This was a bitter blow to all of us after we'd been led to hope for
outrages of an illegal character. The New Yorker was certainly making a
misdeal every time he got the cards. None of us trusted him any more,
though Ben was still loyal and sensitive about him, like he was an only
child and from birth had not been like other children.
The lad now wanted to steer us into an Allied Bazaar that would still be
open, because he'd promised to sell twenty tickets to it and had 'em on
him untouched. But we shut down firmly on this. Even Ben was firm. He
said the last bazaar he'd survived was their big church fair in Nome
that lasted two nights and one day and the champagne booth alone took in
six thousand dollars, and even the beer booth took in something like
twelve hundred, and he didn't feel equal to another affair like that
just yet.
So we landed uptown at a very swell joint full of tables and orchestras
around a dancing floor and more palms--which is the national flower of
New York--and about eighty or a hundred slightly inebriated debutantes
and well-known Broadway social favourites and their gentlemen friends.
Pages:
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474