After the costume, you should arrange to obtain a mask and a
breath. The former is, of course, for the purpose of hiding your
identity; the latter is essential at any party where you wish to
remain inconspicuous. A good whisky breath can usually be
obtained from a bottle of any of the better known brands of
Scotch or Rye whisky by holding a small quantity of the liquor in
the mouth for a short period of time. It is not, of course,
necessary to swallow the liquor and in this connection I would
suggest that you use only the best grade whisky, for there are at
present being manufactured for domestic consumption several
brands which, if held in the mouth for a longer interval than,
say, three seconds, are apt to eat away the tongue or dissolve
several of your more important teeth.
On the night of the party, therefore, having donned your Dry
Agent costume, having put on your mask, having secured a good
breath—you jump into a taxicab and drive to the Glen Cove Country
Club. And, as you enter the door of the club, some girl, dressed,
probably, as Martha Washington, will run up and kiss you. This is
not because she thinks you are George Washington; it is because
she drank that eighth Bronx cocktail at dinner.
And right at this point is where most Dry Agents have displayed
their ignorance of the usages of polite society, for most of them
are wofully ignorant of the correct way to handle such a
situation. Your average Dry Agent, not being accustomed to the
ways of Younger Marrieds, is often confused upon being
unexpectedly kissed, and in his confusion betrays his unfortunate
lack of social training.
The correct way to meet the above situation is based on the
fundamental rule of all social etiquette—common sense. Return the
lady’s kiss in an easy, natural manner and pass on. If she
follows you, lead her at once to a quiet unoccupied corner of the
club and knock her over the head with a chair or some other
convenient implement. It has been found that this is the only
effective way to deal with this type of woman and it is really
only a kindness to her and her husband to keep her from
embarrassing you with her attentions during the rest of the
evening.
After you have removed your coat, you should go to the ball room
where you will find the dance in full swing—full being of course
used in its common or alcoholic sense. Take your place in the
stag line and don’t, under any circumstances, allow anyone to
induce you to cut in on any of the dancers. In the first place,
you won’t be able to dance because Dry Agents, like Englishmen,
never can; secondly, if you _try_ to dance, you are taking the
enormous chance, especially at a masquerade, that the man who
introduced you to your partner will disappear for the rest of the
evening, leaving you with Somebody’s Albatross hanging around
your neck. And, of all Albatrosses, the married one is perhaps
farthest South—especially if she happens to be a little tight and
wants to talk about her husband and children.
Your policy, therefore, should be one of complete
non-partisanship. If you do not dance, do not let yourself be
drawn into conversation, and do not, above all things, show any
consideration for the host or hostess. By closely observing the
actions of the men and women about you, by wandering down into
the club bar, by peeking into the automobiles parked outside the
club, you will probably be able to obtain sufficient evidence of
the presence of alcohol to justify a raid. And then, when you
have raided the Glen Cove Country Club, you can turn your
attention to the 12,635,439 other clubs and private houses where
the same thing is going on. And, if Mr. Volstead has a dress
suit, you might take him with you, and show him just how
beautifully Prohibition is working and how enthusiastic the
better classes of American society are about it.