She wanted to put her
favourite theory to the acid test. So this is what she did.
In the one-time roadhouse on Washington Square was a saloon the name
of which suggested an embryotic impulse toward poetry; or perhaps she
picked that particular "pub" at random. At all events she walked into
the bar, put her foot up on the traditional rail and began to converse
with the barkeep.
[Illustration: WASHINGTON SQUARE SOUTH. The studio quarter.]
She asked him if he had ever seen any of Shakespeare's plays, and he
said no. She asked him if he would like to see one. He said sure--he'd
try anything once. She invited him to go to see "Hamlet" with her, and
he said he was game. Lest his sensitive feelings be hurt by finding
himself a humble daw among the peacocks of the rich, gay world, she
bought seats in the balcony and wore her shabbiest gown.
When he called for her she felt slightly faint. He was in evening
dress, the most impeccable evening dress conceivable, even to the
pumps and the opera hat. He, too, looked a little shocked when he saw
her.
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