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Meanwhile Roger, with the pleasurable sensation of one who expects to be received as a distinguished visitor from out of town, had entered the luxurious suite of Mr. Oldham. A young lady, rather too transparently shirtwaisted but fair to look upon, asked what she could do for him. "I want to see Mr. Oldham." "What name shall I say?" "Mr. Mifflin Mr. Mifflin of Brooklyn."
Nelly: Father, I have something to tell you; something Breakfast at Mrs. Arty's was always an inspiration. In contrast to the lonely dingy meal at the Hustler Dairy Lunch of his Zapp days, he sat next to a trimly shirtwaisted Nelly, fresh and enthusiastic after nine hours' sleep. So much for ordinary days. But Sunday morning that was paradise!
Berlin, in the wanderlust of its darkened heavens, is not the ample-bosomed, begarneted, crimson-lipped Minna angling in its gaudy dance decoy in the Behrenstrasse; nor the satin-clad, pencilled-eyed Amelie ogling from her "reserved" table in the silly sham called Moulin Rouge; nor yet the more baby-glanced, shirtwaisted Ertrude laughing in the duntoned Café Lang.
"Not a bit of it," bringing one down with a cane. "We're out on a party." "But " "No buts," helping her in and climbing in after. "Waldorf." "I'm too shirtwaisted." "Nothing of the kind. You're as trim as a dime. I like those waists you wear. They make you look smooth shining. That's it, you've a shine to you."
I like best the Berlin that sings with the students in the undiscovered, untainted wein and bier stuben of the thitherward thoroughfares, the Berlin that dances in the Joachimstrasse, where the mädels, each to herself a Cecilie, shirtwaisted, poor, happy, kick up their German heels, drink up their German beer, assault the Schweizerkäse and bring back memories of that paradise of all paradises the Englischer Garten of Munich the Incomparable, the Divine.
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