The Project Gutenberg EBook of Perfect Behavior, by Donald Ogden Stewart
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
Title: Perfect Behavior
A Guide for Ladies and Gentlemen in all Social Crises
Author: Donald Ogden Stewart
Illustrator: Ralph Barton
Release Date: September, 1998 [EBook #1446]
[Most recently updated: February 14, 2020]
Language: English
Character set encoding: UTF-8
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PERFECT BEHAVIOR ***
Produced by Charles Keller, and David Widger
Perfect Behavior
by Donald Ogden Stewart
Illustrated by Ralph Barton
A Guide for Ladies and Gentlemen in all Social Crises
Those who are not self-possessed obtrude
and pain us.—EMERSON
A parody outline of etiquette by the Author of “A Parody
Outline of History”
The perfect gentleman is he who never unintentionally causes
pain.—OLD PROVERB
TO THE BRIDEGROOM WHOSE WEDDING WAS RUINED
BECAUSE THE BRIDE CAME DOWN THE AISLE
ON THE RIGHT INSTEAD OF THE LEFT
ARM OF HER FATHER
With Deepest Sympathy
Contents
CONTENTS
I. THE ETIQUETTE OF COURTSHIP A Few Words about
Love—Curious Incident in a Yellow Taxicab—A Silly
Girl—Correct Introductions and how to Make Them—A Well Known
Congressman’s Ludicrous Mistake in a Turkish Bath—Cards and
Flowers—Flowers and their Message in Courtship—“A Clean Tooth
Never Decays”—Receiving an Invitation to Call—The Etiquette
of Telephoning-A Telephone Girl’s Horrible End—Making the First
Call—Conversation and Some of its Uses—A Proper Call—The
Proposal Proper-The Proposal Improper—What Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Said to the ex-Clergyman’s Niece.
II. THE ETIQUETTE OF ENGAGEMENTS AND WEDDINGS The
Historic Aspect—Announcing the Engagement—A Breton Fisher
Girl’s Experience with a Traveling Salesman—The
Bride-to-Be—The Engagement Luncheon—Selecting the Bridal
Party—Invitations and Wedding Presents—A Good Joke on the
Groom—“Madam, those are my trousers”—Duties of the Best
Man—A Demented Taxidermist’s Strange Gift—The Bride’s
Tea—The Maid of Honor—What Aunt Edna Saw on the Club Porch-The
Bachelor Dinner and After-Some Practical Uses for Bi-Carbonate of
Soda—The Rehearsal—The Bridal Dinner—A Church Wedding.
III. THE ETIQUETTE OF TRAVEL Hints for the Correct
Pedestrianism—Description of a Walk around Philadelphia with a Pueblo
Indian in 1837—Travelling by Rail— Good Form on a Street
Car—In the Subway—Fun with an Old Gentleman’s
Whiskers—A Honeymoon in a Subway—Travelling under Steam-A Correct
Night in a Pullman-What Burton Holmes Found in His Lower Berth.
IV. AT THE CONCERT AND THE OPERA Listening to a Symphony
Orchestra—Curious Effect of Debussy’s “Apres-midi d’un
Faune” and four gin fizzes on Uncle Frederick—“No, fool like
an old fool”—Correct Behavior at a Piano Recital—Choosing
One’s Nearest Exit—In a Box at the Opera—What a Kansas City
Society Leader Did with Her Old Victrola Records.
V. ETIQUETTE FOR DRY AGENTS Some Broader Aspects of
Prohibition—Interesting Effect of Whisky on Goldfish—The College
Graduate as Dry Agent—Aunt Emily’s Amusing Experiences with a Quart
of Gin Planning a Dry Raid on a Masquerade Ball A Word About Correct
Costumes—A California Motion Picture Actress’s Bad Taste—Good
Form for Dry Agents During a Raid-What the New York Clubman Said About Mr.
Volstead.
VI. A CHAPTER FOR SCHOOLGIRLS Selecting a Proper
School—Account of an Interesting Trip Down the Eric Canal with Miss
Spence—Correct Equipment for the Schoolgirl—En Route—ln New
York—A journey Around the City—Description of the Visit of Ed.
Pinaud to the Aquarium in 1858—The First Days in the New
School—“After Lights” in a Dormitory—An “Old
Schoolgirl’s” Confessions—Becoming Acclimatized—A
Visitor from Princeton-Strange Pets.
VII. THE ETIQUETTE OF GAMES AND SPORTS Golf as a
Pastime—What Henry Ward Beecher Said When He Broke His Niblic—An
Afternoon at the Old Farm with the Dice—“Shoot you for your ear
trumpet, grandfather!”—Correct Behavior on a Picnic—A Swedish
Nobleman’s Curious Method of Eating Potato Chips—Boxing in American
Society—A Good Joke on an Amateur Boxer—“He didn’t know
it was Jack Dempsey!”—Bridge Whist—Formal and Informal
Drinking—A jolly Hallowe’en Party—Invitations—Receiving
the Guests—How to Mystify—Games.
VIII. CORRESPONDENCE AND INVITATIONS Correspondence for
Young Ladies—College Boys How to Order a Full Dress Suit by
Mail—Letters to Parents—A Prominent Retired Bank President’s
Advice to Correspondents—Letters from Parents—Peculiarities of the
Divorce Laws of New York—Letters to Prospective Fathers-in-Law—A
Correct Form of Letter to a Society Matron Asking Her How About that Grocery
Bill for Eighty-Two Dollars and Sixty-Seven Cents—Love
Letters—Correspondence of Public Officials—-Letters to
Strangers—Letters to Newspapers, Magazines, etc.—Invitations,
Acceptances and Regrets.
IX. THE ETIQUETTE OF DINNERS AND BALLS Formal Dinners in
America-Table Manners for Children—Removing Stains from Gray Silk—A
Child’s Garden of Etiquette—Etiquette in the
School—Conversation at Dinner—What a New Jersey Lady Did with Her
Olive Seeds—Stewart’s Lightning Calculator of Dinner Table
Conversation—“It Seems that Pat and Mike”—Balls and
Dances—-Artificial Respiration—Mixed Dancing—Hints for Stags.
A Word of Warning and Encouragement
CHAPTER ONE:
THE ETIQUETTE OF COURTSHIP
A FEW WORDS ABOUT LOVE
Courtship is one of the oldest of social customs, even antedating in some
countries such long-established usages as marriage, or the wearing of
white neckties with full evening dress. The beginnings of the etiquette of
courtship were apparently connected in some way with the custom of “love”
between the sexes, and many of the old amatory forms still survive in the
modern courtship. It is generally agreed among students of the history of
etiquette that when “love” first began to become popular among the better
class of younger people they took to it with such avidity that it was
necessary to devise some sort of rules for the conduct of formal or
informal love-making. These rules, together with various amendments, now
constitute the etiquette of courtship.
Suppose, for example, that you are a young gentleman named Richard Roe
desirous of entering upon a formal courtship with some refined young girl
of fashion. You are also, being a college graduate, engaged in the bond
business. One morning there comes into your financial institution a young
lady, named Dorothy Doe, who at once attracts your attention by her
genteel manners, as exemplified by the fact that she calls the president
of your company “father.” So many young people seem to think it “smart” to
refer to their parents as “dad” or “my old man”; you are certain, as soon
as you hear her say “Hello, father” to your employer, that she is
undoubtedly a worthy object of courtship.
CORRECT INTRODUCTIONS; HOW TO MAKE THEM
Your first step should be, of course, the securing of an introduction.
Introductions still play an important part in social intercourse, and many
errors are often perpetrated by those ignorant of savoir faire (correct
form). When introducing a young lady to a stranger for example, it is not
au fait (correct form) to simply say, “Mr. Roe, I want you to shake hands
with my friend Dorothy.” Under the rules of the beau monde (correct form)
this would probably be done as follows: “Dorothy (or Miss Doe), shake
hands with Mr. Roe.” Always give the name of the lady first, unless you
are introducing some one to the President of the United States, the
Archbishop of Canterbury, a member of the nobility above a baron, or a
customer. The person who is being “introduced” then extends his (or her)
right ungloved hand and says, “Shake.” You “shake,” saying at the same
time, “It’s warm (cool) for November (May),” to which the other replies,
“I’ll say it is.”
This brings up the interesting question of introducing two people to each
other, neither of whose names you can remember. This is generally done by
saying very quickly to one of the parties, “Of course you know Miss
Unkunkunk.” Say the last “unk” very quickly, so that it sounds like any
name from Ab to Zinc. You might even sneeze violently. Of course, in nine
cases out of ten, one of the two people will at once say, “I didn’t get
the name,” at which you laugh, “Ha! Ha! Ha!” in a carefree manner several
times, saying at the same time, “Well, well—so you didn’t get the
name—you didn’t get the name—well, well.” If the man still
persists in wishing to know who it is to whom he is being introduced, the
best procedure consists in simply braining him on the spot with a club or
convenient slab of paving stone.
