Just the same, it
is fascinating. From the moment you pass the outer, polite portals and
intermediate anterooms and enter the big, smoke-filled, deafening room
at the back, you are enormously interested, excellently entertained.
The noise is the thing that impresses you first. In most Village
resorts you find quiet the order of the day--or rather night. Even
"Polly's," crowded as it is, is not noisy. In the Brevoort there is a
steady, low rumble of talk, but not actual noise. At the Black Cat it
is one continual and all-pervading roar--a joyous roar, too; these
people are having a simply gorgeous time and don't care who knows it.
It is a wonder that the high-set rafters do not fall--that the lofty,
whitewashed walls of brick do not tremble, and that the little black
cats set in a rigid conventional design around the whole room do not
come to life in horror, and fly spitting up the short stairway and out
of the door!
When you go to the Black Cat you would better check what prejudices
you have as to what is formal and fitting, and leave them with your
coat at the entrance.
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