further libations merely served to maintain him in status quo.
Exhaustive experiments had proved that he was able to retain
consciousness and the power of locomotion until the first streak
of dawn appeared, after which he usually became a burden. For the
present he was amply able to take care of himself, and now,
although his speech was slightly thick, his demeanor was as
didactic and severe as ever, and, save for the vagrant workings of
his mind, he might have passed for a curate. As a whole, the crowd
was in fine fettle.

The Austrian Village is a saloon, dance-hall, and all-night
restaurant, flourishing brazenly within a stone's throw of
Broadway, and it is counted one of the sights of the city. Upon
entering, one may pass through a saloon where white-aproned
waiters load trays and wrangle over checks, then into a ball-room
filled with the flotsam and jetsam of midnight Manhattan. Above
and around this room runs a white-and-gold balcony partitioned
into boxes; beneath it are many tables separated from the waxed
floor by a railing. Inside the enclosure men in street-clothes and
smartly gowned girls with enormous hats revolve nightly to the
strains of an orchestra which nearly succeeds in drowning their
voices. From the tables come laughter and snatches of song;
waiters dash hither and yon. It is all very animated and gay on
the surface, and none but the closely observant would note the
weariness beneath the women's smiles, the laughter notes that
occasionally jar, or perceive that the tailored gowns are
imitations, the ermines mainly rabbit-skins.

But the eyes of youth are not analytical, and seen through a rosy
haze the sight was inspiriting. The college men selected a table,