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By Root 1247 0

with its two missing fingers, souvenirs of some well-recalled brawl in Marseilles, clamped like a hook around his glass of beer, the Ancient always began a table. It was his one dignity. He would come into the Select and sit down, and the table would start growing around him with friends and acquaintances. Even though he knew all the people there already, he never joined a table. When he arrived they moved over to him and that was that. So it was always his table. There was quite a large group around him that evening; many of the Hard Core and, to get really technical—all the Inner Hard Core. This consisted of the owner of an advanced Art Gallery (always accompanied by an ever-new ever-green secretary), a lazy, devastatingly handsome Princeton boy who owned a Glider and said mostly nothing but “Zop, zop”; his buddy who’d found the glider for him, one of those charming, soft-voiced, gentle-mannered, international swindler types who could find you anything; Beard Boring and Beard Bubbly; and curiously enough, this youngster Jim. That was the inner circle. As I said before, there were lots of others who clustered around the Ancient, but somehow they weren’t held in the same esteem; they had nothing to do with the ton of the group; they were just so much dressing for him to lecture to, and cadge drinks from and insult.

As we came up to the table I discovered to my surprise and annoyance Bill Blauer, one of Cousin John’s roommates at Harvard, sitting there. John’s friends were like John. They had to be. I slank into a chair as far away from his as possible, trying to keep hidden behind one of the Beards, hoping Bill wouldn’t recognize me in my new hair. He did, of course, hailing me happily down the length of the table and informing me excitedly that he’d just run into Cousin John that morning, of all things.

“A Guggenheim to end all Guggenheims,” the Beard (Bubbly as it turned out) growled to me with a despairing slap of hand to brow.

I could see that Bill, who as a matter of fact was a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford, was making himself right at home in our little village, sitting there with this awful expectant air of a Rotarian in Wonderland playing over his handsome welcoming features, just the sort of expression, in fact, that you’d expect from a young man in Paris between terms and determined to live it up. It was really funny to see how his well-here-I-am-let’s-see-what-this-little-old-burg-and-its-natives-has-to-offer attitude was quickly caught by the natives and just as quickly resented.

He thought it was great, just great, bumping into me like that, and disregarding the fact that I had not walked in unaccompanied, invited me to go on the town with him.

“I have a date already,” I said.

“Oh, that’s all right, bring him along.” He made the invitation general. “We’ll all go along,” he said humorously.

We all ignored this, but the Ancient, after considering him for a moment or two, rose abruptly and announced that he was going to the Dôme. Obediently the waiters came running to his side. He paid and left, and following his example, we all trailed after him.

Bill Blauer, too, though I pretended not to notice.

“Sit down, you bastard, sit down!” shouted the Ancient. It was his greeting to a lanky sweat-shirted Abstractionist, who instantly complied. “See that Frog tart giving you the eye? I could tell you something about her, son, I’d decline the invitation if I were you; I’d duck. You have to watch out for these primitive types.” He grinned satanically, satisfied at the success this was having with the two Sweet Briar Exchange students who, until then, had been bravely trying to appear smooth, even though we all knew they had to be in by twelve. The more the Ancient had to drink, the fouler he got. That was the rule and this was only the beginning.

“Zop, zop.”

“Listen, Jim, about this new magazine we’re getting under way: first of all I want to make it quite clear, see, that we’re not having anything to do with all this effete chi-chi they’re trying to unload on us now.” A would-be Editor disdainfully brandished two