Initial commitHEADmain

1 files changed, 1823 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/75300-0.txt b/75300-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1953337
--- /dev/null
+++ b/75300-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,1823 @@
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75300 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+                                 MANNERS
+                                _for the_
+                               METROPOLIS
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: _Tips!_]
+
+
+
+
+                                 MANNERS
+                                _for the_
+                               METROPOLIS
+
+                         _An Entrance Key to the
+                            Fantastic Life of
+                                The 400_
+
+                                   BY
+                        FRANCIS W. CROWNINSHIELD
+
+                             [Illustration]
+
+                             DECORATIONS BY
+                              LOUIS FANCHER
+
+                                NEW YORK
+                         D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+                                  1908
+
+                           COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY
+                         D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+
+                           COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY
+                    THE METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE COMPANY
+
+                       _Published, October, 1908_
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+H. S. C.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                           PAGE
+
+    FOREWORD                  3
+
+    COUNTRY HOUSES            9
+
+    CONVERSATION             27
+
+    DINNERS                  35
+
+    DANCES                   53
+
+    BRIDGE                   65
+
+    THE THEATER              85
+
+    CALLING                  91
+
+    OUR COUNTRY COUSINS      95
+
+    NEWPORT                 103
+
+    GENERAL RULES           113
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+                    FACING PAGE
+
+    TIPS          _Frontispiece_
+
+    CONVERSATION             28
+
+    HOSTESS                  60
+
+    BRIDGE                   78
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+
+It is undeniable that much of the pleasure in modern life is derived
+from social intercourse.
+
+From time immemorial the gregarious instinct has contributed greatly to
+the charm of all populated regions. It is worthy of remark that, during
+the past decade, both in America and in England, sudden and violent
+changes have somewhat ruffled the placid waters of polite society.
+These new conditions of life have naturally necessitated new methods
+of social procedure. The telephone, coeducation, wireless telegraphy,
+motor cars, millionaires, bridge whist, women’s rights, Sherry’s,
+cocktails, four-day liners, pianolas, steam heat, _directoire_ gowns,
+dirigible balloons, and talking machines have all contributed to an
+astonishing social metamorphosis.
+
+Curiously enough no book of etiquette has taken count of these violent
+changes. There is literally no Baedeker for this newly discovered
+country. Many fruitful and enchanted islands have been sighted, but
+have, alas, remained uncharted.
+
+It is, therefore, with motives of generosity, charity, and kindness
+that this little guide has been prepared by the benevolent author.
+
+It will be found to contain concise rules of deportment for all the
+more important social ceremonies—from a _tête-à-tête_ to a betrothal, a
+picnic to a funeral, a _partie-carrée_ to a divorce, an ushers’ dinner
+to a Turkish bath, and a piano recital to a rout. It also contains
+excellent advice on the choice of a motor car, a summer residence, a
+wife, or a brand of cigar.
+
+The author feels that it should prove of great value to those people
+who have been born and brought up in refined and well-bred families,
+and are, at the same time, desirous of entering fashionable society.
+
+To our newer millionaires and plutocrats it should be a very present
+help in time of trouble, for it is undeniable that many of these
+captains of industry—however strong and virile their natures—become
+utterly helpless and panic-stricken at the mere sight of a gold finger
+bowl, an alabaster bath, a pronged oyster fork, or the business end of
+an asparagus.
+
+
+
+
+COUNTRY HOUSES
+
+
+
+
+COUNTRY HOUSES
+
+
+A country house is an establishment maintained by people of wealth and
+position who have banished from their home circle the old ideas of
+family life: the hearth-side, the romping little ones, and the studious
+evenings under the red lamp.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is so much that is pleasurable in a house party at such an
+establishment that it is difficult to say which part of it is the most
+delightful. It is thrilling to receive the invitation; the journey
+there is full of an expectant pleasure; the sport is invigorating;
+the meals are usually palatable; the society agreeable. On the whole,
+however, perhaps the most welcome part of it all is the moment of
+departure.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At a week-end party, when the servant calls you in the morning and
+informs you that your bath is running, it is modish to sink off to
+sleep and allow the bath to overflow. As soon as you are wide awake
+make certain to turn off the electric light and demand from the servant
+a brandy and soda. After this bracer you may light a cigarette and send
+the footman for breakfast and a cigar. It is also a wise precaution to
+ask for _all_ the morning papers—otherwise the other guests may secure
+some of them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is usual for the bachelors to dawdle about in their riding things
+until lunch is announced. They can then go to their rooms, take their
+baths, and change. This puts off the agony of the lunch—which is always
+a tiresome meal.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Go up early to dress for dinner, or the other guests will have drawn
+off all the hot water for their own baths.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After a week-end visit it is customary to write your hostess a
+“bread-and-butter letter,” or “pleaser.” The following note will be
+found a safe guide for such an occasion.
