Dinner is the day’s event at the Poinciana Hotel. ’Tis a thrilling sight to see an army of waiters “charge” through miles of dinner table trenches, while the guests, armed with sabre knives and bayonet forks, fight to get food. After the attack the survivors sit around in the lobby, stand or march about the miles of halls and foyers, shooting glances at each other and attempting to make “conquests.” Despite the heat of the room, there were many chilling glances and cold shoulders if you were not one of the “regulars.” Giddy boys and girls, thoroughbred sports of men and women, were all there to see and be seen, to show all they dared, to flaunt their gold and diamonds and exhibit everything they could on their outside which did but advertise the naked poverty of their inner mentality and morality. Amid all this glare, gold and giddiness, I watched an old woman, who was out of the society race, but painfully anxious to be noticed. This slave of fashion with rope of pearls around her neck, bosom bound round with chains of gold, and handcuffed with bracelets, leaned back in her chair. When she saw me look at her she raised the lace on her breast that I might see her hidden diamonds, then rested her withered arms for me to admire her bracelets, moved her bony, be-diamonded fingers, heaved her upholstered bosom and writhed her wrinkled, snaky neck. Ye Gods, what a sight! This last leaf on Life’s tree—this winter of discontent amid these tropical surroundings—this dying spark in life’s conflagration of passion—this woman of three score years making this unholy show of herself, when she ought to be in bed or with a Bible on her knees preparing to meet her God. This after-dinner sideshow was a fulsome fiesta of Fashion, a vicious Vanity Fair. The “Beach Club” is the Monte Carlo of the U. S. A. To gain admission you must be a member, or be vouched for by a member in good standing. I met a member who offered to take me in and show me around. I had seen the real Monte Carlo abroad and was told this was like it with its games and sports. I did manage to get by the Cerberus at the door, but was then politely stopped by a smiling, monkey flunkey with an expression of “Thus far shalt thou go and go further.” He informed me I couldn’t enter without being in evening dress. Since I was like the man in the Scripture, without the wedding garment, I was cast out. Nevertheless, at the door I saw two old satyrs taking a chance with two powdered, painted dames, who in life’s game had lost everything worth having. One of the girls was tipsy. They made some fly remarks and were welcomed in.