On putting-green and around bunkers these idlers struggled with artificial difficulties, while in shops and mines and factories, on railways and in the blazing Hells of stoke-holes, men of another class, a slave-class, labored and agonized, toiled and died that _these_ might wear fine linen and spend the long June afternoon in play.
From the huge, cobble-stone chimney of the Country Club, upwafting smoke told of the viands now preparing for the idlers' dinner, after sport--rich meats and dainties of the rarest.

In the rathskeller some of the elder and more indolent men were absorbing alcohol while music played and painted nymphs of abundant charms looked down from the wall-frescoes.

Out on the broad piazzas, well sheltered by awnings from the rather ardent sun, men and women sat at spotless tables, dallying with drinks of rare hues and exalted prices.

Cigarette-smoke wafted away on the pure breeze from over the Catskills, far to northwest, defiling the sweet breath of Nature, herself, with fumes of nicotine and dope.

A Hungarian orchestra was playing the latest Manhattan ragtime, at the far end of the piazza.