The male sissified flirt is becoming more and more a social pest. One is liable to bump into this queer creature at any social function, regardless of its exclusiveness.
Let us dwell for a moment upon the great masque ball recently held under auspices of theatrical people at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. It is the latest creation in behalf of the wealthy tourist who visits Southern California.
In this huge pile, which somewhat resembles a great depot, in depth of its long corridors and maze of shops and stands, a scene of merriment occurred that has not been rivalled in the history of winter tropics.
The affair was stopped, it is understood, by order of the hotel management, when word freely was passed that by some hook or crook booze was to be had on an upper floor. Just how booze might get into a great hotel and gradually cause the dance to become rather flushed may have been a problem that puzzled and nettled those responsible for the good name of the house so far as Uncle Sam is concerned. At any event the fiddlers left and the impression went about that the hotel people weren’t going to stand for the party getting rough.
Into the main dining-room, before the evening was well started, two of our leading male comedians strode, both with an ill-concealed bottle protruding from the usual pocket. One of these comedians is a heavy gentleman and a jolly one. The other is gaining fame as a comedian because he never is known to smile.
Just what was in the bottles cannot be proved, but the incident caused some words of criticism from other members of the movie colony, who figured the boys were “putting it on” a little too strong in view of the assemblage present, ever ready to declare that the “movies” are impossible.
But these two cheerful individuals, at the worst, were only mistaken if they really intended to show off or be funny or daring. Many a person present would have been glad to join them, in consideration of their hip pocket protrusion. Yet the occasion, the time, the place, and so on, made it seem a bit garish.
But what about the rouge-soaked males in feminine attire, and displaying toe to hip extremes, garbed in lace tights, whose every movement, look and word indicated absence of the masculine instinct as they pranked and tripped about the ballroom floor, mingling with dainty women and stalwart males who moved uneasily away as the queer folk swung simpering and smirking among them?
Take the two merry boys with the bottles in the main dining-room, a little wild, perhaps, and making somewhat of a show—but, withal, regular men taking a lark as they found it—maybe somewhat “lit up,” but exuding rough masculinity in their uncouth playfulness. To be censured?
One regular he-man, or a party of them, invaded under ordinary circumstances by queer-acting customers, would make short shift of “sissy simps” and abide by the consequences—there being small reason to fear consequences. But a public gathering is different.