"Whash you know about rubber? . . . The stuff aint no good."
"You wait an shee, Holyoke ole fella or you looshmg opportunity of your life. . . . Drunk or sober I can smell money . . . on the wind."
"Why aint you got any then?" The bottlenosed man's beef red face went purple; he doubled up letting out great hoots of laughter.
"Because I always let my friends in on my tips," said the other man soberly. "Hay boy where's zis here private dinin room?"
"Par ici monsieur."
A red accordionpleated dress swirled past them, a little oval face framed by brown flat curls, pearly teeth in an openmouthed laugh.
"Fifi Waters," everyone shouted. "Why my darlin lil Fifi, come to my arms."
She was lifted onto a chair where she stood jiggling from one foot to the other, champagne dripping out of a tipped glass.
"Merry Christmas."
"Happy New Year."
"Many returns of the day. . . ."
A fair young man who had followed her in was reeling intricately round the table singing:
O we went to the animals' fair
And the birds and the beasts were there
And the big baboon
By the light of the moon
Was combing his auburn hair.
"Hoopla," cried Fifi Waters and mussed the gray hair of the man with the diamond stud. "Hoopla." She jumped down with a kick, pranced round the room, kicking high with her skirts fluffed up round her knees.
"Oh la la ze French high kicker!"
"Look out for the Pony Ballet."
