resolved to come to Grimsby Center her group of
writers, who had protected themselves against the rude, crude world of
business men and lawyers by living together in Chelsea Village, were
left defenseless. They were in danger of becoming human. So they all
followed Miss Mitchin to Grimsby, and contentedly went on writing about
one another.

There are many such groups, with the same summer watering-places and the
same winter beering-places. Some of them drink hard liquor and play
cards. But Miss Mitchin's group were very mild in manner, though
desperately violent in theory. The young women wore platter-sized
tortoise-shell spectacles and smocks that were home-dyed to a pleasing
shrimp pink. The young men also wore tortoise-shell spectacles, but not
smocks--not usually, at least. One of them had an Albanian costume and a
beard that was a cross between the beard of an early Christian martyr on
a diet and that of a hobo who merely needed a shave. Elderly ladies
loved to have him one-step with them and squeeze their elbows.

All of the yearners read their poetry aloud, very superior, and rising
in the inflections. It is probable that they made a living by taking in
one another's literary washing. But they were ever so brave about their
financial misfortunes, and they could talk about the ballet Russe and
also charlotte russes in quite the nicest way. Indeed it was a pretty
sight to see them playing there on the lawn before the Mitchin mansion,
talking about the novels they were going to write and the revolutions
they were going to lead.

Had Miss Mitchin's ballet of hobohemians been tough newspapermen they
wouldn't have been drawing-cards for a tea-room. But these literary
ewe-lambs were a spectacle to charm the languishing eyes of the
spinsters who filled the Old Harbor Inn and the club-women from the
yellow water regions who were viewing the marvels of nature as displayed
on and adjacent to the ocean. Practically without exception these ladies
put vine leaves in their hair--geranium leaves, anyway--and galloped to
Miss Mitchin's, to drink tea and discuss Freud and dance the fox-trot in
a wild, free, artistic, somewhat unstandardized manner.

Because it was talked about and crowded, ordinary untutored motorists
judged Miss Mitchin's the best place to go, and permitted their wives to
drag them past the tortoise-shell spectacles and the unprostituted art
and the angular young ladies in baggy smocks breaking out in sudden