Ptomaine Street | Page 9

eat--I believe she brings her

own specially prepared food to parties.
"She seems to relish the cock-a-whoops all right," Warble commented.
"I understand the doctors prescribe stimulants for her--she is not at all
strong. They give her artificial strength, she says."
"Yes, she seems to be strong for 'em. Don't you take any?"
"Oh no! I'm a débutante. And mother says she wants to be with me
when I take my first cocktail and smoke my first cigarette."
"Dear girl, Daisy, so fresh and unspoiled! Her mother is one of a
thousand."
This from Manley Knight, who constituted himself Daisy's proxy in the
matter of cocktails and drank all that would have been Daisy's had her
mother permitted.
Goldwin Leathersham seemed to be acting as proxy for some débutante
also, for he seemed to feel pretty bobbish, but Warble was only slightly
interested in the whole matter.
She rolled her Wedgwooden eyes about, hoping the horde would be
herded toward the dining-room. But no such luck.
Instead they drifted in the opposite direction and, swept along with the
crowd, Warble found herself in one of a serried series of gilt chairs,
facing a platform as large as a theater stage.
An erudite looking man who appeared on the platform received
tumultous applause.
"Who is he?" Warble whispered to her neighbor, who chanced to be
Avery Goodman, "an impersonator?"
"Lord, no; it's Wunstone, the great scientist--rants on Fourth Avenue
dimensions, or something like that."

In a tone of forceful mildness the speaker began: "It must be conceded
that, other things being equal, and granting the investiture of all
insensate communication, that a psychic moment may or may not, in
accordance with what under no circumstances could be termed
irrelevancy, become warily regarded as a coherent symbol by one
obviously of a trenchant humor. But, however, in proof of a
smouldering discretion, no feature is entitled to less exorbitant honor
than the unquenchable demand of endurance.
"Though, of course, other things being equal, and granting the
investiture of all insensate communication, no feature is entitled, in
accordance with what under no circumstances could be termed
irrelevancy, to become warily regarded as a coherent symbol. And
doubtless in proof of a smouldering discretion, and in accordance with
one obviously of a trenchant humor, it may or may not be warily
regarded.
"Though it cannot be denied that the true relevancy of thought to
psychic action is largely dependent on the ever increasing forces of
disregarded symbolisms. And this again proves the pantheistic power
of doubt, considered for the moment and for the subtle purposes of our
argument as faith. For, granting that two and two are six, the corollary
reasoning must be that no premise is or may be capable of such
conclusion as will render it sublunary to its agreed parallel.
"But this view is ultra and should be adopted with caution.
"We are therefore forced to the conclusion that pure altruism is
impossible in connection with neo-psychology."
There was more, but it was at that point that Warble went to sleep.
She was awakened later by the high notes of a celebrated Metropolitan
soprano, who had consented to exchange a few of her liquid notes for
Goldwin Leathersham's yellow-backed ones.
Tired, hungry and sleepy, Warble fidgeted in her little gilt chair, but the
music went inexorably on.

It was followed by the appearance of a Neo Poet.
This man wore eccentric dress of some sort, and as he waited for the
applause to melt away, he stood, absent-mindedly picking crumbs out
of his beard.
By subtle hint of auto-suggestion this made Warble hungrier than ever
and she looked around for Petticoat. But he was busy flirting with
Daisy Snow, and it was not Warble's way to cut in.
In hollow tones the performer read extracts, excerpts and exceptions
from the works of Amy Lynn, Carl Sandpiper and Padriac, the
Colyumist, and Warble went back to sleep.
There was more, but no merrier, and when at last the platform was
cleared for the last time, the guests were refreshed by the passing of a
small glass of punch and a wafer to each.
Then they went, with a flutter of silk stockings and twinkling slipper
buckles, and a medley of shrieked goodbys.
Warble and Petticoat reached home.
"Howja like 'em?" he asked.
"I'm so hungry," she wailed.
"Oh, Warble, you ought to be more careful about eating in public. It
isn't done. Watch Iva Payne--she doesn't."
"Oh, Bill--" Warble began to cry. "I want to go back to the restaurant--"
"No, no--now, Cream Puff, I didn't mean to lambaste you. But they're a
smart crowd--"
Warble let two tears rest, glistening, in her lower eyelashes, rolled up
her eyes, pulled down the corners of her hibiscus flower mouth, and
waited to be kissed.

She was.
*