The large room was handsomely furnished with mahogany and lit by
three large crystal chandeliers and many side brackets. It was about
two thirds full. A band was playing and on a platform a woman in a
Spanish costume of sorts was dancing the can-can, to the noisy
appreciation of the male guests. Along one side of the room was a bar
with a large painting above it of bathing nymphs. The waiters were
Chinese.
Holt found an unoccupied table and ordered an oyster stew, then
glanced about him for possible centres of interest. There were many
women present, gaudily attired, but they were not the elite of the
half-world. Neither did the gentlemen who made life gay and care-free
for the haughty ladies of the lower ten thousand patronize anything
so blatant. They were far too high-toned themselves. Their standards
were elevated, all things considered.
But the women of commerce, of whatever status, had no interest for
young Holt save as possible heroines of living drama. He had a lively
news sense, and although an editor, and of a highly respectable sheet
at that, he could become as keen on the track of a "story" as if he
were still a reporter.
But although the night birds were eating little and drinking a great
deal, at this hour of two in the morning, the only excitement was the
marvellous high kicking of the black-eyed scantily clad young woman
on the stage and the ribald applause of her admirers.
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