+
+    MY DEAR MRS. WEEKENDE:
+
+    How kind you were to open the gates of Heaven and give me that
+    little glimpse of Paradise. Would you be good enough to ask
+    the valet to send me my cap? Perhaps, too, the footman could
+    forward my golf clubs, which I entirely overlooked in the
+    hurry of departure. If not too much trouble, perhaps you will
+    ask the maid to express me my sponge bag, listerine, and razor
+    strop.
+
+    With renewed thanks, I am, dear Mrs. Weekende,
+
+                            Yours sincerely,
+
+                                                   PERCY VANDERFORT.
+
+    P. S.—I am returning to you, by express, the woodland violet
+    bath salt, the photograph frame, the bedroom clock, the silver
+    brushes, the hot-water bag, and the two sachet cases which your
+    servant mistook for my property.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When you are visiting in the country and your hostess maintains a very
+small establishment, the servant may ask you, on awaking you, what you
+desire for breakfast. Out of consideration for your hostess you should
+ask for a very small and very simple breakfast. Try to confine yourself
+to grape fruit, oatmeal, bacon and eggs, corn bread, chicken mince,
+marmalade, coffee, honey, hot biscuits, and orange juice.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Parlor tricks are great assets in a week-ender. The most popular are
+moving the scalp and ears, cracking the knuckles, disjointing the
+thumbs, standing on the head, tearing a pack of cards, and dancing a
+cake walk.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When the host offers, after breakfast, to show you over the farm, gasp,
+and mention your rheumatism. Almost any lie is permissible to prevent
+so terrible a catastrophe.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Young girls, when visiting at a house party, should be quiet and
+gentle, well behaved and agreeable; but when at home there is no reason
+why they should not be perfectly natural.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The horrors of the guest room are too well-known to need enumeration,
+and can seldom be ameliorated. They are, roughly, as follows: The
+embroidered pillow slips, the egg-finished sheets, the drawer of the
+bureau that is warped and will not open, the rusty pins in the stony
+pincushion, the empty cut-glass cologne bottles, the blinds that bang
+in the night, the absence of hooks on which to hang your razor strop,
+the pictures of the “Huguenot Lovers” and Landseer’s “Sanctuary” over
+the headboard of the bed, the tendency of the maid to hide the matches,
+the dear little children in the nursery above you, the dead fly in the
+dried-up ink well, and the hidden radiator under the sofa.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When you spend Sunday in the country, the proper schedule of tips for
+the servants is as follows:
+
+    Chauffeur     $10.00
+    Butler         10.00
+    Coachman        5.00
+    Footman         3.00
+    Valet           5.00
+    Cook         nothing
+    Maid            2.00
+    Chambermaid     2.00
+    Strapper        1.00
+    Groom           2.00
+                 -------
+      Total        40.00
+
+Should you, however, have but $30 with you, you have but to take a very
+early train, in which case the butler will not have appeared, and
+there will be no necessity to tip him. The resourceful bachelor may
+also decide to compensate the maid, if she be pretty, by a few pleasant
+words of appreciation as to her beauty and by chucking her under the
+chin, as is invariably done on the stage in comic opera.
+
+If your visit has been for a week, the above table of tips should
+be disregarded. At the end of such a visit you had best hand the
+housekeeper a letter of introduction to your lawyer, together with
+a list of your securities, and allow her to sue your estate for the
+gratuities.
+
+(If you are from Pittsburg, care should be taken to double the above
+table of tips.)
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The dressing gong is sometimes meant to convey the impression that
+dinner will shortly be served in the banqueting hall. Usually,
+however, it is the signal for everybody to begin a new rubber.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Try to go early to the stables and select a good riding horse for the
+rest of your visit. There are seldom more than two good ones. The rest
+are usually roarers or crocks.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The hostess at a large country house is naturally expected to provide
+all the week-end essentials—i. e., liquors, cigars, food, carriages—and
+motors in condition. Besides these, however, she should never neglect
+to offer her guests certain little added comforts without which they
+would, very naturally, be miserable. Every guest should be supplied,
+therefore, with the following articles: a bottle of listerine, a cloth
+cap, a tennis bat, a hot-water bag, a pair of motor goggles, a bag of
+golf clubs, a sweater, six tennis balls, a bathroom, with needle shower
+(exclusive), a bathrobe, a pair of slippers, a pair of tennis shoes, a
+bathing suit, a box of cigarettes (fifty in a box), a set of diabolo
+sticks, a riding and driving horse, a fur overcoat, an umbrella, a
+bottle of eau de cologne, and a box of postage stamps.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Guests are always invited from Friday night to Monday morning. It is
+wiser for the hostess to mention the Monday trains, or one of the
+guests may decide to stop longer. This is seldom a wise plan. Hostesses
+should clear the house of all guests before the three-day limit.
+Remember the Spanish proverb, “El huesped y el pece à tres dias hiede,”
+which, being translated, means, “Any guest, like any fish, is bound to
+be objectionable on the third day.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In certain country houses the architect has neglected to supply
+bathrooms for each of the guests. In some extreme cases as many as
+three bachelors are expected to share one bath. This is bad.
