Chapter 3 of 4 · 3996 words · ~20 min read

Part 3

The housekeeper, not knowing the intricacies of bridge and thoroughly alarmed by the idea of a burglar in the widow’s room, rushed to the host’s door and hastily summoned him to the rescue. After a somewhat noisy consultation between them, as a result of which some of the disrobing bachelors were attracted to the scene of conflict, a united descent was made upon the unfortunate widow’s stronghold. The net result of the _sortie_ was that the widow was greatly annoyed, the host was unmercifully chaffed, and the housekeeper received her first lesson in bridge.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Bridge_]

* * * * *

“It was,” said the Knickerbocker bridge fiend, “at the Hotel Splendide-Royale in Aix-les-Bains. I was playing twenty-cent points, which is just double my usual limit. I had lost six consecutive rubbers. I had cut, each rubber, against a peculiarly malevolent-looking Spaniard, who had a reputation at cards which was none too savory. There had been trouble about him only the day before at the Casino des Fleurs, where he had been mixed up in a somewhat unpleasant baccarat scandal. He was a crafty and sullen bridge player and I had conceived a most cordial dislike to him.

“Finally—it was hideously late and the card-room waiter was snoring in the service closet—my time for revenge arrived. It was my deal, and I saw at a glance that I had dealt myself an enormous hand. I could hardly believe my eyes. I held nine spades with the four top honors, the bare ace of clubs, the bare ace of hearts, and the king and queen of diamonds. Here was a certainty of eleven tricks at no trumps and very possibly twelve or thirteen. I looked at the Spaniard, whose turn it was to lead, and I smiled exultantly.

“‘No trumps,’ I said, the note of triumph quite perceptible in my voice. Quick as a flash the Spaniard had doubled—and quick as another I had redoubled.

“When, however, he had jacked it up to 96 a trick, I hesitated, but of course went at him again with 192. ‘Ah, ha!,’ I said to myself, ‘Mr. bird of ill omen, you are my prey, my chosen victim for the sacrifice.’

“The price per trick had soon sailed up to 1,536, and I ventured to look at my partner. He was chalky white about the gills and his eyes seemed to stare idiotically into space. His expression prompted me to take pity on him and say ‘enough.’

“Suddenly I had a terrible feeling of alarm. Had I mistaken the queen of diamonds for the queen of hearts? If so, my king of diamonds was bare and the mysterious Spaniard might run off twelve diamond tricks before I could say ‘Jack Robinson.’ With a sinking heart I looked at my hand again—all was well! The queen was surely a diamond. I glanced at the olive-skinned gentleman and begged him to lead a card. I felt a great joy welling up within me.

“At this moment the Spaniard led a card and I looked at it nervously. As soon as my eyes beheld it my heart seemed to stop beating. He had opened the ace of a strange green suit, a suit which I had never seen before, a suit all covered with mysterious figures and symbols. I felt strangely giddy but discarded a low spade. I looked at my partner, who was the picture of despair. He said, mechanically and as though life had lost all beauty for him, ‘Having no hyppogryphs?’ to which icy inquiry I answered in a strange whisper, ‘No gryppolyphs.’

“The leader followed with another green card, a king this time, and again I sacrificed another beautiful spade. The Spaniard smiled a mahogany smile and proceeded to run off his entire suit of thirteen green cards. He then nonchalantly scored up a grand slam, the game, and a rubber of 10,450 points or $2,090. I felt my brain reeling and fainted away with my head on the card table. Very soon, however, I thought I felt the Spaniard tugging at my coat sleeve. My anger at this was beyond all bounds. I opened my eyes, prepared to strike the crafty foreigner in his wicked face, and saw—my servant standing by my bed with my breakfast tray in his hands and my bathrobe on his arm.”

