Jake Berger bought a table for ten dollars, which was seven more than it had ever cost the owner, and Ben ordered stuff for us, including a vintage champagne that the price of stuck out far enough beyond other prices on the wine list, and a porterhouse steak, family style, for himself, and everything seemed on a sane and rational basis again.  It looked as if we might have a little enjoyment during the evening after all.  It was a good lively place, with all these brilliant society people mingling up in the dance in a way that would of got ’em thrown out of that gangsters’ haunt on the Bowery.  Lon Price said he’d never witnessed so many human shoulder blades in his whole history and Jeff Tuttle sent off a lot of picture cards of this here ballroom or saloon that a waiter give him.  The one he sent Egbert Floud showed the floor full of beautiful reckless women in the dance and prominent society matrons drinking highballs, and Jeff wrote on it, “This is my room; wish you was here.”  Jeff was getting right into the spirit of this bohemian night life; you could tell that.  Lon Price also.  In ten minutes Lon had made the acquaintance of a New York social leader at the next table and was dancing with her in an ardent or ribald manner before Ben had finished his steak.

I now noticed that the New Yorker was looking at his gun-metal watch about every two minutes with an expression of alarm.  Jake Berger noticed it, too, and again leaned heavily on the conversation.  “Not keeping you up, are we?” says Jake.  And this continual watch business must of been getting on Ben’s nerves, too, for now, having fought his steak to a finish, he says to his little guest that they two should put up their watches and match coins for ’em.  The New Yorker was suspicious right off and looked Ben’s watch over very carefully when Ben handed it to him.  It was one of these thin gold ones that can be had any place for a hundred dollars and up.  You could just see that New Yorker saying to himself, “So this is their game, is it?” But he works his nerve up to take a chance and gets a two-bit piece out of his change purse and they match.  Ben wins the first time, which was to of settled it, but Ben says right quick that of course he had meant the best two out of three, which the New Yorker doesn’t dispute for a minute, and they match again and Ben wins that, too, so there’s nothing to do but take the New Yorker’s watch away from him.  He removes it carefully off a leather fob with a gilt acorn on it and hands it slowly to Ben.  It was one of these extra superior dollar watches that cost three dollars.  The New Yorker looked very stung, indeed.  You could hear him saying to himself, “Serves me right for gambling with a stranger!” Ben feels these suspicions and is hurt by ’em so he says to Jeff, just to show the New Yorker he’s an honest sport, that he’ll stake his two watches against Jeff’s solid silver watch that he won in a bucking contest in 1890.  Jeff says he’s on; so they match and Ben wins again, now having three watches.  Then Lon Price comes back from cavorting with this amiable jade of the younger dancing set at the next table and Ben makes him put up his gold seven-jewelled hunting-case watch against the three and Ben wins again, now having four watches.