The “introduction,” in cases where you have no mutual friend to do the
introducing, is somewhat more difficult but can generally be arranged as
follows:
Procure a few feet of stout manila rope or clothes-line, from any of the
better-class hardware stores. Ascertain (from the Social Register,
preferably) the location of the young lady’s residence, and go there on
some dark evening about nine o’clock. Fasten the rope across the sidewalk
in front of the residence about six inches or a foot from the ground.
Then, with the aid of a match and some kerosene, set fire to the young
lady’s house in several places and retire behind a convenient tree. After
some time, if she is at home, she will probably be forced to run out of
her house to avoid being burned to death. In her excitement she will fail
to notice the rope which you have stretched across the sidewalk and will
fall. This is your opportunity to obtain an introduction. Stepping up to
her and touching your hat politely, you say, in a well modulated voice, “I
beg your pardon, Miss Doe, but I cannot help noticing that you are lying
prone on the sidewalk.” If she is well bred, she will not at first speak
to you, as you are a perfect stranger. This silence, however, should be
your cue to once more tip your hat and remark, “I realize, Miss Doe, that
I have not had the honor of an introduction, but you will admit that you
are lying prone on the sidewalk. Here is my card—and here is one for
Mrs. Doe, your mother.” At that you should hand her two plain engraved
calling cards, each containing your name and address. If there are any
other ladies in her family—aunts, grandmothers, et cetera—it
is correct to leave cards for them also. Be sure that the cards are clean,
as the name on the calling card is generally sufficient for identification
purposes without the addition of the thumbprint.
When she has accepted your cards, she will give you one of hers, after
which it will be perfectly correct for you to assist her to rise from the
sidewalk. Do not, however, press your attentions further upon her at this
time, but after expressing the proper regret over her misfortune it would
be well to bow and retire.
Every one knows that table manners betray one’s
bringing-up mercilessly. The young man in the picture has good reason to wish a
meteorite would fall on him. His perpendicularity has just been restored by a
deft upward movement of Aunt Harriet’s shoulder, upon which he had
inadvertently rested his head during a quiet snooze while Cousin Edna was
making her little speech at the Bridal Dinner. PERFECT
BEHAVIOR would have Pasteurized him against even Bridal
Dinners.
When a woman recognizes and nods to a man to whom she
has been formally introduced several times, or to whom she has been married, is
the man expected to accept the greeting and politely lift his hat or should he
lift both his hat and his toupee? Street etiquette is disposed authoritatively
and finally in PERFECT BEHAVIOR.
You are, let us pretend, walking in the park. You come
upon two benches arranged as shown in the above diagram. Would you know which
bench it would be proper to sit on if you are (1) a young man just out of
college—(2) a rather homely young woman? To avoid embarrassment look this
up in PERFECT BEHAVIOR.
A jolly crowd is boarding the 4:56 for a house-party
in the suburbs. The gentleman at the right, having been educated abroad, has
never learned to play the ukelele, the banjo, the jew’s harp or the
saxophone, and is, with the best intentions in the world, attempting to
contribute his share to the gaiety of the coming evenings by bringing along his
player-piano. Would you—be honest!—have recognized his action as a
serious social blunder without having referred to PERFECT
BEHAVIOR?
The young mother in the picture is traveling from one
point to another in a Pullman. In the effort to commit as great a nuisance as
possible, she has provided her child with a banana and a hard boiled egg. Not
having dipped into the chapter on travel in PERFECT
BEHAVIOR, she is ignorant of the fact that a peach would have
produced quite as much mess and far more permanent stains and a folding cup for
the water cooler would have spread the disturbance over a wider
area.
CARDS AND FLOWERS
The next day, however, you should send flowers, enclosing another of your
cards. It might be well to write some message on the card recalling the
events of the preceding evening—nothing intimate, but simply a
reminder of your first meeting and a suggestion that you might possibly
desire to continue the acquaintanceship. Quotations from poetry of the
better sort are always appropriate; thus, on this occasion, it might be
nice to write on the card accompanying the flowers—“‘This is the
forest primeval’—H. W. Longfellow,” or “‘Take, oh take, those lips
away’—W. Shakespeare.” You will find there are hundreds of lines
equally appropriate for this and other occasions, and in this connection
it might be well to display a little originality at times by substituting
pertinent verses of your own in place of the conventional quotations. For
example—“This is the forest primeval, I regret your last evening’s
upheaval,” shows the young lady in question that not only are you
well-read in classic poetry, but also you have no mean talent of your own.
Too much originality, however, is dangerous, especially in polite social
intercourse, and I need hardly remind you that the floors of the social
ocean are watered with the tears of those who seek to walk on their own
hook.
Within a week after you have sent the young lady the flowers, you should
receive a polite note of thanks, somewhat as follows: “My dear Mr. Roe:
Those lovely flowers came quite as a surprise. They are lovely, and I
cannot thank you enough for your thoughtfulness. Their lovely fragrance
fills my room as I write, and I wish to thank you again. It was lovely of
you.”
FLOWERS AND THEIR MESSAGE IN COURTSHIP
It is now time to settle down to the more serious business of courtship.
Her letter shows beyond the shadow of a figurative doubt that she is
“interested,” and the next move is “up to you.” Probably she will soon
come into the office to see her father, in which case you should have
ready at hand some appropriate gift, such as, for example, a nice potted
geranium. Great care should be taken, however, that it is a plant of the
correct species, for in the etiquette of courtship all flowers have
different meanings and many a promising affair has been ruined because a
suitor sent his lady a buttercup, meaning “That’s the last dance I’ll ever
take you to, you big cow,” instead of a plant with a more tender
significance. Some of the commoner flowers and their meaning in courtship
are as follows:
Fringed Gentian—“I am going out to get a shave. Back at 3:30.”
Poppy—“I would be proud to be the father of your children.”
Golden-rod—“I hear that you have hay-fever.”
Tuberose—“Meet me Saturday at the Fourteenth Street subway station.”
Blood-root—“Aunt Kitty murdered Uncle Fred Thursday.”
Dutchman’s Breeches—“That case of Holland gin and Old Tailor has
arrived. Come on over.”
Iris—“Could you learn to love an optician?”
Aster—“Who was that stout Jewish-looking party I saw you with in the
hotel lobby Friday?”
Deadly Nightshade—“Pull down those blinds, quick!”
Passion Flower—“Phone Main 1249—ask for Eddie.”
Raspberry—“I am announcing my engagement to Charlie O’Keefe
Tuesday.”
Wild Thyme—“I have seats for the Hippodrome Saturday afternoon.”
The above flowers can also be combined to make different meanings, as, for
example, a bouquet composed of three tuberoses and some Virginia creeper
generally signifies the following, “The reason I didn’t call for you
yesterday was that I had three inner tube punctures, besides a lot of
engine trouble in that old car I bought in Virginia last year. Gosh, I’m
sorry!”
But to return to the etiquette of our present courtship. As Miss Doe
leaves the office you follow her, holding the potted plant in your left
hand. After she has gone a few paces you step up to her, remove your hat
(or cap) with your right hand, and offer her the geranium, remarking, “I
beg your pardon, miss, but didn’t you drop this?” A great deal depends
upon the manner in which you offer the plant and the way she receives it.
If you hand it to her with the flower pointing upward it means, “Dare I
hope?” Reversed, it signifies, “Your petticoat shows about an inch, or an
inch and a half.” If she receives the plant in her right hand, it means,
“I am”; left hand, “You are”; both hands—“He, she or it is.” If,
however, she takes the pot firmly in both hands and breaks it with great
force on your head, the meaning is usually negative and your only correct
course of procedure is a hasty bow and a brief apology.
RECEIVING AN INVITATION TO CALL
Let us suppose, however, that she accepts the geranium in such a manner
that you are encouraged to continue the acquaintance. Your next move
should be a request for an invitation to call upon her at her home. This
should, above all things, not be done crudely. It is better merely to
suggest your wish by some indirect method such as, “Oh—so you live
on William Street. Well, well! I often walk on William Street in the
evening, but I have never called on any girl there—yet.” The “yet”
may be accompanied by a slight raising of your eyebrows, a wink, or a
friendly nudge with your elbow. Unless she is unusually “dense” she will
probably “take the hint” and invite you to come and see her some evening.
At once you should say, “What evening? How about to-night?” If she says
that she is already engaged for that evening, take a calendar out of your
pocket and remark, “Tomorrow? Wednesday? Thursday? Friday? I really have
no engagements between now and October. Saturday? Sunday?” This will show
her that you are really desirous of calling upon her and she will probably
say, “Well, I think I am free Thursday night, but you had better telephone
me first.”