THE THEATER

At the theater it is smart to “roast the show.” Do not be afraid of wounding the feelings of your host and hostess. It is an even chance that they are more bored than you. If the actors seem to object to your conversation or show annoyance or impatience, try to remember that they are not, as a rule, well bred, and are ignorant of all the graceful little social conventions.

* * * * *

On leaving the opera with ladies, do not go into the draughty side corridors with them, or you will surely be forced to look out for their carriage, a tedious and bothersome occupation. The wisest thing to do is to say that you have an appointment, and merge yourself with the rabble who are leaving by the front door, allowing the ladies to remain in the side corridors, where their footmen will sooner or later discover them.

* * * * *

Never give a theater party in stalls. Boxes are obligatory. In seats, the men cannot go out for refreshment, and the ladies are forced to remove their hats, a tragedy usually accompanied by the most distressing and ignominious disclosures.

* * * * *

Ladies who have opera boxes given them at the last moment should “get on the job” at once and offer it to such of their friends as they know to be either out of town or engaged for that evening. A box has been known, under such circumstances, to pay off a dozen obligations in a single day.

* * * * *

In New York a theater party is often a very boring and tedious form of revelry. It is always wise to send a “feeler” before accepting a lady’s invitation to dine and go to the play. The following is a safe model for such a missive:

MY DEAR MRS. VANDERGRAFT:

How awfully good of you to ask me for Friday. I presume we are dining at your house and not at a stuffy restaurant. May I be very frank and ask you what play you are planning to see? Might I also inquire if you are going in boxes or seats, and if you expect me for supper afterwards?

On hearing from you, I hope to be able to arrange the matter to your entire satisfaction.

My servant will wait for your reply.

Sincerely yours,

REGINALD GOOLD.

P. S.—How many are coming, and who are they? Are they the noisy sort?

P. S. No. 2.—What ladies are to sit beside me at dinner?

CALLING

Bachelors no longer leave or “push” cards. It is considered provincial. After dining at a house, a man may think it policy to give the butler two dollars and his card. In return the butler will, during the next afternoon, discreetly slip the card upon the tray in the hall while the lady of the house is driving in the park.

* * * * *

If you are literally forced to pay a call, merely ask the butler if the ladies are at home. Should he say “No,” hand him your cards, and your work is over. Should he say “Yes,” pretend to him that you have mistaken the house, and that you were looking for the residence of another lady. Slip him a dollar and retire noiselessly down the steps.

* * * * *

It is often well, before starting out on a calling expedition, to have one’s servant telephone to a dozen or so mansions to discover which of the ladies are out. You can then leave cards in these particular houses with comparative safety.

OUR COUNTRY COUSINS

Green peas are eaten with the aid of a fork. The hair-raising spectacle of a gentleman flicking peas into his mouth with a steel knife is no longer fashionable, however dexterously the feat may be performed.

* * * * *

Plums should be eaten one by one and the pits allowed to fall noiselessly into the half-closed hand.

* * * * *

At dinners, wisdom dictates that it is wiser to leave the terrapin, hard crabs, asparagus, and oranges untasted (unless accustomed to them from birth). Be content to poke and pat these dishes with a fork, but make no effort to consume them.

* * * * *

The following expressions are no longer in vogue in society: “Pardon my glove,” “Pray be seated,” “Pleased to meet you,” “Remember me to the folks,” “Pray rest your cane,” “Make yourself at home,” “What name, please?” “Are you the party?” “Say, listen,” “My gentleman friend,” “Usen’t you?” etc.

* * * * *

Do not address your wife as “mother.”

* * * * *

Olives are eaten with the thumb and forefinger of the right hand. It is not necessary to peel them, and the pits should usually be rejected.

* * * * *

Do not, when your mouth is filled with sweet potatoes, red bananas, pressed saddle of lamb, or other solid provisions, attempt to discuss the topics of the day with the ladies at the feast.

* * * * *

In using a finger bowl, simply dip the index finger into the fluid and pass it lightly over the lips.

