Dice, Brassknuckles & Guitar.
International (May 1923)
Parts of New Jersey are underwater, and other parts are under continual surveillance by the authorities. But here and there lie patches of garden country dotted with old-fashioned frame mansions, which have wide shady porches and a red swing on the lawn; and perhaps, on the widest and shadiest of the porches there is even a hammock left over from the hammock days, stirring gently in a mid-Victorian wind.
When tourists come to such last-century landmarks they stop their cars and gaze for awhile and say: “Well, of course, that house is mostly halls and has a thousand rats and one bathroom, but there’s a sort of atmosphere about it——”
The tourist doesn’t stay long. He drives on to his Elizabethan villa of pressed cardboard or his earl