THE ETIQUETTE OF TELEPHONING
On Thursday morning, therefore, you should go to a public telephone-booth
in order to call the young lady’s house. The etiquette of telephoning is
quite important and many otherwise perfectly well-bred people often make
themselves conspicuous because they do not know the correct procedure in
using this modern but almost indispensable invention. Upon entering the
telephone-booth, which is located, say, in some drug store, you remove the
receiver from the hook and deposit the requisite coin in the coin box.
After an interval of some minutes a young lady (referred to as “Central”)
will ask for your “Number, please.” Suppose, for example, that you wish to
get Bryant 4310. Remove your hat politely and speak that number into the
mouthpiece. “Central” will then say, “Rhinelander 4310.” To which you
reply, “NO, Central—Bryant 4310.” Central then says, “I beg your
pardon—Bryant 4310,” to which you reply, “Yes, please.” In a few
minutes a voice at the other end of the line says, “Hello,” to which you
answer, “Is Miss Doe at home?” The voice then says, “Who?” You say, “Miss
Doe, please—Miss Dorothy Doe.” You then hear the following, “Wait a
minute. Say, Charlie, is they anybody works around here by the name of
Doe? There’s a guy wants to talk to a Miss Doe. Here—you answer it.”
Another voice then says, “Hello.” You reply “Hello.” He says, “What do you
want?” You reply, “I wish to speak to Miss Dorothy Doe.” He says, “What
department does she work in?” You reply, “Is this the residence of J.
Franklin Doe, President of the First National Bank?” He says, “Wait a
minute.” You wait a minute. You wait several. Another voice—a new
voice says-“Hello.” You reply “Hello.” He says, “Give me Stuyvesant 8864.”
You say, “But I’m trying to get Miss Doe—Miss Dorothy Doe.” He says,
“Who?” You say, “Is this the residence of—” He says, “Naw—this
is Goebel Brothers, Wholesale Grocers—what number do you want?” You
say, “Bryant 4310.” He says, “Well, this is Rhinelander 4310.” You then
hang up the receiver and count twenty. The telephone bell then rings, and
inasmuch as you are the only person near the phone you take up the
receiver and say, “Hello.” A female voice, says, “Hello, dearie—don’t
you know who this is?” You say, politely but firmly, “No.” She says,
“Guess!” You guess “Mrs. Warren G. Harding.” She says, “No. This is Ethel.
Is Walter there?” You reply, “Walter?” She says, “Ask him to come to the
phone, will you? He lives up-stairs over the drug store. Just yell
‘Walter’ at the third door down the hall. Tell him Ethyl wants to speak to
him—no, wait—tell him it’s Madge.” Being a gentleman, you
comply with the lady’s request. After bringing Walter to the phone, you
obligingly wait for some twenty minutes while he converses with Ethel—no,
Madge. When he has finished, you once more enter the booth and tell
“Central” you want Bryant 4310. After a few minutes “Central” says, “What
number did you call?” You say patiently, “Bryant 4310.” She replies,
“Bryant 4310 has been changed to Schuyler 6372.” You ask for Schuyler
6372. Finally a woman’s voice says, “Yass.” You say, “Is Miss Doe in?” She
replies, “Yass.” You say, “May I speak to her?” She says, “Who?” You
reply, “You said Miss Doe was at home, didn’t you?” She replies, “Yass.”
You say, “Well, may I speak to her?” The voice says, “Who?” You shout,
“Miss Doe.” The voice says, “She ban out.” You shriek, “Oh, go to hell!”
and assuming a graceful, easy position in the booth, you proceed to tear
the telephone from the wall. Later on in the day, when you have two or
three hours of spare time, you can telephone Miss Doe again and arrange
for the evening’s visit.
Not realizing his mistake, the Groom stands waiting
for the Bridal Procession, apparently in high spirits and the best of health.
Such an attitude toward a wedding is in the worst possible taste.
PERFECT BEHAVIOR tells all about the correct appearance and
conduct of Bridegrooms.
The Best Man has just been introduced to the Maid of
Honor. Instead of waiting for her to extend her hand and make the
acknowledgment, he has turned on his heel and bolted from the room. This
constitutes a social blunder, after the commission of which he could never
again, in polite society, be considered quite a gentleman. PERFECT
BEHAVIOR would have told him how the man of birth and breeding
learns to face anything with perfect “Sang froid.”
The Groom has just presented his Best Man to his
sister, who, though she is more than eager to make every one feel at home, has
failed to make at once the pun “de rigueur” on the words
“best man.” An awkward silence has ensued. What is to be done?
Should one of the gentlemen fill the breach by making the pun for her? If so,
which? PERFECT BEHAVIOR covers the whole subject of
making the “best man” pun authoritatively.
The young man at the right does not know how to drink.
Nevertheless, he has been selected by a friend to act as Best Man at his
wedding and has attended the Bachelor Dinner. Instead of doing what he should
do under the circumstances, he is making himself conspicuous by remaining
coherent while the others sing “Mademoiselle from Alabam’.”
Had the Bridegroom provided himself with a copy of PERFECT
BEHAVIOR he would have known better than to have selected
him.
MAKING THE FIRST CALL
The custom of social “calls” between young men and young women is one of
the prettiest of etiquette’s older conventions, and one around which
clusters a romantic group of delightful traditions. In this day and
generation, what with horseless carriages, electric telephones and
telegraphs, and dirigible gas bags, a great many of the older forms have
been allowed to die out, greatly, I believe, to our discredit. “Speed, not
manners,” seems to be the motto of this century. I hope that there still
exist a few young men who care enough about “good form” to study carefully
to perfect themselves in the art of “calling.” Come, Tom, Dick and Harry—drop
your bicycles for an afternoon and fill your minds with something besides
steam engines and pneumatic tires!
The first call at the home of any young lady of fashion is an extremely
important social function, and too great care can not be taken that you
prepare yourself thoroughly in advance. It would be well to leave your
work an hour or two earlier in the afternoon, so that you can go home and
practice such necessary things as entering or leaving a room correctly.
Most young men are extremely careless in this particular, and unless you
rehearse yourself thoroughly in the proper procedure you are apt to find
later on to your dismay that you have made your exit through a window onto
the fire-escape instead of through the proper door.
CONVERSATION AND SOME OF ITS USES
Your conversation should also be planned more or less in advance. Select
some topic in which you think your lady friend will be interested, such
as, for example, the removal of tonsils and adenoids, and “read up” on the
subject so that you can discuss it in an intelligent manner. Find out, for
example, how many people had tonsils removed in February, March, April.
Contrast this with the same figures for 1880, 1890, 1900. Learn two or
three amusing anecdotes about adenoids. Consult Bartlett’s “Familiar
Quotations” for appropriate verses dealing with tonsils and throat
troubles. Finally, and above all, take time to glance through four or five
volumes of Dr. Eliot’s Five Foot Shelf, for nothing so completely marks
the cultivated man as the ability to refer familiarly to the various
volumes of the Harvard classics.
A PROPER CALL
Promptly at the time appointed you should arrive at the house where the
young lady is staying. In answer to your ring a German police dog will
begin to bark furiously inside the house, and a maid will finally come to
the door. Removing your hat and one glove, you say, “Is Miss Doe home?”
The maid replies, “Yass, ay tank so.” You give her your card and the dog
rushes out and bites you on either the right or left leg. You are then
ushered into a room in which is seated an old man with a long white beard.
He is fast asleep. “Dot’s grampaw,” says the maid, to which you reply,
“Oh.” She retires, leaving you alone with grampaw. After a while he opens
his eyes and stares at you for a few minutes. He then says, “Did the dog
bite you?” You answer, “Yes, sir.” Grampaw then says, “He bites
everybody,” and goes back to sleep. Reassured, you light a cigaret. A
little boy and girl then come to the door, and, after examining you
carefully for several minutes, they burst into giggling laughter and run
away. You feel to see if you have forgotten to put on a necktie. A severe
looking old lady then enters the room. You rise and bow. “I am Miss Doe’s
grandmother. Some one has been smoking in here,” she says, and sits down
opposite you. Her remark is not, however, a hint for a cigaret and you
should not make the mistake of saying, “I’ve only got Fatimas, but if you
care to try one—” It should be your aim to seek to impress yourself
favorably upon every member of the young lady’s family. Try to engage the
grandmother in conversation, taking care to select subjects in which you
feel she would be interested. Conversation is largely the art of “playing
up” to the other person’s favorite subject. In this particular case, for
example, it would be a mistake to say to Miss Doe’s grandmother, “Have you
ever tried making synthetic gin?” or “Do you think any one will ever lick
Dempsey?” A more experienced person, and some one who had studied the
hobbies of old people, would probably begin by remarking, “Well, I see
that Jeremiah Smith died of cancer Thursday,” or “That was a lovely burial
they gave Mrs. Watts, wasn’t it?” If you are tactful, you should soon win
the old lady’s favor completely, so that before long she will tell you all
about her rheumatism and what grampaw can and can’t eat.
