Evening star., 1922-11-05

with carmined lips who openly used
a dinky powder puff on his nose: a
ponderous female with three chins
and bobbed gray hair, who wore a
mannish shirt waist. plaid knickers
and a Norfolk jacket to match. and
an old -maidish, school-ma'mys person,
who wore her mud-colored hair parted
in the middle and flat,ened back be-
hind her ears, smoked cigarettes that
she rolled herself and lured the pallid
youth into a craps game between the
soup and fish.
+ x x *.
0F course, I couldn't sketch them
" an out, for by o'clock there
were twenty or more crowded around
the long table. But each one seemed
to be moro vivid than the others.
Anyway, they were weird lot. Not
by accident, either. Each one had
tried to be bizarre, unusual, and none
had failed to succeed. 1 gathered
from Whitey's comments, though. that
only few of them had achieved any
other prominence than that which
their odd get-ups gave them. True,
they all wanted to be somebody's.
There were would-be sculptors, au-
thors, painters. actors, and each was
trying to act as though he had ar
rived.
The talk was loud and fast and
furious. for the stuff which was be-
ing served in coffee cups was seldom
coffee-Tortonrs own brand of syn
thetic hooch, so Whitley whispered.
Anything you care to order" he
conflded, from plain rye to Perrier
Jouet. They'll show you the labels.
Only it tastes all the same; comes
from the same cask, in fact. But it
has a wonderful kick"
At least, it seemed to spur on con-
versation. The back room was a
buzzing babel Of sound. Everybody
seemed to be talking at once, except
at intervals, when Percey Fitzsouse
or Otto Vecht got into a hot debate
or pounded on tho table to still the
clatter while some one, generally a
woman, told racy story. The talk
was hectic and ultra-modern. I heard
scraps about Coue, q warm apprecta-
ton Of Al Jolson and a discussion OF
Skis ring method. 1t was snowy.
pretentious talk when it wasn't worse.
Some remarks Of the he-f1apper
caught during a lul1 from across the
table, got me pink in the ears. But
when Nella Kohl, urged on by the
owl-edged young man with the
whiskers, got really going-well, I
knew all at once that I'd mad quite
enough ofTortonfs. nudged Barry
and nodded toward tho exit
II was ready to quit half an hour
ago." he admitted. Say. isn't that
Eitzsouse person the limit? After
this I'm strong for literary censor.
Me, too." says I, IF they'll give
one full powers. I'd like the job.
wouldn't stop at suppressing books.
I'd cage up a lot of those young nov
elists and sprinkle their brains with
chloride Of lime. And this Is the sort
we allow to write our best sellers!
Think of it, Barry. The publishing
firm that puts out his books and
booms them from one end Of the coun-
try to the other is one Of the Oldest
in the business; supposed to be one
Of the most respectable, too. And
they make big profits by selling his
mental garbage 10 high school girls
and sentimental fat women who want
to be shocked, and middle-aged' male
cut-ups who stand at club windows
and leer out shopgirls. Bah! II
that's literature. Barry. me for raising
hogs or scrubbing f1oors."
I'll trail you in that" agrees
Barry. But that's only the new
school of fictionists. True, they're
making the most noise and hogging
the spotlight, but there are only
few Of 'em. suppose the Fitssouses
come to Tortonrs because they're
sups of. an appreciative audience.