r-in-the-Lobby column for the Recorder,
reviewing all the new films in an able and fearless manner. Edgar was
looking like he had come into his own at last. He was wearing a flowing
tie and a collar that hardly come higher than his chest and big wind
shields on a black cord, and had his hair mussed up like a regular
Bohemian in a Sunday paper. Vernabelle was soon telling him how
refreshing it was to meet away out here one who was by way of doing
things, and she had read that very morning his review of the film
entitled A Sister of Sin, and had found it masterly in its clear-cut
analysis, but why did he waste himself here when the great world lay
open. Edgar thrust back his falling hair with a weary hand and tried to
look modest, but it was useless. Vernabelle devoted most of her chat to
Edgar. She was an incessant person but it seemed to take a man to bring
out all that was best in her.

Pretty soon Metta went over to a table and brought back some glasses
of wine on a tray, of which all partook with more or less relish. I
recognized it from the bottle. It was elderberry wine that Metta's
mother had put up. You have to be resourceful in a dry state.

"I'm afraid you'll all think me frightfully Bohemian," said Metta
proudly.

Beryl Mae held her glass up to the light and said, "After all, does
anything in life really matter?" She appeared very blase in all her
desperate young beauty. She and Edgar Tomlinson looked as near right as
anything you'd see in Washington Square. Vernabelle said the true spirit
of Bohemia knew neither time nor place; it was wherever those gathered
who were doing things, and wasn't it splendid that even here in this
crude Western town a few of the real sort could meet and make their
own little quarter and talk about the big things, the lasting things!
Everyone said yes, quite so; and they all tried to handle their wine like
it was a rare old vintage. But you can't hold much wassail on the juice
of the elderberry; it ain't the most jocund stuff the world as fermented
by Metta's mother.

However, it livened things up a bit and Vernabelle set down her glass and
chattered some more. She said after all life was anything but selective,
but didn't we think that all the arts rounded out one's appreciation
of the beautiful. Several said "How true--how true indeed!" and sighed
importantly. Then Metta said Vernabelle must show us some of her work and
Vernabelle said she could hardly bring herself to do tha