Summary
In a drawing-room where revolution is the season’s must-have accessory, Eddie—equal parts flâneur and fixer—engineers a coup more surgical than any October manifesto. Bolshevism, reduced to parlor game and parlor pink, has infiltrated the lace curtains of his beloved’s manse; slogans replace soirée chatter, crimson banners flutter where chintz once preened. To purge the contagion, Eddie imports a living caricature: Lee’s ragged platoon of hobos, whiskers matted with railroad soot, overcoats exhaling the perfume of freight-car straw. Introduced to the hostesses as “the vanguard,” these scarecrow philosophers upend crystal, gnaw petits-fours like trench rats, and recite manifestos in burp Morse. Yet their anarchy is only skin-deep; mention soap and suds and the entire red menace evaporates, leaving only damp footprints and the faint whiff of turpentine on parquet. The fad is annihilated not by bayonet but by bathwater—an ideological rout as absurd as it is immaculate.
Synopsis
Bolshevism has become a society craze and Eddie is instrumental in eliminating the fad from the home of his sweetheart. Eddie hires a troupe of hobos, led by Lee, the chief tramp, introducing them as Bolsheviki. Soon the shabby gentry completely disgust the ladies present but refuse to leave. At the suggestion of a bath, however, they quickly depart.
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