Finally Miss Doe arrives. Her first words are, “Have you been waiting
long? Hilda didn’t tell me you were here,” to which you reply, “No—I
just arrived.” She then says, “Shall we go in the drawing-room?” The
answer to this is, “For God’s sake, yes!” In a few minutes you find
yourself alone in the drawing-room with the lady of your choice and the
courtship proper can then begin.
The best way to proceed is gradually to bring the conversation around to
the subject of the “modern girl.” After your preliminary remarks about
tonsils and adenoids have been thoroughly exhausted, you should suddenly
say, “Well I don’t think girls—nice girls—are really that
way.” She replies, of course, “What way?” You answer, “Oh, the way they
are in these modern novels. This ‘petting,’ for instance.” She says, “What
petting’?” You walk over and sit down on the sofa beside her. “Oh,” you
say, “these novelists make me sick—they seem to think that in our
generation every time a young man and woman are left alone on a lounge
together, they haven’t a thing better to do than put out the light and
‘pet.’ It’s disgusting, isn’t it?” “Isn’t it?” she agrees and reaching
over she accidentally pulls the lamp cord, which puts out the light.
On your first visit you should not stay after 12:30.
THE PROPOSAL PROPER
About the second or third month of a formal courtship it is customary for
the man to propose matrimony, and if the girl has been “out” for three or
four years and has several younger sisters coming along, it is customary
for her to accept him. They then become “engaged,” and the courtship is
concluded.
CHAPTER TWO:
THE ETIQUETTE OF ENGAGEMENTS AND WEDDINGS
THE HISTORIC ASPECT
“Matrimony,” sings Homer, the poet, “is a holy estate and not lightly to
be entered into.” The “old Roman” is right.
A modern wedding is one of the most intricate and exhausting of social
customs. Young men and women of our better classes are now forced to
devote a large part of their lives to acting as brides, grooms, ushers and
bridesmaids at various elaborate nuptials. Weeks are generally required in
preparation for an up-to-date wedding; months are necessary in recovering
from such an affair. Indeed, some of the participants, notably the bride
and groom, never quite get over the effects of a marriage.
It was not “always thus.” Time was when the wedding was a comparatively
simple affair. In the Paleolithic Age, for example, (as Mr. H. G. Wells of
England points out in his able “Outline of History”), there is no evidence
of any particular ceremony conjunctive with the marriage of “a male and a
female.” Even with the advent of Neolithic man, a wedding seems to have
been consummated by the rather simple process of having the bridegroom
crack the bride over the head with a plain, unornamented stone ax. There
were no ushers—no bridesmaids. But shortly after that (c- 10,329—30
B.C. to be exact) two young Neoliths named Haig, living in what is now
supposed to be Scotland, discovered that the prolonged distillation of
common barley resulted in the creation of an amber-colored liquid which,
when taken internally, produced a curious and not unpleasant effect.
This discovery had—and still has—a remarkable effect upon the
celebration of the marriage rite. Gradually there grew up around the
wedding a number of customs. With the Haig brothers’ discovery of Scotch
whiskey began, as a matter of course, the institution of the “bachelor
dinner.” “Necessity is the mother of invention,” and exactly twelve years
after the first “bachelor dinner” came the discovery of bicarbonate of
soda. From that time down to the present day the history of the etiquette
of weddings has been that of an increasing number of intricate forms and
ceremonies, each age having added its particular bit of ritual. The modern
wedding may be said to be, therefore, almost an “Outline of History”
itself.
ANNOUNCING THE ENGAGEMENT
Let us begin, first of all, with the duties of one of the minor characters
at a wedding—the Groom. Suppose that you are an eligible young man
named Richard Roe, who has just become “engaged” to a young lady named
Dorothy Doe. If you really intend to “marry the girl,” it is customary
that some formal announcement of the engagement be made, for which you
must have the permission of Miss Dorothy and her father. It is not
generally difficult to become engaged to most girls, but it will surprise
you to discover how hard it is to get the young lady whom you believe to
be your fiancée to consent to a public announcement of the fact. The
reason for this probably is that an engagement which has been “announced”
often leads to matrimony, and matrimony, in polite society, often lasts
for several years. After you have secured the girl’s permission, it is
next necessary that you notify her father of the engagement. In this
particular case, as he happens to be your employer, the notification can
take place in his office. First of all, however, it would be advisable to
prepare some sort of speech in advance. Aim to put him as far as possible
at his ease, lead up to the subject gradually and tactfully. Abruptness is
never “good form.” The following is suggested as a possible model. “Good
morning, Mr. Doe, say, I heard a good story from a traveling salesman last
night. It seems that there was a young married couple—(here insert a
good story about a young married couple). Wasn’t that rich? Yes, sir,
marriage is a great thing—a great institution. Every young man ought
to get married, don’t you think? You do? Well, Mr. Doe, I’ve got a
surprise for you, (here move toward the door). I’m going to (here open the
door) marry (step out of the room) your daughter” (close the door
quickly).
THE BRIDE-TO-BE
Before the public announcement of the engagement it is customary for the
bride-to-be to write personal letters to all other young men to whom she
happens to be engaged at the time. These notes should be kindly,
sympathetic and tactful. The same note can be written to all, provided
there is no chance of their comparing notes. The following is suggested:
“Dear Bob—
Bob, I want you to be the very first to know that I am engaged to Richard
Roe. I want you to like him, Bob, because he is a fine fellow and I would
rather have you like him than any one I know. I feel that he and I shall
be very happy together, and I want you to be the first to know about it.
Your friendship will always remain one of the brightest things in my life,
Bob, but, of course, I probably won’t be able to go to the Aiken dance
with you now. Please don’t tell anybody about it yet. I shall never forget
the happy times you and I had together, Bob, and will you please return
those silly letters of mine. I am sending you yours.”
Nothing so completely betrays the
“Cockney” as a faulty knowledge of sporting terms. The young lady
at the left has just returned from the hunting field hand-in-hand with the
dashing “lead,” who happens to be an eligible billionaire. Her
hostess, the mother of the sub-deb at the right, has greeted her by hissing,
“S—o—o! I see you’ve had a good day’s
hunting!” The use of this unsportsmanlike expression—in stead of
the correct “Hope you had a good run,” or “Where did you
find?”—at once discloses the hostess’s mean origin and the
young lady will almost certainly never accept another invitation to her
house.
In this work-a-day world, one is likely to forget that
there is an etiquette of pleasure, just as there is an etiquette of dancing or
the opera. One often hears a charming hostess refuse to invite this or that
person to her home for a game of billiards on the ground that he or she is a
“bum sport” or a “rotten loser.” The above scene
illustrates one of the little, but conspicuous, blunders that people make. The
gentleman, having missed his fifth consecutive shot, has broken his cue over
his knee and is ripping the baize off the table with the sharp end. This
display is not in the best taste.
Good form at the beach is still a question of debate.
Some authorities on the subject insist that the Rubenesque type is preferable,
while others claim that the Byzantine is more fashionable. One thing is
certain—it is absolutely incorrect for ladies who weigh less than 75 or
more than 275 pounds (avoirdupois) to appear in costumes that would offend
against modesty. It is also considered rude to hold one’s swimming
partner under water for more then the formal quarter of an hour.
THE ENGAGEMENT LUNCHEON
The engagement is generally announced at a luncheon given by the parents
of the prospective bride. This is usually a small affair, only fifteen or
twenty of the most intimate friends of the engaged “couple” being invited.
It is one of the customs of engagement luncheons that all the guests shall
be tremendously surprised at the news, and great care should be taken to
aid them in carrying out this tradition. On the invitations, for example,
should be written some misleading phrase, such as “To meet General
Pershing” or “Not to Announce the Engagement of our Daughter.”
The announcement itself which should be made soon after the guests are
seated, offers a splendid opportunity for the display of originality and
should aim to afford the guest a surprise and perhaps a laugh, for
laughter of a certain quiet kind is often welcome at social functions. One
of the most favored methods of announcing an engagement is by the use of
symbolic figures embodying the names of the affianced pair. Thus, for
example, in the case of the present engagement of Richard Roe to Dorothy
Doe it would be “unique” to have the first course at luncheon consist of a
diminutive candy or paper-mache doe seated amorously upon a heart shaped
order of a shad roe. The guests will at first be mystified, but soon cries
of “Oh, how sweet!” will arise and congratulations are then in order.
Great care should be taken, however, that the symbolic figures are not
misunderstood; it would be extremely embarrassing, for example, if in the
above instance, a young man named “Shad” or “Aquarium” were to receive the
congratulations instead of the proper person. Other suggestions for
symbolistic announcements of some of the more common names are as follows:
“Cohan-O’Brien”—ice cream cones on a plate of O’Brien potatoes.
“Ames-Green—green ice cream in the shape of a man aiming at
something.