+
+The best way to maneuver under such circumstances is to send your
+servant early to the bathroom and let him lock himself in. This will
+foil the invaders. When he hears your special knock on the door, he can
+open to you, and you can then bathe, take a nap in the bath, shave,
+smoke a cigarette, and read the papers in quiet.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At a house party every lady of prominence is sure to bring at least one
+Pomeranian dog. Many think it wiser to bring a black and a brown, so
+that, no matter what gown they may wear, one of the darlings is sure
+not to clash with it. These pets are, of course, extremely expensive.
+A smart week-end on the Hudson will usually average about six thousand
+dollars’ worth of Poms.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In nearly all guest rooms the hostess is sure to provide white enamel
+writing desks, chiffoniers, and tables. By leaving lighted cigarettes
+on such articles of furniture you are almost certain to secure a
+very curious and amusing stain, or burn. Sometimes, if your visit is
+long enough, you can etch, in this way, a complete pattern around a
+fair-sized table. The Greek fret and egg-and-dart designs are neat and
+extremely popular.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The passage through a country house of the framed photograph of a
+friend is often an instructive spectacle to witness. Such a trophy
+usually begins its career in the drawing-room. It is then moved to the
+library, and subsequently to the smoking room. After that it begins
+a heavenly flight into one of the guest rooms, from which place it
+ascends on its last earthly pilgrimage to the attic.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The English have rather a clever way of “chucking” a week-end
+engagement in the country. They merely telegraph as follows:
+
+“Impossible to come to-day: lie follows by mail.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An unprotected lady should be careful not to employ convivial or
+tippling butlers. We are acquainted with a widow who was recently
+petrified with horror when her drunken butler entered her sleeping
+apartment in the dead of the night and proceeded to lay the table for
+six—upon her bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sunday morning in the country is usually rainy. This is invariably the
+fault of the hostess. When you descend in the morning, look at her
+reproachfully; mention the rain; remark on the fact that it has always
+rained when you have visited her before; sink hopelessly on a sofa, and
+sigh.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hostesses very often have a distressing way of asking you how you
+slept. Under such circumstances it is permissible to speak the truth
+and to mention, quite frankly, the mosquitoes and the topographical
+whimsicalities of your bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In a country house, if you find, on going up to your room to dress for
+dinner, that no studs have been put into your evening shirt, complain
+at once to the stud groom.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Beware of inviting fashionable bachelors for the week-end unless you
+maintain an adequate _ménage_. The recent and distressing case of a
+lady (with but one spare room and a very small establishment) may serve
+as a terrible example.
+
+Her visitor arrived rather late on a rainy night. His belongings looked
+like those of a traveling theatrical company, and included one forty
+horse power Mercedes car, a Swiss valet, a violin case, one trunk,
+two hat boxes, five pounds of bonbons, a fur overcoat, a photographic
+camera, a bag of golf clubs, a talking machine, two boxes of health
+cocoa, an Austrian chauffeur, an oxygen jar, two polo ponies, an air
+cushion, a wire-haired fox terrier, and a box of one hundred clay
+pigeons.
+
+
+
+
+CONVERSATION
+
+
+
+
+CONVERSATION
+
+
+The conversation at a club should be simple and conventional. It is
+vulgar to go into long or prolix discussions. Only a few remarks are
+_comme il faut_, such as “Hello!” “Deuced cold!” “Have a drink?” “Who
+has a cigar?” “How about one rubber?”
+
+Perhaps the safest and most refined remark for constant use is:
+“Waiter, take the orders.” Even this may be dispensed with—if you make
+certain to ring the bell.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is not modish to speak kindly to the servants either in your own or
+in other people’s houses. In addressing them, simply say: “A napkin,”
+“The cigars,” “Where the devil are my boots?” Remember that they “get
+even” in the servants’ hall.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is customary, in alluding to ladies in the ultra-fashionable set
+(provided they are not present) to speak of them by their pet names:
+“Birdie,” “Baby,” “Tessie,” “Posy”; but, when face to face with these
+ladies, the utmost formality had best be observed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In criticising a play or a novel be careful to avoid long and
+discriminating criticisms. You should either “knock” or “boost.” Try
+to remember that there are only two kinds of plays or novels—they are
+either “bully” or “rotten.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: _Conversation_]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If a few people in the smart set are entertaining a stranger at lunch,
+it is _de rigueur_ for them to converse with each other entirely in
+whispers and always on subjects with which he is absolutely unfamiliar.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In discussing literature at a lunch or dinner, try to remember that
+there are but a very few fashionable authors. They are as follows: Mrs.
+Wharton, Colonel Mann, Mrs. Glyn, Robert Hichens, F. Peter Dunne, John
+Fox, Jr., and Billy Baxter.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At a dinner a gentleman sitting beside a débutante should congratulate
+her upon her début, and, in a few well-chosen words, should discuss the
+usual débutante topics—i. e., platonic love, banting, Ethel Barrymore,
+French dressmakers, John Drew, the relative merits of Harvard and Yale,
+love at first sight, the football match and the matter of her great
+personal beauty and charm.
