Then the orange curtains parted and on a gilded dais the width of the room, in startling relief against a purple circle the size of a tower clock, the Old Year, hoar on his beard and with limbs that shivered in an attitude of abdication, held out an hourglass to a pink-legged cherub with a gold band in his or her short curls.
A shout went up and a great clanging of forks against frail glass, the pop of corks and the quick fizz ensuing. The curtains closed and the lights flashed up. Time had just sailed another knot into space, and who cared?
At a center table a woman's slipper was already going the rounds. It began to sag and wine to ooze through the brocade.
"Well, Hermie, here's a happy New Year to you!"
"And to you, Sam, and many of 'em!"
"To ma and Etta and grandma!"
"To Kahn, Loeb & Schulien!"
"To Kahn, Loeb & Schulien and that to this time next year we got the
Men's Clothing Annex."
They drank in solemn libation.
The curtains had parted again. A Pierrot, chalky white, whistled in three registers, soprano, bass, and baser. A row of soubrettes rollicked in and out again in a flash of bushy skirts.