The DumpD
inner at the Dump was a showy affair. About thirty people sat down at the table, and many more came in afterward. Mme. Storey had the seat of honor. It was such a meal as one might dream about. I was soon informed that Nick Van Tassel employed a twenty five thousand a year chef, and that he had a cellar of vintage wines and an acre or so of greenhouses in orchids. All this represented the fastidious and blue blooded side of Nick.
It was an astonishing house. We gathered in a royal salon filled with priceless Louis XIV furnishings, and proceeded down a long corridor across the front to a superb dining room paneled in English oak and hung with rare sporting prints. After this, imagine the shock when I was introduced later to a frontier dance hall of the days of '49. This room rep
