The Waterbury Democrat., 1935-03-05
In New York
By PAUL HARRISON


 New York - All around the town: A restaurant just off Fifth Avenue is going to put in Dog Bar for pooch-w walkers. Doggy murals, individual stalls for the tethering of pups, and maybe Jo- jo the Dog-faced Boy to serve them aqua. pura cocktails.
 A block away is a fashionable restaurant which already serves table d'hote dog luncheons. There is Chicken la Foo Fee, 30 cents; Lamb and Carrots, Terrier style, 35 cents; Ric and Rae of Scottish Beef. 35 cents; Pate de Flush pet), 35 cents; Rin Tin Tins gie's Delight, 15 cents. Chocolate a la carte.
 Untracking His Mind.
 The crews of cross-town cars find time hanging pretty heav- fly on their hands, what with the interminable waits for traffic lights at every corner. have encountered one conductor on Twenty third street who amuses himself with practical jokes, ven- trilOquism and the improvement of his memory. Sometimes he puts a mechanical mouse in the aisle, affording him great fun when there are lots of women on the car.
 His ventriloquism isn't working very we'll yet, but he believes 1t ho 1trtn vHAyciht1ifsAc Ia, tries 10 see how many of his regu- lar passengers he can greet by name. First he boldly asks their names, and then tries to remem- Der them. Says the number is about 300 now.
 Gas Lights
 On First Avenue is the only sa- loon in New York that still has gas lights. They're more ex- pensive than electricity now, but Billy Condron, the proprietor. won't change. He thinks they lend the establisbment a certain mellow tone.
 Movie companies in search of prices for the gas fixtures, but Dhly AoA AhLc1 C6tCQs 1llS 1dLu0IV Michael who opened the saloon lights for year, then had them torn out. The place never has been closed, even during prohibit tion. During those years, how ever, Billy sold nothing stronger than beer.
 I've mentioned the. old gentle men who carries his own favorite plate when he dimes in modest restaurants of an evening. Now comes an account of an old lady, very quiet and genteel in rustly black silks, who uses a mans gray sock for handbag. Puts it be- side on the table when she dimes, and from it takes some crumpled bills when her check comes. It's said that she is Mrs Duncan Phyfe, widow of a descendent of the famous furniture designer. A Ia Franchise
 Frenchiest of all Manhattan hotels is the Lafayette, where you might spend a long dinner hour without hearing a word of English spoken. Or, again, you might sit in a nest of ordinary New Workers there for the food, and not hear a work of French. The walters are multi-lingual,
 The cafe is a barren place, ale most startling in contrast with the overdressed pseudo -Continen- tai spots which have sprung up all over town. There are marble topped tables, the floor is tiled like a bathroom, and the walls are dullish gray. Quite authentic. Customers sit for hours, slipping at this and that, and playing games. Dominoes are popular; also perdu. The latter is an old French game in which pellets, like capsules, tumble end-over-end into numbered sockets. believe they're partly filled with mercury, and seem to recall that some 20 years ago there was an attempt to Americanize this pastime. Now adays we play pin-gameB; which are Qualifications of bagatelle, which. sn turn, was descended from perdu.
 One doesn't play games in the swanky main dining room, how ever. One sends out q call for M. Jean Baptiste and asks him to produce some crepes Suzettee. M. Baptiste accomplishes this with great pride and care, folding the little pancakes into chafing dish, pouring over then some curacao and other liquers, and setting the whole thing ablaze. Sight of the wavering blue flame invari- ably arouses the appetites of other diners, who also order crepes. If nobody has ordered them, the management makes up q batch for itself, just as . ascoy.