“Thorne-Hoyt—figure of a man from Brooklyn pulling a thorn from foot
with expression on his face signifying “This hoits.”
“Bullitt-Bartlett—bartlett pears full of small 22 or 33 calibre
bullets.
“Tweed-Ellis”—frosted cake in the shape of Ellis Island with a
solitary figure of a man in a nice fitting tweed suit.
“Gordon-Fuller”—two paper-mache figures—one representing a
young man full of Gordon gin, the other representing a young man fuller.
“Hatch-Gillette”—figure of a chicken surprised at having hatched a
safety razor.
“Graves-Colgate”—figure of a man brushing his teeth in a cemetery.
“Heinz-Fish”—57 assorted small fish tastily arranged on one plate.
SELECTING THE BRIDAL PARTY
AS soon as the engagement has been announced it is the duty of the
prospective bride to select a maid-of-honor and eight or ten bridesmaids,
while the groom must choose his best man and ushers. In making these
selections it should be carefully borne in mind that no wedding party is
complete without the following:
1 bridesmaid who danced twice with the Prince of Wales.
2 Bridesmaids who never danced more than once with anybody.
1 bridesmaid who doesn’t “Pet.”
1 bridesmaid who was expelled from Miss Spence’s.
1 bridesmaid who talks “Southern.”
1 bridesmaid who met Douglas Fairbanks once.
1 bridesmaid who rowed on the crew at Wellesley.
1 usher who doesn’t drink anything.
9 ushers who drink anything.
In some localities, following the announcement, it is customary for the
bride’s friends, to give for her a number of “showers.” These are for the
purpose of providing her with various necessities for her wedded household
life. These affairs should be informal and only her dearest or wealthiest
friends should be invited. A clever bride will generally arrange secretly
for several of these “showers” by promising a certain percentage (usually
15% of the gross up to $500.00 and 25% bonus on all over that amount) to
the friend who gives the party. Some of the more customary “showers” of
common household articles for the new bride are toothpaste, milk of
magnesia, screen doors, copies of Service’s poems, Cape Cod lighters,
pictures of “Age of Innocence” and back numbers of the “Atlantic Monthly.”
INVITATIONS AND WEDDING PRESENTS
The proper time to send out invitations to a wedding is between two and
three weeks before the day set for the ceremony, although the out-of-town
invitations should be mailed in plenty of time to allow the recipient to
purchase and forward a suitable present. As the gifts are received, a
check mark should be placed after the name of the donor, together with a
short description of the present and an estimate as to its probable cost.
This list is to be used later, at the wedding reception, in determining
the manner in which the bride is to greet the various guests. It has been
found helpful by many brides to devise some sort of memory system whereby
certain names immediately suggest certain responses, thus:
“Mr. Snodgrass—copy of ‘Highways and Byways in Old France’”—c.
$6.50—“how do you do, Mr. Snodgrass, have you met my mother?”
“Mr. Brackett—Solid silver candlesticks—$68.50”—“hello,
Bob, you old peach. How about a kiss?”
The real festivities of a wedding start about three days before the
ceremony, with the arrival of the “wedding party,” in which party the most
responsible position is that of best man. Let us suppose that you are to
be the best man at the Roe-Doe nuptials. What are your duties?
In the first place, you must prepare yourself for the wedding by a course
of training extending for over a month or more prior to the actual event.
It should be your aim to work yourself into such a condition that you can
go for three nights without sleep, talk for hours to the most impossibly
stupid of young women, and consume an unending amount of alcohol. You are
then prepared for the bachelor dinner, the bridal dinner, the bridesmaids,
the wedding, and the wedding reception.
DUTIES OF THE BEST MAN
Upon your arrival in the city where the wedding is to take place you will
be met by the bridegroom, who will take you to the home of the bride where
you are to stay. There you are met by the bride’s father. “This is my best
man,” says the groom. “The best man?” replies her father. “Well, may the
best man win.” At once you reply, “Ha! Ha! Ha!” He then says, “Is this
your first visit to Chicago?” to which the correct answer is, “Yes, sir,
but I hope it isn’t my last.”
The bride’s mother then appears. “This is my best man,” says the groom.
“Well,” says she, “remember—the best man doesn’t always win.” “Ha!
Ha! Ha!” you at once reply. “Is this your first visit to Chicago?” says
she, to which you answer, “Yes—but I hope it isn’t my last.”
You are then conducted to your room, where you are left alone to unpack.
In a few minutes the door will open and a small boy enter. This is the
brother of the bride. You smile at him pleasantly and remark, “Is this
your first visit to Chicago?” “What are you doing?” is his answer.
“Unpacking,” you reply. “What’s that?” says he. “A cutaway,” you reply.
“What’s that?” says he. “A collar bag.” “What’s that?” “A dress shirt.”
“What’s that?” says he. “Another dress shirt.” “What’s that?” says he.
“Say, listen,” you reply, “don’t I hear some one calling you?” “No,” says
he, “what’s that?” “That,” you reply, with a sigh of relief, “is a razor.
Here—take it and play with it.” In three minutes, if you have any
luck at all, the bride’s brother will have cut himself severely in several
places which will cause him to run crying from the room. You can then
finish unpacking.
THE BRIDE’S TEA
The first function of the pre-nuptial festivities is generally a tea at
the bride’s home, where the ushers and bridesmaids meet to become
“acquainted.” It is your duty, as best man, to go to the hotel where the
ushers are stopping and bring them to this tea. Just as you will leave on
this mission the groom will whisper in your ear, “For God’s sake, remember
to tell them that her father and mother are terribly opposed to drinking
in any form.” This is an awfully good joke on her father and mother.
As you step out of the hotel elevator you hear at the end of the hall a
chorus shouting, “Mademoiselle from Armentières—parlez vous!” Those
are your ushers.
Opening the door of the room you step forward and announce, “Fellows, we
have got to go to a tea right away. Come on—let’s go.” At this, ten
young men in cutaways will stand up and shout, “Yeaaa—the best man—give
the best man a drink!” From then on, at twelve minute intervals, it is
your duty to say, “Fellows, we have got to go to a tea right away. Come on—let’s
go.” Each time you will be handed another drink, which you may take with
either your right or left hand.
After an hour the telephone will ring. It will be the groom. He will say,
“Everybody is waiting for you and the ushers,” to which you reply, “We are
just leaving.” He then says, “And don’t forget to tell them what I told
you about her father and mother.”
You then hang up the receiver, take a drink in one hand and say, “Fellows,
I have a very solemn message for you. It’s a message which is of deep
importance to each one of us. Fellows—her father and mother object
to the use of alcohol in any form.”
This statement will be greeted with applause and cheers. You will all then
take one more drink, put on your silk hats and gray gloves, and leave the
room singing, “Her father and mother object to drink—parlez vous.”
The tea given by the bride’s parents is generally a small affair to which
only the members of the wedding party are invited. When you and the ushers
arrive, you will find the bride, the maid of honor and the bridesmaids
waiting for you. As you enter the room, make a polite bow to the bride’s
father and mother, and be sure to apologize for your lateness. Nothing so
betrays the social “oil can” as a failure to make a plausible excuse for
tardiness. Whenever you are late for a party you must always have ready
some good reason for your fault, such as, “Excuse me, Mrs. Doe, I’m afraid
I am a little late, but you see, just as I was dressing, this filling
dropped out of my tooth and I had to have it put back in.” If the host and
hostess seem to doubt your statement, it would be well to show them the
recalcitrant filling in question, although if they are “well-bred” they
will probably in most cases take you at your word.
THE MAID OF HONOR
You and the ushers will then be introduced to the bridesmaids and the maid
of honor. As you meet this latter young lady, who is the bride’s older
sister and, of course, your partner for the remainder of the wedding
festivities, she will say, “The best man? Well, they say that the best man
wins... Ha! Ha! Ha!” This puts her in class G 6 without further
examination, and your only hope of prolonging your life throughout the
next two days lies in the frequent and periodic administration of
stimulants.
THE BACHELOR DINNER AND AFTER
That evening the groom gives for the best man and the ushers what is known
as a “bachelor dinner.” It is his farewell to his men friends as he passes
out of the state of bachelorhood. The formal passing out generally occurs
toward the end of the dinner, and is a quaint ceremony participated in by
most of those present.
It is customary for the best man to wake up about noon of the following
day. You will not have the slightest idea as to where you are or how you
got there. You will be wearing your dress trousers, your stiff or pleated
bosom dress shirt, black socks and pumps, and the coat of your pajamas. In
one hand you will be clutching a chrysanthemum. After a few minutes there
will come a low moan from the next bed. That is usually the groom, also in
evening dress with the exception that he has tried to put on the trousers
of your pajamas over his dress trousers. You then say, “What happened?” to
which he replies, “Oh, Judas.” You wait several minutes. In the next room
you hear the sound of a shower bath and some one whistling. The bath
stops; the whistling continues. The door then opens and there enters one
of the ushers. He is the usher who always “feels great” the next day after
the bachelor dinner. He says to you, “Well, boys, you look all in.” You do
not reply. He continues, “Gosh, I feel fine.” You make no response. He
then begins to chuckle, “I don’t suppose you remember,” he says, “what you
said to the bride’s mother when I brought you home last night.” You sit
quickly up in bed. “What did I say?” you ask. “Was I tight?” “Were you
tight?” he replies, still chuckling. “Don’t you remember what you said?
