de resistance of the mid
night lunch-a hallowed and universal
event all over Manhattan at the stroke
Of twelve.
I was out walking near Central Park
recently with my dog. Passing an
elevated station heard what 1
thought was the back-firing Of an
auto. Then I saw a man roll down
the steps with a satchel. Four other
men leaped over his body and drove
madly away in an automobile. look
ed around for the camera man. But
it wasn't movie stunt. 1t was a
daylight hold-up, aHd the robbers
nearly got 10000. + rode home in a
taxicab.