Murray’s Club’s orchestra is jazz and it gave Mr. O’Flaherty and me an acute attack of homesickness.

From there we rode to the National Sporting Club, of which Mr. Corri is king. He asked me to put on the gloves with him, but I’m not one of the kind that picks on people five or six times my age.

On Mr. Payne’s advice, Mr. O’Flaherty and I purchased seats for a show called Seven Day’s Leave , and that’s where we’ve been tonight, we and another scribe, Mr. Miller of Dowagiac, Michigan, which, as everyone knows, is a suburb of Niles.