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Some of the girls had been waiting patiently five years for the party. Now their men were returning from the war and they were aquiver with anticipation of Montreal's most spectacular society hoedown.

Corsage boxes under their arms, new white gowns carefully tucked inside evening wraps, the girls minced over worn red carpets through the cold night air to a Cypress Street entrance of stately Hotel Windsor. Well ahead of the 9:30 starting time, some retired to powder rooms to rig their elbow-length gloves, give themselves a last appraising look. The occasion: the 67th anniversary of the historic St. Andrew's Day Ball, theater of "coming out" operations.

Because of war's delay, an imposing list of 183 debutantes was docketed for presentation to Canada's Governor General, the Earl of Athlone, and his Countess, the Princess Alice. One of the girls listed her home town as Victoria, B.C., 3,000 miles away. Among the others: a Molson (beer), a Dawes (beer) and a Timmins (gold). For half an hour, while friends stood on chairs to watch the ceremony, they presented cards to aides-de-camp, who announced them in precise British accents.

The Test. Then came the test. Down before His Excellency and Her Royal Highness the girls dutifully curtsied, some like shortstops going after a hot grounder. But not one fumbled.

At 1 a.m. they faced a second ordeal. At the far end of Peacock Alley, the agonized wail of bagpipes announced the arrival of four kilted veterans, bearing aloft a haggis, "great chieftain o' the puddin' race." Behind them, a kilted soldier carried a sheathed dirk at the salute, closely followed by a proud bearer holding on high a bottle of King's Ransom Scotch whiskey.

In the face of the haggis (ground heart, liver, lights, suet, onions, boiled with oatmeal in a sheep's stomach bag), many a blithe spirit bolted, to watch Montreal's "social" regiment, the Black Watch, execute an eightsome reel, or dance to the music of Eddie Alexander's orchestra.

But the older and hardier of the 2,200 guests manfully carried on, consumed three tons of the quasi-edible melange. The $7.50 guests could take it in the dining room; the $5 crowd could fight for it, or away from it, at a buffet board. Many a farsighted Montrealer had booked rooms in the hotel days in advance, to drink rye or gin, and imported champagne at $30 a magnum.

At 6 a.m., a few were still dancing. The St. Andrew's Society voiced a cautious prediction on profits of the charity affair: perhaps $1 a ticket.

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