And don’t you remember trying to get the bride’s father to slide down the
banisters with you? Were you tight—Oh, my gosh!” He then exits,
chuckling. Statistics of several important life insurance companies show
that that type of man generally dies a violent death before the age of
thirty.
THE REHEARSAL
The rehearsal for the wedding is usually held in the church on the
afternoon preceding the day of the nuptials. The ushers, of course, are an
hour late, which gives the bridegroom (Bap.) an opportunity to meet the
minister (Epis.) and have a nice, long chat about religion, while the best
man (Atheist) talks to the eighty-three year old sexton who buried the
bride’s grandpa and grandma and has knowed little Miss Dorothy come twenty
years next Michaelmas. The best man’s offer of twenty-five dollars, if the
sexton will at once bury the maid of honor, is generally refused as a
matter of courtesy.
THE BRIDAL DINNER
In the evening, the parents of the bride give the bridal dinner, to which
all the relatives and close friends of the family are invited. Toasts are
drunk in orange juice and rare old Virginia Dare wine, and much
good-natured fun is indulged in by all. Speeches are usually made by the
bride and groom, their parents, the best man, the maid of honor, the
minister and Aunt Harriet.
Just a word about the speeches at a bridal dinner. Terrible!
A CHURCH WEDDING
On the day of the wedding the ushers should arrange to be at the church an
hour or so in advance of the time set for the ceremony. They should be
dressed in cutaways, with ties, gloves and gardenias provided by the
groom.
It is the duty of the best man to dress the bridegroom for the wedding. As
you enter his room you see, lying half-dressed on the bed, a pale, wan,
emaciated creature, who is staring fixedly at the ceiling. It is the happy
bridegroom. His lips open. He speaks feebly. “What time is it?” he says.
You reply, “Two-thirty, old man. Time to start getting dressed.” “Oh, my
God!” says the groom. Ten minutes pass. “What time is it?” says the groom.
“Twenty of three,” you reply. “Here’s your shirt.” “Oh, my God!” says the
groom.
He takes the shirt and tries to put it on. You help him. “Better have a
little Scotch, old man,” you say. “What time is it?” he replies. “Five of
three,” you say. “Oh, my God!” says the groom.
At three-thirty you and he are dressed in cutaways and promptly at
three-forty-two you arrive at the church. You are ushered into a little
side room where it is your duty to sit with the corpse for the few brief
hours which elapse between three-forty-five and four o’clock. Occasionally
he stirs and a faint spark of life seems to struggle in his sunken eyes.
His lips move feebly. You bend over to catch his dying words. “Have—you—got—the
ring?” he whispers. “Yes,” you reply. “Everything’s fine. You look great,
too, old man.” The sound of the organ reaches your ears. The groom groans.
“Have you got the ring?” he says.
Meanwhile the ushers have been performing their duty of showing the
invited guests to the various pews. A correctly trained usher will always
have ready some cheery word or sprightly bit of conversation to make the
guests feel perfectly at home as he conducts them to their seats. “It’s a
nice day, isn’t it?” is suggested as a perfectly safe and yet not too
unusual topic of conversation. This can be varied by remarking, “Isn’t it
a nice day?” or in some cases, where you do not wish to appear too
forward, “Is it a nice day, or isn’t it?” An usher should also remember
that although he has on a cutaway, he is neither a floor-walker nor a bond
salesman, and remarks such as “Something in a dotted Swiss?” or “Third
aisle over—second pew—next the ribbon goods,” are decidedly
non au fait.
The first two pews on each side of the center aisle are always reserved
for members of the immediate family, but it is a firmly established custom
that the ushers shall seat in these “family pews” at least three people
with whom the family are barely on speaking terms. This slight error
always causes Aunt Nellie and Uncle Fred to sit up in the gallery with the
family cook.
With the arrival of the bride, the signal is given to the organist to
start the wedding march, usually either Mendelssohn’s or Wagner’s. About
this time the mother of the bride generally discovers that the third
candle from the left on the rear altar has not been lighted, which causes
a delay of some fifteen minutes during which time the organist improvises
one hundred and seventy-three variations on the opening strains of the
march.
Finally all is adjusted and the procession starts down the aisle led by
the ushers swaying slowly side by side. It is always customary for three
or four of the eight ushers to have absolutely no conception of time or
rhythm, which adds a quaint touch of uncertainty and often a little humor
to the performance.
After the Scotch mist left by the passing ushers has cleared, there come
the bridesmaids, the maid of honor, and then, leaning on her father’s arm
(unless, of course, her father is dead), the bride.
In the meantime, the bridegroom has been carried in by the best man and
awaits the procession at the foot of the aisle, which is usually four
hundred and forty yards long. The ushers and bridesmaids step awkwardly to
one side; the groom advances and a hush falls over the congregation which
is the signal for the bride’s little niece to ask loudly, “What’s that
funny looking man going to do, Aunt Dotty?”
Then follows the religious ceremony.
Immediately after the church service, a reception is held at the bride’s
home, where refreshments are served and two hundred and forty-two invited
guests make the same joke about kissing the bride. At the reception it is
customary for the ushers and the best man to crawl off in separate corners
and die.
The wedding “festivities” are generally concluded with the disappearance
of the bride, the bridegroom, one of the uninvited guests and four of the
most valuable presents.
The man of culture and refinement, while always
considerate to those beneath him in station, never, under any circumstances,
loses control of his emotions for an instant. Though the gentleman-rider in the
picture may be touchingly fond of his steeplechase horse, it is unpardonably
bad form for him to make an exhibition of his affection while going over the
brush in plain view of numbers of total strangers. In doing so he simply is
making a “guy” of himself, and it is no more than he deserves if
those in the gallery raise their eyebrows at each other and smile
knowingly.
The Romans had a proverb, “Litera scripta
manet,” which means “The written letter remains.” The subtle
wisdom of these words was no doubt well known to the men of the later
Paleolithic Age before them, but evidently the gentleman in the engraving never
heard of it. If he had kept this simple little rule of social correspondence in
mind he would have avoided the painful experience of hearing his obsolete
emotions exposed to the eager ears of twelve perfect strangers. It is customary
nowadays for unmarried elder sons of our most aristocratic families to express
their appreciation of the qualities of fascinating bachelor girls over the
sensible, though plebeian, telephone.
CHAPTER THREE:
THE ETIQUETTE OF TRAVEL
The etiquette of travel, like that of courtship and marriage, has
undergone several important changes with the advent of “democracy” and the
“mechanical age.” Time was when travel was indulged in only by the better
classes of society and the rules of travellers’ etiquette were well
defined and acknowledged by all. But Yankee ingenuity has indeed brought
the “mountain to Mahomet”; the “iron horse” and the “Pullman coach” have,
I believe, come to stay, bringing with them many new customs and manners
for the well-bred gentleman or lady who would travel correctly. Truly, the
“old order changeth” and it is, perhaps, only proper that one should keep
(if you will pardon the use of the word), “abreast” of the times.
HINTS FOR THE CORRECT PEDESTRIAN
Let us suppose, for example, that you are a young gentleman of established
social position in one of the many cities of our great middle west, and it
is your desire to travel from your home to New York City for the purpose
of viewing the many attractions of that metropolis of which I need perhaps
only mention the Aquarium or Grant’s Tomb or the Eden Musee. Now there are
many ways of getting to New York, such as (a) on foot, (b) via “rail”; it
should be your first duty to select one of these methods of
transportation. Walking to New York (“a” above) is often rejected because
of the time and effort involved and it is undoubtedly true that if one
attempted to journey afoot from the middle west one would probably be
quite fatigued at the end of one’s journey. The etiquette of walking,
however, is the same for short as for long distances, and I shall at this
point give a few of the many rules for correct behavior among pedestrians.
In the first place, it is always customary in a city for a young lady,
either accompanied or unaccompanied, to walk on the sidewalk. A young
“miss” who persists in walking in the gutters is more apt to lose than to
make friends among the socially “worth while.”
Gentlemen, either with or without ladies, are never seen walking after
dark in the sewers or along the elevated, tracks.
It is not au fait for gentlemen or ladies wearing evening dress to “catch
on behind” passing ice wagons, trucks, etc.; the time and energy saved are
doubtfully repaid should one happen to be driven thus past other members
of one’s particular social “set.”
Ladies walking alone on the street after dark do not speak to gentlemen
unless they have been previously introduced or are out of work with winter
coming on.
