“A book of verse is not what I can use,
    But give me, if still my love is thine,
  A wine list from which to pick and choose. 
    Cut out the shady bough for mine.

 “Give your bough to some nice ‘feller,’
    And if you would make my life sublime
  Put me in some cool rathskeller
    And we’ll forget the jug of wine.

 “Wine in a jug!  What do I hear? 
    Not with a loaf of bread and thou,
  A cheese sandwich and a glass of beer,
    Unless you’ve changed your brand ere now.

 “This sitting in the wilderness may be fine
    For those who the realms of nature seek,
  A restaurant is at least a paradise divine
    With payday on the first of every week.

“I guess maybe that won’t show him up!  Ain’t it just glorious?  It’s kinda wabbly on its feet, but just think, it’s her first attempt.  She said there were a lot more things she could say, but even her desire to be a poetess wouldn’t let her forget that she was a lady.  Alla told me that the height of her ambition was to write the words of a popular song and have Harry Von Seltzer sing it in the College Inn.  She can’t ever make a hit as a poem producer though ’cause she hasn’t got high cheek bones and teeth like a squirrel.  Alla was pensive all through the first act, and while she was making her change from a lady-in-waiting to a bathing girl she remarked that she was going to write an ode—­past tense of I O U, I guess—­entitled ’Thoughts on Hearing Ben Teal Conduct a Chorus Rehearsal.’  They won’t let her publish it.

“What do you know about the new law about tanks having to have their names on the barroom door?  I see where the Metropole will lose money unless they furnish disguises to their steady customers.  Can you imagine the suspense certain parties will feel when they rush into a shop for their early morning ‘thought mop’ and have to cling to the bar while Arthur looks up their past performances in Bingham’s Bartenders’ Guide.

“A gentleman friend had the kindness to extend me courtesies to ’The Witching Hour’ the other evening, and listen to muh:  There is some class to that show.  Ain’t you seen it?  It’s a song and dance about this mental telepathy gag.  There is a gambling gentleman who can tell a poker hand every time.  The only reason he ain’t a heiress is because his conscience jumps up and gives him a kick in the face.  This party in the play influences people’s minds.  He thinks of something, and people miles away think of the same thing.  All the same wireless.  Take it from me, there’s a whole lot to it at that.  I was out with a kind friend the other evening whose general disposition is to try and make Frank Daniels look like a spendthrift, so I knew it would be beer for mine unless I made a great mental effort, so all the way up the street in the taxicab I just held thumbs and concentrated my mind—­I saw more new style hats, too—­and said to myself, ‘For Heaven’s sake, order wine,’ ’Please loosen up and order wine.’  All to myself, you understand, never once out loud, for though I am in the business I don’t seek the reputation as a working girl.