+
+Try always to remember that the chief and most interesting topics
+of conversation are herself and yourself. _Serious_ topics are very
+properly deemed out of place in society.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After dinner, over the cigars, it is bad form for men to discuss any
+subjects but stocks and motor cars.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Whenever, at a dinner, an anecdote is narrated in French, it is always
+a wise precaution to laugh heartily.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Women should not complain of their husbands in public. All married
+women have a great deal to contend with. Everybody knows that married
+men make very poor husbands.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At a dinner the safest conversational opening is as follows: “Is that
+your bread, or mine?”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When, at a dinner, you don’t know the lady next to you, show her your
+dinner card and say:
+
+“I’m that; what are you?”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Chivalry demands that a lady’s name should never be mentioned in a
+gentleman’s club. Occasionally, however, this hard-and-fast rule may
+be slightly infracted, and her intimate affairs discreetly talked
+over—provided that the group of gentlemen be a small one and absolute
+privacy assured.
+
+N. B.—A “small group” is any group of less than twelve.
+
+
+
+
+DINNERS
+
+
+
+
+DINNERS
+
+
+A dinner is a miscellaneous collection of appropriately dressed men and
+women, who are not in the least hungry and who are invited by the host
+and hostess to repay certain social obligations for value received or
+expected. The attitude of the guests at such a repast is very often one
+of regret and revolt, because of the haunting memory of an invitation,
+much more enticing in its prospects, but, alas, more recently received.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On arriving at a dinner a servant should hand each male guest an
+envelope containing a card. This card will bear the name of the lady
+whom he is to take in to dinner. This part of the ceremony is usually
+accompanied by groans and maledictions as the gentlemen tremblingly
+open their envelopes.
+
+Some hostesses allow their guests to file in to dinner in ignorance of
+their partners. They thus learn their fate at the dinner table, which
+postpones the terrible shock for as long a period as possible.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Nothing adds so much to an appearance of _savoir faire_ as the art of
+gracefully removing from a dinner or evening party a gentleman who
+has imbibed, not wisely but too well. The correct method is to ask
+the butler to inform him that a lady wishes to speak to him on the
+telephone. When he has left the room, spring upon him in the hall and
+chivy him into a cab.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Rouge sticks and powder puffs may be used by ladies at luncheons, but
+_never_ at dinners.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If a bachelor receives a dinner invitation from people who are not
+really “in the swim” (people, let us say, like old friends, classmates,
+and business associates, who are, so to speak, “on the green, but not
+dead to the hole”), he should simply toss it into the fire. This plan
+will prevent any more invitations from so undesirable a quarter. Were
+he to answer these people politely, they would certainly annoy him
+again at a later date. Remember that “the coward does it with a kiss,
+the brave man with a sword.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Do not address your best thoughts to the ladies until they have had
+an opportunity to brush the glove powder from their arms and to look
+carefully at the dresses and ornaments of the other ladies at the
+dinner.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At a very large dinner, the lady beside you is almost certain to be
+one who entertains generously and, as such, should be treated with a
+certain degree of politeness. Try to suppress, however, all sentiments
+purely human in their nature, such as pity, kindness of heart,
+sympathy, enthusiasm, love of books, music, and art.
+
+These ridiculous sentiments are in exceedingly bad taste and should be
+used but sparingly, if at all.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ladies do not call upon a bachelor, in his rooms, after attending a
+dinner given by him—except in Mrs. Wharton’s novels.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On leaving a dinner you should always manage to come down the steps
+with a group of the super-rich—they may give you a lift home.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On driving home with friends from a dinner, it is the generally
+accepted practice to abuse the host and draw particular attention
+to his ghastly collection of family portraits, his wretched plate,
+and execrable food. Do not fail also to draw a moving picture of the
+stupidity and hideousness of the lady next to you at dinner—unless she
+should be in the carriage with you at the time.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When you are over half an hour late at a dinner it is well to have an
+excuse. There are, just now, only two modish excuses: First, you were
+arrested for speeding your motor; second, you were playing bridge, and
+every hand seemed to be a spade or a club.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When a gentleman at a dinner upsets a plate of terrapin, a ruddy duck,
+or a bowl of vegetable salad upon the dress of the lady beside him, she
+should laugh merrily and should always be provided with some apt jest
+with which to carry off the little _contretemps_.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Fletcherites have lately added a new horror to dining out. These
+strange creatures seldom repay attention. The best that can be expected
+from them is the tense and awful silence which always accompanies their
+excruciating tortures of mastication.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There are two _recherché_ methods for a bachelor to refuse a verbal
+dinner invitation. The first is to say that you are dining with a
+business associate. The second is to say that your engagement book is
+at home and that you will consult it immediately upon reaching there
+and will telephone. This gives you the desired opportunity of saying
+“No.” It is always easier over the wire than face to face.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In wriggling out of a dinner at the last moment in New York, it is
+_chic_ to invent some mythical female relative in Philadelphia who has
+developed a sudden and alarming illness and has hastily summoned you to
+her bedside.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If, at a dinner, food is passed to you which you do not care to eat, it
+is good form to take a generous heap of it, to pat it and mess it up
+on your plate with a fork.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After dinner, if a lady has been asked to sing and refused, do not urge
+her further. It is the height of bad manners, and there is just the off
+chance that she may yield.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In England the matter of precedence at dinners is simplicity itself.
