narrow stemmed wide-mouthed glass which contained a small quantity of Napoleon brandy. His eyes sparkled. His lips were moist. The veins in his temples bulged purplish with excitement.
On the ball-room floor, jutting from the slightly elevated band platform, was a runway. As the music stopped, a drummer beat a tattoo which was followed by a long, echoing roll. A slim, dark haired young man appeared. His face was wreathed in smiles. He held his hands, palms forward, in a pantomimed plea for silence. The figures on the floor, seemingly richly clad women dancing with their escorts, continued to chatter. The drum rolled again. The young man cried: "Please. Silence—please!" The thin, high chatter died down, then stopped.
"Boys," said the young man, "—and girls—" He grinned. "I know you are having an elegant time. The music is swell, the eats are the last word and, say, did you ever see such a collection of good things to drink anywhere?"
Several voices cried, "It's great!" A feminine tone piped, "Speed up, tootsie!" The crowd laughed.
"Mr. Emerson, our host," the young man continued, "has generously offered several wonderful prizes this year to the winners of the beauty contest. You have examined them, I am sure, in the glass case at the foot of the main stairs. Mr. Emerson is delighted to note that so many of you have come here tonight. Now if everyone will take places at the tables along the walls, the show will begin."
Nearly five hundred names had been on the guest list, several coming from Chicago to the annual "drag" at the Emerson mansion. More than half of this number were in women's costumes, varying from modish gowns in the