Make no effort to consume the floating lemon, and try to restrain yourself from splashing about in the bath, like a playful walrus or a performing seal.

* * * * *

When a rich Westerner arrives in New York and begins breaking into society, it should be a pleasure for everybody to show him little courtesies and attentions. New York gentlemen usually do this by borrowing money from him, marrying his daughters, riding his polo ponies (or selling him theirs), drinking his wine, cruising about on his yacht, smoking his cigars, and selling him blocks of their worthless stocks.

* * * * *

The last morsel of green turtle in a soup plate is always a heart-breaking thing at best. Remember that, though enticing, it is elusive. Do not chivy it about in frantic circles or pursue it untiringly around your plate until you have captured and subdued it. Turtle soup and Indian pig-sticking are not governed by the same rules.

* * * * *

When you sit down at table, it is not necessary to whisk the napkin gayly about before unfolding it. The concealed roll is certain to fly a considerable distance before alighting, and may even crack the enameling on one of the great ladies at the banquet.

* * * * *

Millionaires of the Chester A. Arthur or Rutherford B. Hayes vintage should pass rapidly through their ancient mansions and demolish the following objects of art and _vertu_:

The twin conch shells, for fireside use; the embroidered wall mottoes; imitation wax flowers—under glass; ebony and gold whatnots; velvet antimacassars; all crayon portraits—whether pendant or on gold easels; party-colored crazy quilts; all magenta picture sashes; plush photograph albums; red worm lamp-mats; turkish cozy corners, with hanging red lamps, imitation spears, and rusty armor; black hair sofas; hanging tennis racquets ornamented with red bows; folding beds; cuckoo clocks and paper weights containing miniature paper snowstorms.

After destroying these knickknacks, they should pass out on the steps and adjacent lawn spaces and demolish the iron dogs, copper fauns, and the bed of snowdrops spelling out the mansion’s fantastic name—“Slopeoak,” “Munnysunk,” “Sewerside,” or any name in which the following popular “B” forms are included: Brae, Blythe, By-the, Buena, Bel, Bonnie, Beau, Bourne.

NEWPORT

The correct treatment of a foreigner in Newport is to gush over him, praise him to your friends, and invite him to your entertainments. This course may be pursued for one week. After that, treat him with great reserve and coolness for the same period of time. At the beginning of the third week you should abuse him roundly, and take pains to recite the hidden and secret passages of his past. Advice for the fourth week is unnecessary: they never last more than three.

* * * * *

Sea bathing at Newport is often injurious to the health, as in the case of those ladies whose figures are a trifle too meagre—or too ample. To such sirens the doctor is sure to forbid it. Where, however, the outlines are visually “grateful and comforting,” the exercise is certain to prove beneficial and bracing. In all Newport there are about a dozen ladies whose physicians have no such prejudices against open air, salt water bathing.

* * * * *

Dakota divorces are still a good deal frowned upon in the _beau monde_. Try to remember that only Rhode Island divorces are _comme il faut_. (The Newport variety is far smarter than the Providence or Bristol brand.) Dakota divorces are a trifle cheaper and more expeditious, but it should be borne in mind that the climate of Sioux Falls is very variable and that the hotels and theaters are, to say the least, indifferent.

* * * * *

Millionaires from the West whose wives are bent upon breaking into society at any cost, should not try Newport until the simpler safes have been cracked. Newport is the water jump of the social steeplechase, and should not be taken until the easier gates have been successfully negotiated. The safest graded order of jumps is as follows:

1. PALM BEACH. Not exclusive, but merry, sumptuous, and expensive. Chance to meet many smart men in the gambling rooms.

2. HOT SPRINGS, VA. Depressing, but many “classy” invalids.

3. NARRAGANSETT PIER. Geographically speaking, this is nearly Newport, but the social tone, though “nobby,” can hardly be called A1.

4. THE BERKSHIRES. Dull and dowdy, but full of genteel old families in reduced circumstances who are willing to unbend—if properly propitiated.