+The Sovereign precedes an ambassador, who precedes the Archbishop of
+Canterbury, who precedes the Earl Marshal, who precedes a duke, who
+precedes an earl, a marquis, a viscount, a bishop, a baron, etc.; but
+in America the matter is a much more perplexing one.
+
+The author of this _brochure_ respectfully suggests the following
+scheme of American dinner precedence: Let an opera box count 6 points;
+steam yacht, 5; town house, 5; country house, 4; motors, 3 each; every
+million dollars, 2; tiara, 1; good wine cellar, 1; ballroom in town
+house, 1; a known grandparent of either sex, ½; culture, ⅛. By this
+system, a woman of culture with four known grandparents and a million
+dollars will have a total of 4⅛. She will, of course, be forced to
+follow in the wake of a lady with a town house and a tiara (6); who,
+in turn, will trail after a woman with a steam yacht and two motors
+(11). The highest known total is about 100; the lowest, about ⅛. The
+housekeeper may arrange the totals, and the hostess can then send the
+guests in according to their listed quotations.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+People who arrive late at a large dinner sometimes have very quaint and
+amusing excuses. A hostess at a recent eight-o’clock banquet collected
+the following gems:
+
+I overslept in my bath.
+
+A cinder lodged in my eye and I have just come from the chemist’s.
+
+My maid is ill and I was forced to hook myself.
+
+The twins put crumbs in my stockings.
+
+I read your invitation upside down and, naturally, mistook the hour of
+dinner.
+
+I never eat soup, and thought, of course, you wouldn’t wait.
+
+I knew Mrs. V—t would be _much_ later than I—so I took a chance.
+
+I was taking my memory lesson, and it was all so absorbing that I
+completely forgot the dinner.
+
+I lost your note, and, as _everybody_ dines at 8.30, I thought, of
+course, that _you_ would.
+
+My chauffeur was so drunk that he took me next door by mistake, and
+delayed me fearfully.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Every year it is becoming more and more difficult for hostesses to
+secure a sufficient number of blades for their dinners and evening
+routs. “Odd men” are always in tremendous demand.
+
+The custom of shouting names, which is imperfectly followed at the
+hotels, should be perfected in our clubs, and we hope soon to see the
+club waiters wandering about the halls and lounging rooms shouting out,
+as they go: “Mrs. Vanderlip, four odd men for dinner.” “Mrs. Miles, two
+bachelors for the opera.” “Mrs. Nestor, one married couple for bridge,”
+etc.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When a lady beside you is so generously avoirdupoised or embonpointed
+that it is a physical impossibility for her to see the food upon her
+plate, it is sometimes an act of kindness to inform her as to the
+nature of the bird or beast so hopelessly removed from her vision.
+This saves her the trouble of lifting it above the horizon in order to
+discover its exact species.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A clever hostess in New York has recently trained a highly intelligent
+dachshund to fly about after dinner, under the banquet table, and
+fetch out the long white gloves, make-up boxes, scarves, and lace
+handkerchiefs. Most hostesses, however, prefer to put their guests on
+the scent and let them retrieve the hidden treasures.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A frantic hostess recently telephoned us for advice on a nice point
+of social etiquette. She had arranged a dinner of twelve, and was
+confronted and confounded, at the last moment, by an “odd” bachelor
+whom she had originally invited and subsequently forgotten. She could
+not sit down thirteen at the table.
+
+“What shall I do?” she asked.
+
+We were glad to be able to come to the distressed lady’s assistance and
+telephoned her as follows:
+
+“You should hand him a neatly folded dollar bill and ask him to slip
+out quietly and buy himself a good dinner at a corner restaurant. Your
+butler may also give him a cigar as he passes into the night.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If you are giving a supper after the play, it is _de rigueur_ to order
+grape fruit, hot bouillon, champagne, birds, a salad, and a sweet. The
+sated guests will not touch any of the food, but it is _comme il faut_
+to put it all before them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Banting has almost done away with the ancient custom of eating, but
+thyroid tablets and lemon juice are, of course, permitted. At a ladies’
+lunch the guests (whether ladies, millionairesses, or workingwomen)
+should be careful disdainfully to dismiss the dainty dishes until the
+repast is over, when they should look benignly at the hostess and
+murmur:
+
+“Dear Mrs. Brown—_might_ I have a cup of very hot water?”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When a lady must pay back forty dinner obligations and her dining room
+will seat only twenty, it is obvious that she must have two dinners of
+twenty each. She should give the feasts on successive evenings, as the
+left-over flowers, bonbons, fruits, and _pâtés_ will always do service
+at the second repast.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A lady should be careful not to turn to the gentleman beside her and
+complain of the “fizz.” There is always a good chance that he is the
+wine agent.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When, in New York, a married couple do not pull along together, and
+have definitely decided to divorce or separate, it is customary for
+them once or twice to dine, _tête-à-tête_, at Sherry’s: to flirt,
+laugh, and make merry with each other—in order to put the eager hounds
+off the scent.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At dinners in the _beau monde_ the footmen will invariably pounce
+upon your plate and run off with it before you have half finished the
+course. Be careful not to hold on to it like a despairing mother whose
+child is being torn from her arms, as such scenes at table are always
+deplorable and harassing.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In purchasing almond bonbons for the dinner table the hostess should
+make sure to select the mauve species. No one ever eats them. A dishful
+of the white variety will sometimes vanish in a night, but the mauve go
+on forever.