A gentleman walking alone at night, when accosted by a young woman whom he
has not met socially, removes his hat politely, bows and passes on, unless
she looks awfully good.
Débutantes meeting traffic policemen always bow first in America; in the
Continental countries, with their age-old flavor of aristocratic court
life, this custom is reversed.
A bachelor, accompanied by a young unmarried woman, when stepping
accidentally into an open coal or sewer hole in the sidewalk, removes his
hat and gloves as inconspicuously as possible.
It is never correct for young people of either “sex” to push older ladies
in front of swiftly approaching motor vehicles or street cars.
A young man, if run over by an automobile driven by a strange lady, should
lie perfectly still (unless dead) until an introduction can be arranged;
the person driving the car usually speaks first.
An unmarried woman, if run into and knocked down by a taxicab driven by
someone in her own “set,” usually says “Why the hell don’t you look where
you’re going?” to which the taxi driver, removing his hat, replies “Why
the hell don’tyou?”
A correct costume for gentlemen walking in the parks or streets of a city,
either before or after dark, consists of shoes (2), socks (2),
undergarments, trousers, shirt, necktie, collar, vest, coat and hat. For
pedestrians of the “opposite” sex the costume is practically the same with
the exception of the socks, trousers, shirt, necktie, collar, vest and
coat. However, many women now affect “knickerbockers” and vice versa.
A young lady of good breeding, when walking alone, should not talk or
laugh in a loud boisterous manner. “Capers” (e. g. climbing trees, etc.),
while good exercise and undoubtedly fashionable in certain “speedy”
circles, are of questionable taste for ladies, especially if indulged in
to excess or while walking with young gentlemen on the Sabbath. Sport is
sport, and no one loves a stiff game of “fives” or “rounders” more than I,
but the spectacle of a young unmarried lady and her escort hanging by
their limbs on the Lord’s Day from the second or third cross arm of an
electric telegraph pole is certainly carrying things a bit too far, in my
opinion, even in this age of “golf” and lawn “tennis.”
A young gentleman escorting a young lady on foot to a formal ball or the
opera should walk on the outside, especially if they are both in evening
dress and have a long distance to go. It is never incorrect to suggest the
use of a street car, or as one gets near the Opera House, a carriage or a
“taxicab.”
A young man walking with a young lady, when accosted by a beggar, always
gives the beggar something unless the young lady is his wife or his
sister.
So much for pedestrians. I can not, of course, pretend to give here all
the rules for those who “go afoot” and I can only say that the safest
principle for correct behavior in this, as in many social matters, is the
now famous reply Thomas Edison once made to the stranger who asked him
with what he mixed his paints in order to get such marvellous effects.
“One part inspiration,” replied the great inventor, “and NINE parts
perspiration.” In other words, etiquette is not so much a matter of
“genius” as of steady application to small details.
TRAVELLING BY RAIL
In America much of the travelling is done by “rail.” The etiquette of
railroad behavior is extremely complicated, especially if one is forced to
spend the night en route (on the way) and many and ludicrous are the
mistakes made by those whose social training has apparently fitted them
more for a freight car than for an up-to-date “parlor” or “Pullman” coach.
GOOD FORM ON A STREET CAR
Let us, first of all, however, take up some of the simpler forms of rail
transportation, such as, for example, the electric street or “tram” car
now to be seen on the main highways and byways of all our larger cities.
The rules governing behavior on these vehicles often appear at first quite
complicated, but when one has learned the “ropes,” as they say in the
Navy, one should have no difficulty.
An elderly lady with a closed umbrella, for example, desiring to take a
street car, should always stand directly under a large sign marked “Street
Cars Do Not Stop On This Corner.” As the car approaches she should run
quickly out to the car tracks and signal violently to the motorman with
the umbrella. As the car whizzes past without stopping she should cease
signalling, remark “Well I’ll be God damned!” and return to the curbstone.
After this performance has been repeated with three successive cars she
should then walk slowly out and lie down, in a dignified manner, across
the car tracks. In nine cases out of ten the motorman of the next “tram”
will see her lying there and will be gentleman enough to stop his car.
When this happens the elderly lady should get quietly up from the street
and stand outside the door marked “Exit Only” until the motorman opens it
for her. She should then enter with the remark, “I signalled to three cars
and not one of them stopped,” to which the motorman will reply, “But,
lady, that sign there says they don’t stop on this corner.” The lady
should then say “What’s your number—I’m going to report you.”
After taking his number she should enter the car. At the opposite end of
the vehicle there will undoubtedly be three or four vacant seats; instead
of taking one of these she should stand up in front of some young man and
glare at him until he gets up and gives her his place.
It is not customary in American cities for ladies to thank gentlemen who
provide them with seats.
After a few minutes she should turn to the man at her right and ask “Does
this car go to Madison Heights?” He will answer “No.” She should then turn
to the man on her left and ask “Does this car go to Madison Heights?” He
will answer “No.” Her next question—“Does this car go to Madison
Heights?”—should be addressed to a man across the aisle, and the
answer will be “No.” She should then listen attentively while the
conductor calls out the names of the streets and as he shouts “Blawmnoo!”
she should ask the man at her right “Did he say Madison Heights?” He will
reply “No.” At the next street the conductor will shout “Blawmnoo!” at
which she should ask “Did he say Madison Heights?” Once more the answer
will be in the negative. The car will proceed, the conductor will now call
“Blawmnoo!” and as the elderly lady once more says “Did he say Madison
Heights?” the man at her left, the man at her right, the man across the
aisle and eight other male passengers will shout “YES!”
It is then correct for her to pickup her umbrella and, carefully waiting
until the conductor has pulled the “go ahead” signal, she should cry “Wait
a minute, conductor—I want to get off here.” The car will then be
stopped and she should say “Is this Madison Heights?” to which the
conductor will reply “This ain’t the Madison Heights car, lady.” She
should then say “But you called out Madison Heights,” to which he will
answer “No, lady—that’s eight miles in the opposite direction.” She
should then leave the street car, not forgetting, however, to take the
conductor’s number again.
The above hints for “tram” car etiquette apply, of course, only to elderly
ladies. For young men and women the procedure would be in many cases quite
different. A young married woman, for example, on entering a street car,
should always have her ticket or small “change” so securely buried in the
fourth inside pocketbook of her handbag that she cannot possibly find it
inside of twelve minutes. Three or more middle-aged ladies, riding
together, should never decide as to who is to pay the fare until the
conductor has gone stark raving mad.
Her conduct has stamped the young lady as a provincial
and it is not to be wondered at if suppressed titters and half audible chuckles
follow her about the room. PERFECT BEHAVIOR would have
taught her that it is not the prerogative of a muddy-complexioned
dud—even if she has had only one dance and her costume is very
expensive—to cut in on a gentleman (by grabbing his neck or any other
method) when he is dancing with the wide-eyed beauty from the South who leaves
in five minutes to catch a train. He will be within his rights when, at the end
of five minutes, after three unsuccessful attempts to loosen her grip, he will
carry her into the garden under false pretences and there play the hose on her
until she drowns.
They are leaving the home of an intimate friend of
several weeks’ standing, after having witnessed a Private Theatrical.
Both feel that some return should be made for their hostess’s kindness
but neither is certain as to just what form the return should take. The Book
of PERFECT BEHAVIOR would have pointed out to them that
the only adequate and satisfactory revenge for this sort of thing is to invite
the lady, as soon as possible without exciting her suspicion, to attend an
Italian opera or a drawing-room musicale.
IN THE SUBWAY
The rules governing correct behavior in the underground “subway” systems
of our great cities (particularly the New York subways) are, however, much
more simple and elemental than the etiquette for surface cars. In the
subway, for example, if you are a married man and living with your wife,
or head of a family, i. e., a person who actually supports one or more
persons living in (or under) his (or her) household on the last day of the
preceding calendar year, provided that such person or persons shall not on
or before July 1 or if July 1 shall fall on a Sunday then on the day
nearest preceding July 1, himself (or themselves) have filed a separate
report as provided in paragraph (g), you should precede a lady when
entering, and follow a lady when leaving, the train.
A HONEYMOON IN A SUBWAY
On the other hand, a wedding or a “honeymoon” trip in a subway brings up
certain problems of etiquette which are entirely different from the above.
Let us suppose, for example, that the wedding takes place at high noon in
exclusive old “Trinity” church, New York. The nearest subway is of course
the “Interborough” (West Side) and immediately after the ceremony the
lucky couple can run poste haste to the “Battery” and board a Lenox Ave.
