THIS IS THE WAY IT GOES: A meets B on Atlantic avenue, or in a restaurant. "Do you know how many guests Suchandsuch Hotel had over the -end?" A asks B. B hasn't the slightest idea how many guests there were, but he isn't going to let anyone think he hasn't as much inside dope as the next one, and besides he's nobody's optimist. So B replied: "Not a hell of a lot, I guess." A drops his voice, leans toward his friend and states almost in a whisper: "Eight." B is 3 genuinely startled, in spite of the brave front he has put on, and lets go what seems to him a suitable exclamation. It develops, in the conversation that follows, that A got the news from "some guy," but there is nothing of the skeptic about A. He is no Doubting Thomas. It isn't the first piece of bad news he has heard (and passed on) and he has become toughened to it. * * * B HASN'T BEEN LONG away from A when he meets C. "How's business?" he asks by way of greeting. "Lousy," comments C, more from habit than conviction for there is plenty of evidence that business in Atlantic City has improved distinctly since everyone began referring to it in the most disparaging terms. B Sighs. "What I say is people haven't got the dough. And those that do have it are hoarding it." C observes, "This old town has seen its best days. Nothing but shoe-boxers coming down any more."
