The Goldfield news and weekly tribune. [volume] (Goldfield, Nev.) 1911-1947, 1919-12-13
EMPIRE REELS
AS LONDON
WASTES
RICH AND POOR ALIKE SQUAN-
DER MONEY IN AN ORGY
OF GAIETY

IL Dec. 4.-LOHuoh tOudy
is the capital city of the world, and
the premier in the art of spending
money. Everybody, apparently, has
money to burn. The theaters are
packed. The cinema palaces are
filled trimming over night after
night. The dance halls have not
a spare ticket. The restaurants,
first class and third, big and little,
cater nightly for more people than
ever they have seated before. And
the people pay without a murmur.
1t is Gladys birthday. Right. Tea
at Rumpelmayer's, dinner at the
Ritz, stalls at the Gaisty, supper at
| Scott's or Hatchet's or the "Troc"-
! anywhere so long as there is light
| and fun and music, the pop OF
| champagne corks and the crash of
| iazz bands. Bills brother comes
home. The SAME program-with
slight variations. Somebody has
| backed a winner. Same again. But
| these are merely small, isolated in
! stances. Thousands of people are
doing these same things night after
night. irrespective of whether Gladys
celebrates her coming into the world
or Bill has got back home. London
has fun and life to provide-at
super-war prices. Good enough. The
people say.
Take a stroll up West End in the
early hours of the evening. Lon
don is painting herself and powder
ing her nose for the nightly splurge.
| Watch outside the big restaurants
/ between 7 and 8 O'Clock. A steady
stream of glittering landaulette mo
tor cars draw up to the gay en-
trance, deposit their cargo of jew
elled women and opera hated men
and roll on. The ears are wonder
carriages. The cost of the very
cushions inside would keep a Ser
bian family for a month or more.
Move a little farther. Here is a
| theater queue a hundred yards long.
The people forming it have for the
most part done a hard days work
tapping typeyriters, straining over
ledgers, 'phoning, writing. running
messages, counting money in banks,
selling gloves and hats and knives
and OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES, in fact
for their living. You would think
they would scurry home to feed and
rest. Not they. London calls them.
London with it's joys, it's lights and
delights, it's never ceasing fountain
Of pleasure. They, too, pay.
Step inside this restaurant-over
here, to this table.
A young fellow is dining with two
girls. On the table, with its cut
glass and glistening plate, is a mag
mum of champagne. Alongside it a
dish of grapes fit for a king-the
remains of a dinner ordered by the
head waiter himself-and soon to be
paid for. What has it cost? A
mere ten pound, perhaps. That is
one table. Now multiply this one
dinner by two hundred for this one
restaurant, add to it some thirty
other similar establishments, multi
ply the number of tables by five
hundred and you will be well short
of the price paid for first rate din
ners any hour on any London night
this month.
So much for the restaurants.
Take the night clubs. Here men
and women gather in swarms. They
dance. In between DANCES they drink
green and red and yellow colored
liquids, each of which costs three
shillings a glass. In between drinks
they danceN again-and of course at
the end Of the night they pay. That
is the great point. They pay. If
you could hear the voice of London
today, that voice would be one
large, loud. long tinkle the rattle
of money on salvers, on desks,
across counters. on trays into out
stretched hands.
Not only is the West End given
over to an orgy of paying and play
ing. East, North. South it is just
the same. In proportion the money
spent here is every bit as great as
up West in Piccadilly. Dance tickets
for the hundred and umpty-fifth
Victory Ball" in the garden suburb
may be but -four shillings, the claret
cup which does duty for cham
payne but a quarter the cost of the
'real g%i1t-topped artifle-but the
people pay just the same. They pay.
What matter if their income tax
is due, their bills stacked high in
the art nouveau" writing desk in
- y