What shall we do without you? It's
terrible! Where are you moving to, dear?"
"--West Eleventh Street!" sobbed the sad, prospective exile.
There are Villagers who while scarcely celebrities are characters so
well known, locally, as to stand out in bizarre relief even against
that variegated background of personalities. There is Doris, the
dancer, slim, strange, agile, with a genius for the centre of the
Bohemian stage, an expert, exotic style of dancing, and a singular and
touching passion for her only child. At the Greenwich masquerades she
used to shine resplendent, her beautiful, lithe body glorious with
stage-jewels, and not much else; for the time being she has flitted
away, but some day she will surely return like a darkly brilliant
butterfly, and the Village will again thrill to her dancing. There is
Hyppolite, the anarchist, dark and fervid; there is "Bobby" Edwards,
the Village troubadour, with his self-made and self-decorated
_ukelele_, and his cat, Dirty Joe; there is Charlie-immortal
barber!--whose trade is plied in sublime accordance with Village
standards, and whose "ad" runs as follows:
"The only barber shop in the Village where work is done
conforming to its ideals.
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