Men in evening dress and women
in all the colours of the rainbow, _decollete_ to a
degree, were seated at little tables, blowing blue smoke
into the air, and drinking green and yellow drinks from
glasses with thin stems. A troupe of _cabaret_ performers
shouted and leaped on a little stage at the side of the
room, unheeded by the crowd.
"Ha ha!" said Knickerbocker, as we drew in our chairs to
a table. "Some place, eh? There's a peach! Look at her!
Or do you like better that lazy-looking brunette next to
her?"
Mr. Knickerbocker was staring about the room, gazing at
the women with open effrontery, and a senile leer upon
his face. I felt ashamed of him. Yet, oddly enough, no
one about us seemed in the least disturbed.
"Now, what cocktail will you have?" said my companion.
"There's a new one this week, the Fantan, fifty cents
each, will you have that? Right? Two Fantans. Now to
eat--what would you like?"
"May I have a slice of cold beef and a pint of ale?"
"Beef!" said Knickerbocker contemptuously. "My dear
fellow, you can't have that. Beef is only fifty cents.
Do take something reasonable. Try Lobster Newburg, or
no, here's a more expensive thing--Filet Bourbon a la
something.
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