+
+
+
+
+DANCES
+
+
+
+
+DANCES
+
+
+In New York the word “ball” is intended to signify a hundred or so
+people who do not care particularly for dancing, who are prostrated by
+the prospect of arising early on the following morning, and who leave
+their cotillion favors untouched and disregarded upon the gilt chairs
+in the ballroom.
+
+The chief characteristics of a ball may be summed up, briefly, as
+follows: Mothers, or “benchwomen,” wildly eying their offspring; the
+“leader,” battered and bruised like a half-back in a football game; the
+hostess, with her tiara aslant on her new false curls; fifty wilted
+linen collars; fifty ditto shirts; four red-faced gentlemen asleep in
+the smoking room; the host leaping from train to train with the agility
+of a brakeman; two hundred yards of chiffon ruffles and one pound of
+assorted hairpins decorating the floor of the ballroom; a deep crowd of
+so-called dancing men who effectually block the entrance door and stand
+in a dazed and awkward group, spellbound by the horrors of the scene.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The valuable checks for cotillion seats are usually cornered by the
+cotillion leader and dealt out to the most prominent tiaras. The
+unhappy ladies who fail to receive one of these priceless tokens
+usually pass the remainder of the evening in the ultimate row of chairs
+wearing a granite smile and a paper cotillion favor.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A wall flower is a young lady at a dance who has not been cursed with
+the fatal gift. She may usually be distinguished by her wild and
+beseeching glances. Chloroform is the only possible way of securing a
+partner for her.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Before putting your arm around a lady’s waist, you should explain to
+her that it is your intention to dance. As the music starts, look at
+her longingly and murmur one of the following remarks: “Do you Boston?”
+“Rotten floor” (or) “Bully floor.” “Bully favors” (or) “Rotten favors.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Every now and then a “stand-up” supper is served at a dance. This is
+the abomination of desolation spoken of by the prophet Daniel. Should
+a lady ask you at such an entertainment to get her some supper, push
+your way through the mob of angry bachelors to the trough where the
+comestibles are displayed. Once arrived on the scene of carnage, you
+can consume a cup of bouillon, a few oysters, some sandwiches, a little
+chicken, some dry champagne, a plate of salad, an ice, and a cup of
+coffee. After this, if your hunger has been satisfied, take a morsel
+of _galantine_, a doily, and a lady-finger, place them on a plate and
+force yourself through the compact lines of angry, feeding, perspiring
+“dancing men,” until you appear before your fair partner, declaring
+that you did your best, and that the rest of the provisions had
+disappeared. While she is thanking you, slip away to the smoking room
+and send the man in attendance there for a bottle of some very, very
+old champagne. While he is gone you may busy yourself by selecting a
+few of the best cigars, so as to be sure to have something to smoke on
+the way home—in somebody’s cab.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In giving a dance, avoid, _if possible_, sending invitations to
+bores—they come without them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At a dance, when a lady is talking to a millionaire recently arrived
+from the West, he may offer to introduce his wife. (This is part of
+what, in sporting circles, is known as the “push stroke.”) In such a
+fix it is permissible for her to burst into a loud fit of coughing,
+mention her weak heart, and ask a footman to call her carriage.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When a bachelor arrives at a dance, he should at once repair to the
+smoking room and remain there most of the evening—calling loudly for
+all those wines which his host has neglected to provide.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A new and unspeakable horror has lately been introduced into
+fashionable dances in New York—namely, the “third supper.” The writer
+is glad to say that the inventor of this atrocity died very slowly and
+in great pain about a year ago. It is a comfort to know that his last
+resting place is unadorned by any monument, and that no flowers or
+shrubs have ever bloomed upon his grave.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A popular form of entertainment for grown-up persons in New York is a
+“baby party.” Here the guests are dressed like babies: they dance and
+have supper, and are permitted to behave like little children. These
+revels do not differ from other forms of social festivities in the
+metropolis—except as regards the costumes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dancing men should have a care, at a ball, never to be “stuck.” This
+catastrophe is usually brought about by listening to the wiles of a man
+who begins with some such remark as “Do you know Miss A——? She is crazy
+to meet you!” or “For Heaven’s sake, dear boy, _do_ go and talk to that
+unfortunate girl in yellow.”