5. TUXEDO. Excellent opportunities here, particularly in the Tuxedo jiggers and at the club on rainy days, when a fourth is needed at bridge.

6. LONG ISLAND. This is the Tattenham Corner of the social Derby—(many bad falls here—due to riding too hard)—the last great turn before the finish. (Try Hempstead, Westbury, and Roslyn—in order.)

7. NEWPORT. Having finally reached Newport, be very careful about the pace. Begin cautiously with Bellevue Avenue and the casino. Gradually, however, you may hit up the pace and try the golf club, Bailey’s Beach, and, finally, you may dash past the judge’s stand and weigh in at Ochre Point.

* * * * *

At Newport the hostess usually retires at about 1.30. This should be the signal for all the bachelors, diplomats, and foreigners who are stopping with her, to ask the butler for carriages and motors to convey them to Canfield’s (a fashionable roulette and chicken-salad parlor).

* * * * *

A bachelor stopping with friends in Newport should never lunch or dine in their house. It is more jaunty to dine out. If they are truly considerate, they will supply him with red morocco “in-and-out” signs which he can manipulate, in accordance with his engagements, in the entrance hall.

After a week or so, if he has not yet seen his host or hostess and is preparing to leave Newport, it is sometimes thoughtful and kind to send a card up to their rooms by a servant, thanking them for their hospitality.

GENERAL RULES

Wedding receptions are usually held in small private houses holding anywhere from one hundred to two hundred guests. It is customary to invite sixteen hundred people, six hundred of whom arrive and three hundred of whom usually remain wedged for hours upon the stairs in a bewildering sea of picture hats, lobster salad, smilax, rice, and lady fingers.

* * * * *

After a funeral it is customary for the family to supply a few extra carriages in which the pallbearers and mourners go to the burial ground. After this ceremony the bachelor, who has availed himself of one of the vehicles, may, with propriety, ask the driver to take him to his rooms; but it is a gross breach of good form to keep the carriage on (at the family’s expense) for calling, going to the play, or driving to Belmont Park for the races.

* * * * *

In thanking friends for wedding presents, it is well to remember that nearly all of them will have to be exchanged. Lay your plans accordingly. Do not thank anybody until you have bunched the duplicates.

Let us assume, for instance, that the seventeen traveling clocks, forty-eight candlesticks, eleven porcelain parasol handles, fifty-one cut-glass salad bowls, thirteen fans, and eighty-four silver teapots have all been gathered together in convenient groups. At this point the bride-to-be may dictate an appropriate “teapot” letter to her secretary. This note will do for _all_ the teapots. The following is a graceful example of such an epistle:

MY DEAR —— ——:

The teapot is _too_ ravishing. What an _angel_ you are! I simply _adore_ it. Oddly enough, it was the _very_ thing I had longed and _prayed_ for.

Yours ever,

BLANCHE.

P. S.—Where did you say you bought it?

* * * * *

When a lady calls you up on the telephone, and seems disposed to run on forever, simply hang up the receiver and go on with your cigar. If she calls up again to complete the conversation, tell your servant to say that you were disgusted with the way the central girl cut you off and have gone to the telephone company to lodge a complaint.

* * * * *

Be careful to remember that the lady always bows first. On some occasions it is difficult to determine whether the fast-approaching queen of fashion is going to bow or not. Should you be walking down the avenue with another man, proceed as follows: Look at her and exclaim gladly: “Why, how do you do—” Should she freeze, or cut you, you have but to turn to your friend and complete your remark by adding—“that little trick you showed me yesterday?”

Thus, it may appear to him that your remark was meant to be a continuous one, having to do with some feat of legerdemain, and he will fail to notice the snub which has been so cruelly inflicted upon you.

* * * * *

Proposals by women, while permissible, are not customary, and, although they are yearly becoming more and more popular, are still regarded as an innovation. If the proposal is rejected, good taste and kindly consideration demand that the gentleman should keep it more or less of a secret.

