Evening star., 1922-11-05

!
haired Greek in charge of the check
room There was even cigar and
| cigarette girl in Tyrolean costume.
And, of course, the table d'hote price
! had been jumped to s1.75.
! But Louey. the old headwaiter, was
still on the job. and assured us that
| the long table was set as usual in the
second floor back room. We didn't
, feel quite at home, though, until we
! discovered Whitley Weeks, the worlds
worst press agent, inhaling onion soup
| in the company of Titian-haired
! vamp who wore a bandeau Of silver
! cloth around her head and a sleeve
less Grecian draped dress of white
nuns yelling. At the same end of the
table. nibbling moody at salami and
| watercresS, was a moon-faced person
who looked like fat boy who'd out
grown his clothes. Whitley introduced
the vampish female as Nella Kohl. the
lady illustrator, who does those freak
magazine covers in purples and
blacks, but the mature fat boy he
passed by.
! rN7hos heo" l whispered.
| Don't you know" says Whitley be-
hind his hand, "Ollie Owens, the dra-
matte critic? Never meets any one,
but if he takes a notion he'll come
and paw you on the shoulder and
give you an earful about his pet alli-
gator that he keeps in a bathtub.'
I'm glad to say that Ollie didn't
take the notion, for he looked to me
as if his pet was seldom moved out
of the tub.
But during the next half-hour other
vivid personalities drifted in. One
was hook nosed, pimply faced male
who wore some sort of foreign deco
ration in the lapel of his black velvet
dinner coat. He walked heavy on his
heels, promptly took the chair at the
head of the table and gave the waiter
a nod that looked like a signal.
Herr Otto vecht" roared the
waiter.
You know" whispered Whitley.
"The poet and prop&gandist, the great
and only Otto vecht"
Ought to diet, I'll say" says I.
X + X +
A ND then came this lurid young
"A couple who were squabbling,
spitefully about something or other,
the vigor of their remarks being
helped out, I guessed. by the last
round of cocktails. She had stringy
bobbed hair, wicked little black eyes
and a facial color scheme as ruddy
as a freshly painted fire hydrant.
while he was tall and thin and pasty-
faced. Her dress was simple little
thing of figured cretonne-pale blue,
with huge green parrots sprawling
over 1t. His fancy for a dinner cos
tune was a pair of faring riding
breeches, leather puttees and one
button cutaway. worn over a pleated-
bosomed dress shirt, with a pink
necktie.
From what zoo" I asked Whitley.
"S-s-h!" says he. "The Fitzsouses.
He's the novelist, you know. whose
books are causing all that row with
the vice-suppression people. They're
jawing, as usual, but they'll be bet
ter natured after they've had a few
highballs. Great to have 'em here,
eh? Why, they've been thrown out
of some Of the best hotels in town
for making scenes. Perhaps they'll
pull one tonight. 1t would mean
front-page story for Tortoni's and
rush of customers for the next month.
You've read his Precocious Sinners
haven't your
hadn't. But neither did I have
the moral courage to admit it. And
after I'd listened to Fitzsouse and
Nella Kohl discuss their favorite mid
night pastimes I wasn't moved to
rush out and buy a copy. Nella men
toned q Staten Island roadhouse
whore they had a real cock-nghtins
pit in theNcellar. with g. perfectly