+
+Many an agonized hour may be avoided by turning a deaf ear to all such
+entreaties. If you don’t, the horror of your ultimate predicament can
+hardly be exaggerated. You will sit with her for hours in isolated
+agony. Slowly your hair will turn as white as the driven snow.
+Interminable cycles of time will tick themselves away, while you sit
+there slyly beckoning to other gentlemen who are certain to pay no heed
+to your signals.
+
+A case is on record, in England, where a gentleman, in such a position,
+addressed no remark to his partner for upward of three hours. At this
+point she became aweary, turned, and found that he was—dead!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A very neat trick can sometimes be worked at a dance. You have steadily
+avoided a particularly dreadful damsel throughout the entire evening.
+When she has put on her cloak and fur overshoes, and you see her
+hurrying through the hall with her maid, on her way to her carriage,
+jump out of the smoking room and say:
+
+“What? Home so early! Can’t you stay and have _just_ one with me?”
+
+Be careful, of course, not to be too urgent, else she may stay, thus
+hoisting you on your own petard.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In dancing, unless you are an accomplished waltzer, the safest advice
+to follow is: “Avoid the corners and keep kicking.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+[Illustration: _Hostess_]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At a large ball, the hostess, when tired, may, with perfect safety,
+go to her sleeping apartment and retire for an hour or two. No one
+will ever miss her. When rested she can reappear in the ballroom and,
+with her second wind, as it were, enjoy the third supper, or the first
+breakfast.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In saying good night to the hostess, have a care to bestow your avowals
+of obligation in nearly the same degree of warmth or formality that her
+bearing invites. If, for instance, she be asleep in the conservatory,
+all among the begonias, it is not necessary to shake her or rouse her
+by shouting: “Hi! Wake up, I want to go home,” etc. Simply pass out
+noiselessly and remind her butler to call her in time for breakfast.
+(See the illustration, “Hostess.”)
+
+
+
+
+BRIDGE
+
+
+
+
+BRIDGE
+
+
+This is a popular pastime, and much of the attention of our best minds
+in high society is concentrated upon guessing whether a given card is
+in the hand of the person on the right or on the left.
+
+As there is a great curiosity among all classes of readers concerning
+bridge, the benevolent author has gone into the etiquette of the game
+with a good deal of thoroughness.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In order to be an accomplished bridge player one must possess the
+following attributes:
+
+A dress suit. (This does not apply to ladies.)
+
+A large roll of clean bills with a rubber band encircling them.
+
+A cigarette and ash tray.
+
+A stoical, blond and unimpassioned nature.
+
+A partner—usually of the opposite sex.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+You may, with safety, criticise nearly every play your fair partner
+makes. She doubtless deserves it, but, as a rule, this criticism should
+not extend beyond her faults _as a player_. Try to remember that a
+gentleman is one who never unintentionally insults anybody.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Bridge should never be played seriously. One should carry on an
+animated conversation during the course of play. It is customary,
+too, to hold the cards in one hand and a hot buttered muffin in the
+other. Get up from the table rather frequently and telephone, receive
+visitors, give orders to the servants, and pour tea. The questions,
+“Who led?” “What are trumps?” “Is that our trick?” etc., are always
+permissible, and lend some spirit to what might otherwise prove a dull
+and taxing game.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In playing bridge with two ladies, a man should be careful to play
+“highest man and highest woman.” In this way he will be playing against
+a man, and his chances of a “settlement” will be a little less remote.
+Never play with three ladies.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When you are dummy and your partner has finished playing the hand, you
+should invariably glare at her (or him) and make one of the following
+remarks:
+
+You played it the only way to lose the odd!
+
+Why, in Heaven’s name, didn’t you get out the trumps?
+
+You must lose a pot of money at this game, don’t you?
+
+It’s lucky I’m not playing ten-cent points.
+
+Why not take your finesse the other way?
+
+The eight of clubs was good, you know!
+
+Yes, if you had played your ace of diamonds we would have saved it.
+
+It’s a pity you didn’t open the hearts.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As the leaders of the Smart Set have ceased occupying their brains
+with literature, music, politics, and art—subjects which were, a long
+time ago, discussed in our best society—and as their entire mental
+activities are now focused upon the game of bridge, the author has
+added for the further benefit of his readers a series of anecdotes,
+maxims, and experiences which he has gathered during his fruitless
+attempts to master this fashionable pastime.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There was a lady in the _beau monde_ of New York who was not only
+a charming woman but an accomplished whist player. Unfortunately,
+however, she simply _could_ not play fair. Among other idiosyncrasies
+she had a distressing habit of slipping a high card on the bottom
+of the pack, after the cut—this was in the days when she played
+old-fashioned whist. In this way she was always certain of the ace,
+king, or queen of trumps when it was her turn to deal. She was detected
+in this graceful little artifice on one or two occasions, with the
+result that her reputation suffered a slight dimming in its glory.
