Midnight
Within the golden inclosure of the Moncrieff Roof , a ceiling canopied in deep waves of burnt-orange velvet cunningly concealed , yet disclosed , amber light , the color of wine in the pouring . Behind burnt-orange portières of great length and great depth of nap , the Twenty-Four Follies , each tempered like a knife edge , stood identically poised for the first clash of Negroid music from a Negroid orchestra . At a box-office built to imitate a sedan chair -- Louis Quinze without and Louis Slupsky within -- Million-Dollar Jimmie Cox , of a hundred hundred Broadway all-nights ; the Success Shirt Waist Company , incorporated , entertaining the Keokuk Emporium ; the newest husband of the oldest prima donna ; and Mr. Herman Loeb , of Kahn , Loeb & Schulien , St. Louis , waited in line for the privilege of ordering _ à la carte _ from the most _ à la mode _ menu in Oh-là-là , New York . The line grew , eighty emptying theaters fifteen stories below , sending each its trickle toward the Midnight Frolic -- men too tired to sleep , women with slim , syncopated hips , and eyes none too nice . The smell of fur and fragrant powder on warm flesh began to rise on a fog of best Havana smoke . At the elevators women dropped out of their cloaks and , in the bustle of checking , stood by , not unconscious of the damask finish to bare shoulders . When Mr. Herman Loeb detached himself from the human tape-line before the box-office , the firm and not easily discomposed lines of his face had fallen into loose curves , the lower lip thrust forward and the eyebrows upward .