The charm, the passion, the lure of the dance remains perennial.

It never wholly disappears.

It always returns.
In New York City alone there are three hundred saloon dance halls.

Three hundred dens of evil where every night in the year gallons of liquid damnation are forced down the throats of unwilling drinkers! Where the bodies and souls of thousands of girls are annually destroyed, because the young are irresistibly drawn toward joy, and because we, all of us, good people, busy people, indifferent people, unseeing people, have permitted joy to become commercialized, have turned it into a commodity to be used for money profit by the worst elements in society.
Could a more inverted scheme of things have been devised in a madhouse?
New York is by no means unique.

Every city has its dance hall problem; every small town its girl and boy problem; every country-side its tragedy of the girl who, for relief from monotony, goes to the city and never returns.
It is strange that nowhere, until lately, in city, town, or country, has it occurred to any one that the community owed anything to this insatiable thirst for joy.
Consider, for instance, the age-long indifference of the oldest of all guardians of virtue, the Christian Church.