Now, anyone almost may have theories, but if they are wise souls they won't try to apply them.

If they have never been practically tested they can't be proved fallacious and thus may be treasured and loved and petted indefinitely, to the comfort of the individual and the edification of the multitude.

But this fair idealist would not let well enough alone.

She wanted to put her favourite theory to the acid test.

So this is what she did.
In the one-time roadhouse on Washington Square was a saloon the name of which suggested an embryotic impulse toward poetry; or perhaps she picked that particular "pub" at random.