And Gallup's--almost the first of these "breakfast and lunch" shops--is another.

They are not unlike a Childs restaurant, but with the rarefied Village air added.

You eat real food in clean surroundings, as you do in Childs', but you do it to an accompaniment that is better than music--a sort of life-song, rather stirring and quite touching in its way--the Song of the Village.

How can people be both reckless and deeply earnest?
But the Villagers are both.
One of the oddest sights on earth is a typical "Breakfast" at "Polly's," the "Kitchen" or the "Dutch Oven," after one of the masked balls for which the Village has recently acquired such a passion.
After you have been up all night in some of these mad masquerades--of which more anon--you may not, by Village convention, go home to bed.
You must go to breakfast with the rest of the Villagers.

And you must be prepared to face the cold, grey dawn of "the morning after" while still in your war paint and draggled finery.