It is, of course, not always easy for a gentleman to know when he has been definitely proposed to. Women’s ways are sometimes devious and obscure. Roughly speaking, it is a proposal, or its equivalent, when a lady throws her head upon his breast and bursts into a passionate flood of tears.

* * * * *

The duties of a valet in a country house are as follows:

(1) Talking and snickering to the housemaids in the hallways.

(2) Purloining little keepsakes from the portmanteaus of the visitors.

(3) Bouncing into the bachelors’ rooms one hour before they wish to be wakened, in order to build fires, close bureau drawers, misinform them about the weather, and take away dress coats and trousers.

(4) Laying out clothes in the morning. In doing this they usually exhibit a highly trained color sense, selecting as the smartest combination of apparel a blue shirt, brown socks, lilac handkerchief, green tie, and a yellow waistcoat.

(5) Standing in a conspicuous position in the main hallway on Monday morning, which is always the period of largess and plenty.

(6) Wrapping up muddy boots in black evening trousers.

(7) Perhaps, however, their most blissful moment is when, knowing that you have one more evening before you, they take your only remaining white shirt, fold it into a sausage-shaped roll, and hurl it into the soiled-linen basket.

* * * * *

A movement is on foot in polite society to revise the barbarous wedding anniversaries as at present regulated, as modern marriages seldom last long enough to celebrate them. It is proposed, therefore, to call the first anniversary the tin, the second the silver, the third the gold, as marriages in society are only contracted, on one side or the other, for the attainment of these several commodities.

* * * * *

When ladies are introduced to one another, they should remain rigid and calm and evince no interest in the proceeding. Their necks should be stiff and their heads thrown back—like cobras about to strike.

* * * * *

At a wedding it is not customary for the best man to kiss the bride. Should the occasion seem, however, to call for such an act, he should be careful only to deliver a “Sweeper.” A “Dweller” may alone be administered by the groom.

* * * * *

A bachelor should supply the telephone girl at his office with a list of ladies to whom he is always “out.” On a select list he will write the names of five or six ladies who entertain delightfully and to whom he is always “in.”

* * * * *

In introducing two people show no sign of emotion whatever. Merely look from one to the other in a vague, listless sort of way, and murmur their names very swiftly and very faintly. It is, of course, bad form to introduce at all, but, if put to it, proceed as above.

* * * * *

At Christmas time a married man should make certain to tip the telephone boy at his club. If the lad is clever enough to recognize the voice of the member’s wife, at the other end of the telephone, he should receive ten dollars. If he recognizes _other_ female voices as well, he should receive twenty.

* * * * *

A chivalrous husband should always try, by kindly acts and little courtesies, to ingratiate himself in his wife’s affections. It is, for instance, selfish of him to return from his office to his home before dressing time.

He should remember that the hours between 4.15 and 7.15 are _her_ hours. In this brief space she will probably wish to pour tea, entertain male visitors, play bridge, buy jewelry, take a nap, or have her hair “marcelled,” and the husband should always consider her feelings during this trying part of the day. He may solace himself by remembering that the sitting rooms of other ladies are always open to him during these hours. If not, he can always go to the steam room at a Turkish bath, or drop in at the “Plaza” and hear the _nouveaux riches_ drink tea.

* * * * *

In motoring, avoid running over hens, dogs, and Italian children. They are almost certain to stick up the wheels.

* * * * *

Church-going is no longer considered fashionable. If a lady finds that she _must_ attend church, it is a wise precaution to take a little child with her. This will not only make a good impression but will give her an excellent excuse for leaving before the sermon.

* * * * *

When you are northbound and a lady bows to you from a southbound brougham, do not trouble to lift your hat. Merely raise your arm halfway to your head, as the vehicle will have passed in a moment and your failure to bow is certain to remain unnoticed.