In addition to the “bar” at which you settle your hotel account, the Ocean House has another, exclusively devoted to drinking.
It is a snug, shady affair, partially subterranean, and reached by a stairway, trodden only by the worshippers of Bacchus.
Beyond this limited circle its locality is scarcely known.
In this underground region the talk of gentlemen, who have waxed warm over their cups, may be carried on ever so rudely, without danger of its reaching the delicate ears of those fair sylphs skimming through the corridors above.
This is as it should be; befitting a genteel establishment, such as the Ocean House undoubtedly is; adapted also to the ascetic atmosphere of New England.
The Puritan prefers taking his drink “on the quiet.”
On ball nights, the bar-room in question is more especially patronised, not only by the guests of the House, but outsiders from other hotels, and “the cottages.”
Terpsichore is a thirsty creature—one of the best customers of Bacchus; and, after dancing, usually sends a crowd of worshippers to the shrine of the jolly god.
At the Ocean House balls, drink can be had upstairs, champagne and other light wines, with jellies and ices; but only underground are you permitted to do your imbibing to the accompaniment of a cigar.
For this reason many of the gentlemen dancers, at intervals, descended the stairway that led to the drinking-saloon.