+
+A few months ago the poor lady died and a well-known bridge wag in New
+York composed for her the following epitaph:
+
+                       “Here lies Lily Maltravers,
+                       In confident expectation of
+                            The last trump.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A delightful bridge player is Mrs. R. U. Rich, who, though stone deaf,
+still manages to understand the declarations, or makes, by an elaborate
+series of manual signs. In playing with her, if the make is a heart,
+you must point to your heart; diamonds, to your ring; spades, you
+must make a shovel of your hand, and, when clubs have been declared,
+you must shake your fist at her. The other evening at a fashionable
+house in New York she was playing a rubber in which her husband was
+her partner. It was after a large dinner and, Mrs. Rich, having
+mistaken her husband’s signal, excitedly asked him what trump had been
+declared. At this, her better half shook his fist at her two or three
+times in a very convincing way. An elderly lady, on the other side of
+the room, unaware of Mrs. Rich’s infirmity, gathered her dress about
+her and, with great dignity, begged the host to send for her carriage.
+
+“Why, Mrs. ——,” he said, “are you leaving us so early?”
+
+“Well,” said the lady of the old school, “I think that when a husband
+and wife come to blows over the bridge table it is time to call the
+carriages.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A reduced gentlewoman, living in a small way in the suburbs, was at an
+employment agency trying to secure a cook. As the lady and her husband
+lived some distance from any neighbor, and as the wages she could
+afford to pay were meager, the cooks displayed a decided unwillingness
+to assume the cares of office.
+
+Finally, to the great elation of the lady, a very respectable and
+well-mannered English girl seemed disposed to risk the rigors of
+suburban life. The searching questions which the girl had put to the
+lady had been satisfactorily answered, when, at the very last, she
+asked the number in the family, to which the lady replied that there
+were only two—herself and her husband.
+
+“Oh!” said the girl, “I could not _think_ of going into service with
+only three in the house. I would not work _anywhere_ unless we could
+make up a four at bridge.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Husbands and wives should never play partners at bridge. They are
+almost certain to quarrel, which is unseemly—and if they _don’t_
+quarrel, their friends are sure to suspect them of collusion and
+cheating.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is a mistake for parents to play bridge on Sunday. The morals of
+children should ever be sacred in a parent’s eye. Never, therefore,
+allow a card to be touched on the Sabbath—until the children have gone
+to bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An inveterate bridge fiend recently proposed to a lady of some means.
+She, doubting his entire sincerity, mentioned his too great devotion to
+bridge. With a fine show of enthusiasm and erudition he burst out with:
+
+    “I could not love thee, dear, so much,
+    Loved I not honors more.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is always a great deal of discussion among good bridge players as
+to the propriety of an original club make—with no score. As a matter of
+fact, a big club hand is usually disastrous whether you make it or pass
+it. You either leave it and get spades, or else you _don’t_ leave it
+and get the devil.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is a lady in New York society who is as devoted to bridge as
+one could well be. She makes everything, except her two children,
+subservient to the game. She attends bridge classes, bridge teas, and
+bridge tournaments without end. She is, unfortunately, married to a
+wealthy but worthless and rascally young clubman who treats her usually
+with indifference, but sometimes with cruelty.
+
+Her friends all advised her to sue for a divorce.
+
+The poor woman was in some doubt as to what course to pursue. Finally,
+a brilliant idea occurred to her. She would consult her bridge
+teacher! He was the one man in all the world whose judgment seemed to
+her infallible. She trusted him more than she did her lawyer or her
+minister. He had solved so many difficult problems for her that he
+might solve this.
+
+Mr. Elstreet was accordingly written to by the unhappy lady. His answer
+ran as follows:
+
+    MY DEAR MRS. ——:
+
+    I have very carefully thought over the little problem which
+    you were good enough to submit to me for solution. It seems
+    to me that when you have a knave alone, it is often a wise
+    plan to discard him, but holding, as you do, a knave and two
+    little ones, it would seem the better part of discretion not to
+    discard him.
+
+    I am, my dear Mrs. ——, yours, etc.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A well-known widow in London was a guest at a large house party. She
+was an enthusiastic bridger. She took the game very seriously—so
+seriously that she frequently dreamed about it, and even, her maid
+declared, talked about it in her sleep.
+
+Everybody had been playing fairly late and the ladies had gone to their
+rooms and “turned in” at about twelve o’clock. The men had played until
+about two. Shortly after this, the housekeeper, in making her final
+round of the house, was startled to hear the widow’s voice addressing
+somebody in an agonized and supplicating way.
+
+As the door of the widow’s room was ajar, the housekeeper paused in
+some alarm, only to hear her call out: “My diamonds, my diamonds, why
+didn’t I protect them? I am lost, absolutely lost!”
+
+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
+
+
+
+
+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
+
+
+
+
+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
+
+
+
+
+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
+
+
+
+
+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
+
+
+
+
+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.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Always be half an hour late for everything. Nothing is so tedious as
+waiting.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75300 ***