“Oh, you blessed flesh-pots, how I adore you!”
“Referring to the men or the women?”
“Naughty Richard! I mean all the luxury and sensuousness which New York represents.”
“You hungry little beggar, how you do eat up your sensations!”
“They give me indigestion sometimes.”
The foyer of the Plaza was like a reception. The tea-room was a-clatter and a-clack with tongues.
“Like the clatter of sleek little squirrels,” said Bambi, as she followed the head-waiter to their table.
Her comments on people about them, the nicknames she donated to them, convulsed Strong. He would never again see that pompous head-waiter except as “Papa Pouter!”
“Would you get tired of it if you were here all the time?”
“I suppose so. It is all so alike. The women all look alike, and the men, and the waiters. If you dropped through the ceiling, you could hardly tell whether you were in the Ritz, the Plaza, the Manhattan, or the Knickerbocker. You would know it was New York—that’s all.”
“What train do you take to-night, or shall you stay over?”
