(See front cover*)
Trailing a thousand different perfumes, an endless procession of women surged through the lobbies of Manhattan's swank Waldorf-Astoria last week. They were large and small, handsome and unlovely, most of them middleaged, many of them buxom, and not a few with funny hats. They pushed into the elevators, chattering, fluttering programs, snatching quick glances at themselves in mirrors. The elevator operators knew better than to stop at the mezzanine, where the Wholesale Liquor Dealers Association was in convention. Unmistakably these passengers were headed for the third-floor ballroom and...
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