p. They was ably backed up in this move by a committee from
the civic purity league.

And of course this added to the attractions of the Latin Quarter, giving
each Bohemian a new thrill. Vernabelle said it was by way of being
ancient history; that from time immemorial these little groups of choice
spirits who did things had been scorned and persecuted, but that every
true Bohemian would give a light laugh and pursue his carefree way,
regardless of the Philistine And so it went, venomous on both sides, but
with Vernabelle holding the bridge. She'd brought new stuff to town and
had a good working majority in favour of it.

Downtown one day I met Metta in the Red Front grocery buying olives and
sardines in an excited way. I suppose it's for one of her unspeakable
orgies, but she tells me it's something special and I must be sure to
come.

"Dear Vernabelle," she says, "has consented to give an evening cycle of
dance portrayals for just a few of the choicer spirits. I know there has
been dreadful talk about our little group, but this will be a stunning
bit and you are broad-minded, so do come."

I could just see Vernabelle consenting, almost peevishly; but it sounded
like it might be disorderly enough, so I says I'll come if she promises
to leave at least one window down at the top, me not having a gas mask.

Metta thinks a minute, then says she guesses she can leave one window
down a mite; not much, on account of the nature of Vernabelle's dance
costume. I says if such is to be the nature of her costume I'll come
anyway and risk being gassed. Metta chides me gravely. She says the
costume is perfectly proper to the artist eye, being a darling little
early Greek thing; built on simple lines that follow the figure, it is
true, yet suggest rather than reveal, and if the early Greeks saw no harm
in it why should we? I tell her to say no more, but reserve me a ringside
seat, though near a window if one can be opened; say, as far as the early
Greeks would have done at such a time, on account of the punk sticks.

And of course I wouldn't miss it. I'm there at eight-thirty and find
quite a bunch of Latin Quarter denizens already gathered and full of
suppressed emotion. The punk sticks, of course, are going strong.
Vernabelle in a pink kimono says they supply atmosphere; which is the
only joke I ever heard her get off, if she knew it was one. Bohemians
Lon Price and Jeff Tuttle are hanging over the punch bowl, into which
someth