LordPeter List Literary Contest

Nothing but the resolution that my interference was not only justified, but essential, would have induced me to set foot into such a place. O, reader! to see the painted women in their trumpery frocks! To hear the unholy rhythms of that cacophony known as "jazz-music"! To watch the faces of the dancers, as they gyrated in a profane manner, so different from the chaste, joyful movements He calls upon us to perform in His name! --

But I must beg your pardon, Dear Reader, for a I have lapsed into what is called my "Sunday-School" manner. I am sure you will forgive me -- understanding as you must how painful were the circumstances in which I found myself. Resolutely, I placed an order for soda-water from a sallow waiter, whose unwholesome complexion spoke only to clearly of the dissolution of his spirit. I determined at once that he should receive no monetary gratuity from me -- instead, I would leave him a "tip" infinitely more valuable: a work written as a balm for the souls of those employed in such places: "Watering-Holes Lead to Festering Souls." Thus was I able to enjoy my soda-water, knowing that I would be bringing a much different kind of "refreshment" to this disspipated waiter!

But, just as I was recovering that equanimity which He graciously bestows upon his humble servants (even so humble as I!) one of the dreadful dancing couples oozed past -- and what a sight, in a Christian country such as this! I determined at once that, should these wastrels pass my way again, I should not miss the opportunity to share with them the wisdom of one of my little tracts: "Monsieur! A Word With You on Lounge-Lizardry!" As they passed me a second time, I contrived to thrust this volume into the man's trouser-pocket, thinking that, in the evening, as he removed his dancing-garments (forgive me, Dear Reader, for alluding to such an indelicate subject) he would perhaps find my little offering, and reconsider the depths to which he had sunk....but imagine my horror when my well-meant offering was detected, and the creature actually stopped twirling his slatternly partner, and said, mischievously, "Madame, Je regrette, je suis engage avec cette femme jolie, n-c'est-pas?"

O reader! What mortification! To be addressed in such a familiar manner by such a creature! I had only time to push another tract ("Are You Satan's Dancing-Partner?") into the hands of his painted companion before I fainted dead away.

-- Miss Meteyard

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