evenin’ after dinner. She says we would have to go there too.
“But I ain’t a member,” I says.
“Then find out how you get to be one,” she says.
So to the Beach Club I went and made inquiries.
“You’ll have to be introduced by a guy that already belongs,” says the man at the door.
“Who belongs?” I ast him.
“Hundreds o’ people,” he says. “Who do you know?”
“Two waiters, two barkeepers and one elevator boy,” I says.
He laughed, but his laugh didn’t get me no membership card and I had to dance three or four extra times the next day to square myself with the Missus.
She made another discovery and it cost me six bucks. She found out that, though the meals in the regular dinin’ room was included in the triflin’ rates per day, the real people had at least two o’ their meals in the garden grill and paid extra for ’em. We tried