The pretentious ballroom of the Hotel Tate was aglow with light, youth and color. Tate pennants, interspersed with rectangular banners bearing the legends "Tate 1928" and "Tate 1929," decorated the walls. The Tate colors, red and white, looped from all sides of the ceiling in streamers to the huge crystal chandelier in the center. From behind skillfully concealing palms in one corner of the big room came the shuffling, syncopated din of Jergens' Jazz Jongleurs. And out on the shiny, glassy smooth floor danced the chivalry and beauty of Tate, crowded, gay, and a little rowdyish. The more adventuresome of the couples were dancing the "Charleston," that hilarious, joint-twisting novelty imported from the Negro dance dives of Birmingham and New Orleans and sweeping the country like an epidemic.
The Fall Frolic. The crowning achievement of "'Speedy' the Spender." And everybody was there but "Speedy"!
"It's after ten o'clock. I wonder what can be keeping 'Speedy'?" was the question of the hour.
Dan Sheldon, who had been substituting
