There is a startling number of girls.

Girls in smocks of "artistic" shades--bilious yellow-green, or magenta-tending violet; girls with hair that, red, black or blonde, is usually either arranged in a wildly natural bird's-nest mass, or boldly clubbed after the fashion of Joan of Arc and Mrs.Vernon Castle; girls with tense little faces, slender arms and an astonishing capacity as to cigarettes.

And men who, for the most part, are too busy with their ideals to cut their hair; men whose collars may be low and rolling, or high and bound with black silk stocks after the style of another day; men who are, variously, affectedly natural or naturally affected, but who are nearly all of them picturesque, and, in spite of their poses, quite in earnest, after their queer fashion.

They are all prophets and seers down here; they wear their bizarre hair-cuts and unusual clothes with a certain innocently flaunting air which rather disarms you.

Their poses are not merely poses; they are their almost childlike way of showing the prosaic outer world how different they are! Here they all flock--whenever they have the price.