Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

54. had to meet on one common ground, and to be proficient at it – to wit: we were to be witty and entertaining. I was very anxious to qualify and it seemed that I did, tho I can remember nothing of our conversation. As the evening went on, our hostess who was a smallish middle-aged woman, very urbane, sophisticated and gracious, came to me and asked me how I liked the company, and the whole idea. I praised both enthusiastically. About this time, the gangster who was a vile looking person, and who filled me with dread, made a joking remark about picking the pocket of a wealthy young man present. We all realized that he had broken the rules by referring to his vocation, and ­it seemed to be the signal for the party to break up. Besides we all felt that he was really not joking. We were supposed to sleep there the night and all have breakfast together in the morning before dispersing until the next years meeting. Cards were passed out with the numbers of our rooms on them, and we were told to keep our numbers secret. Mine was no. 8.

     A servant, a tall boarding-house sort of house–keeper woman came to lead me to my room – it turned out to be in a smaller house, separate