Enter the opulent American gentleman. Half a dozen functionaries
greet him rapturously, bowing before his triumphant progress.
Others relieve him of his hat and his coat, so that he cannot
escape prematurely. A whole reception committee escorts him to a
place of honor facing the dancing arena. The natives of the quarter
stand in rows in the background, drinking beer or nothing at all;
but the distinguished stranger sits at a front table and is served
with champagne, and champagne only. It is inferior champagne; but
because it is labeled American Brut--what ever that may denote--and
because there is a poster on the bottle showing the American flag
in the correct colors, he pays several times its proper value for
it. From far corners and remote recesses coryphees and court
jesters swarm forth to fawn on him, bask in his presence, glory
in his smile--and sell him something. The whole thing is as
mercenary as passing the hat. Cigarette girls, flower girls and
bonbon girls, postcard venders and confetti dispensers surround
him impenetrably, taking him front, rear, by the right flank and
the left; and they shove their wares in his face and will not take
No for an answer; but they will take anything else.
Two years ago at a hunting camp in North Carolina, I thought I had
met the creature with the most acute sense of hearing of any living
thing.
Pages:
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222