Local. Arriving at romantic Chambers St. they should change at once to a
Bronx Park Express which will speedily whizz them past 18th St., 23rd St.
and 28th St. to the Pennsylvania Station where they can again transfer,
this time to a Broadway Local. In a jiffy and two winks of an eye they
will be at Times Square, the heart of the “Great White Way” (that Mecca of
pleasure seekers and excitement lovers) where they can either change to a
Broadway Express, journeying under Broadway to historic Columbia
University and Harlem, or they can take the busy little “shuttle” which
will hurry them over to the Grand Central Station. There they can board
the aristocratic East Side Subway, either “up” or “down” town. The trip
“up town” (Lexington Ave. Express) passes under some of the better class
residential districts, but the journey in the other direction is perhaps
more interesting, including as it does such stops as 14th St., Brooklyn
Bridge, Fulton Street, Wall Street (the financial center) etc., not to
mention a delightful passage under the East River to Brooklyn, the city of
homes and churches. Thus without getting out of their seats the happy pair
can be transported from one fascinating end of the great city to the other
and when they have exhausted the possibilities of a honeymoon in the
Interborough they can change, with the additional cost of only a few cents
apiece, to the B. R. T. or the Hudson Tubes which will gladly carry them
to a thousand new and interesting places—a veritable Aladdin’s lamp
on rails.
TRAVELLING UNDER STEAM
And now we come to that most complex form of travel—the railroad
journey. Let us suppose that instead of attempting to walk to New York you
have elected to go on the “train.” On the day of your departure you should
carefully pack your bag or suitcase, taking care to strap and lock it
securely. You can then immediately unstrap and unlock it in order to put
in the tooth paste and shaving brush which you forgot to bring from the
bathroom.
Arriving at the station promptly on the time scheduled for the train to
depart you will find that because of “daylight saving time” you have
exactly an hour to wait. The time, however, can be amusingly and
economically spent in the station as follows: 11 weighing machines @.01
=.11; 3 weighing machines @.05 =.15; 1 weighing machine (out of order).09;
17 slot machines (chocolate and gum) @.01 =.17. Total cost—.50,
unless, of course, you eat the chocolate.
Upon the arrival of the train you consult your ticket to find that you
have “lower 9” in car 43. Walking back to the end of the train and
entering car 43 you will find, in berth number 9, a tired woman and two
small children. You will also find a hat box, a bird cage, a bag of
oranges, a bag of orange peelings, a shoe-box of lunch, a rag doll, a toy
balloon, half a “cookie” and 8,000,000 crumbs. The tired woman will then
say to you “Are you the gentleman who has the lower berth?” to which you
answer “Yes.” She will then say “Well say—we’ve got the upper—and
I wonder if you would mind—” “Not at, all,” you reply, “I should be
only too glad to give you my lower.” This is always done.
After you have seated yourself and the train has started the lady’s little
boy will announce, “I want a drink, Mama.” After he has repeated this
eleven times his mother will say to you “I wonder if you would mind
holding the baby while I take Elmer to get a drink?”
The etiquette of holding babies is somewhat difficult for bachelors to
master at first as there are no hard and fast rules governing conduct
under these circumstances. An easy “hold” for beginners and one which is
difficult for the ordinary baby to break consists in wrapping the left and
right arms firmly around the center of the child, at the same time
clutching the clothing with the right hand and the toes with the left and
praying to God that the damn thing won’t drop.
In this particular case, after Elmer and his mother have gone down the
aisle after a drink, the baby which you are holding will at once begin to
cry. Now as every mother knows, and especially those mothers who have had
children, a baby does not cry without some specific reason and all that is
necessary in the present instance is to discover this reason. First of
all, the child may be merely hungry, in which case you should at once ask
the porter to bring you the a la carte menu. You should then carefully go
over the list of dishes with the infant, taking care to spell out and
explain such names as he may not understand. “How would you like some nice
assorted hors d’œuvres?” you say. “Waaaaa!” says the baby. “No hors
d’œuvres,” you say to the waiter. “Some blue points, perhaps—you
know, o-y-s-t-e-r-s?” You might even act out a blue point or two, as in
charades, so that the child will understand what you mean. In case,
however, the baby does not cease crying after having eaten the first three
or four courses, you should not insist on a salad and a dessert, for
probably it is not hunger which is occasioning the outcry. Perhaps it is a
pin, in which case you should at once bend every effort to the discovery
and removal of the irritant. The most generally accepted modern way of
effecting this consists in passing a large electro-magnet over every
portion of the child’s anatomy and the pin (if pin there be) will of
course at once come to light. Then, too, many small children cry merely
because they have swallowed something which does not agree with them, such
as, for example, a gold tooth or a shoe horn; the remedy in this case
consists in immediately feeding the child the proper counter irritant.
There is, really, no great mystery about the successful raising of
children and with a few common sense principles, such as presented above,
any mother may relieve herself of a great deal of useless anxiety. I hope
I may be pardoned for a digression here, but I feel very strongly that
“today’s babies are tomorrow’s citizens” and I do want to see them brought
up in the proper way.
But to return to our train. Perhaps by this time the mother and Elmer will
have returned and you will be relieved of further investigation as to the
cause of the infant’s discomfort. A few minutes later, however, little
Elmer will say “Mama, I want the window open.” This request will be duly
referred to you via the line of authority. It is then your duty to assume
a firm upright stance, with the weight evenly distributed on both feet,
and work for twelve minutes and thirty-nine seconds in a terrific struggle
to raise the windows. At the end of twelve minutes and forty seconds you
will succeed, the window will slowly go up, and the train will at once
enter a tunnel, filling the car and you with coal smoke. In the resulting
darkness and confusion you should seize little Elmer, throw him quickly
out of the open window and make your escape to the gentlemen’s smoking
compartment in the rear of your car.
In the “smoker” you will find three men. The first of these will be saying
“and he told me that a bootlegger he knew had cleaned up a thousand
dollars a week since January.” The second will say “Well down where I come
from there’s men who never took a drink before prohibition who get drunk
all the time now.” The third will say “Well, I tell you, men—the
saloon had to go.”
Provision for satisfying the “inner man” is now a regular part of the
equipment of all modern trains, and about 6:30 or 7 you should leave your
companions in the “smoker” and walk through the train until you reach the
“diner.” Here you will seat yourself at a table with three other
gentlemen, the first of whom will be remarking, as you sit down, “and I
know for a fact that this bootlegger is making over fifty thousand dollars
a year.”
A CORRECT NIGHT IN A PULLMAN
Before the days of modern railroads one could not very well travel over
night but now, thanks to Mr. Pullman, it is possible for the traveller to
go to bed en route and be every bit as snug and comfortable as the
proverbial insect in a rug. Shortly after dinner the porter will “make up”
the berths in the car and when you desire to retire for the night you
should ask him to bring you the ladder in order that you may ascend to
upper 9. While you are waiting you should stand in the aisle and remove
your coat, vest and shoes, and then begin to search for your suitcase
which you will finally locate by crawling on your chin and stomach under
berth number 11. When you again resume an upright position the train will
give a sudden lurch, precipitating you into berth number 12. A woman’s
voice will then say “Alice?” to which you should of course answer “No” and
climb quickly up the ladder into your proper berth.
A great deal of “to do” is often made of the difficulty involved in
undressing in an upper berth but most of this is quite uncalled for.
Experienced travellers now generally wait until the lights of the car have
been dimmed or extinguished when the disrobing can be done quite simply in
five counts, as follows: One—unloosen all clothing and lie flat on
the back. The respiration should be natural, easy and through the lungs.
The muscles should be relaxed; Two—pivoting on the back of the head
and neck, inhale quickly, at the same time drawing the muscles of the legs
and arms sharply under the body, as for a spring; Three—spring
suddenly upward and to the right (or left), catching the bell cord (which
extends along the roof of the train) with the teeth, hands and feet; Four—holding
firmly to the cord with the knees, describe a sudden arc downward with the
head and body, returning to position as soon as the shirt and undershirt
have dropped off into the aisle; Five—taking a firm hold on the cord
with the teeth, let go sharply with the knees. The trousers, etc., should
at once slide off, and you can (and, in fact, should) then swing yourself
quickly back into your berth and pajamas.
Once inside your “bunk” you should drift quickly off to slumberland, and
when you wake up it will be five minutes later and the————engineer
will be trying to see what he can do with an air brake and a few steel
sleeping cars.
In the morning you will be in New York.
CHAPTER FOUR:
AT THE CONCERT AND THE OPERA
In order to listen to music intelligently—or what is really much
more important—in order to give the appearance of listening to music
intelligently, it is necessary for the novice to master thoroughly two
fundamental facts.
The first, and most important of these, is that the letter “w” in Russian
is pronounced like “v”; the second, that Rachmaninoff has a daughter at
Vassar.
Not very difficult, surely—but it is remarkable how much enjoyment
one can get out of music by the simple use of these two formulas. With a
little practise in their use, the veriest tyro can bewilder her escort
even though she be herself so musically uninformed as to think that the
celeste is only used in connection with Aïda, or that a minor triad is
perhaps a young wood nymph.
One other important fundamental is that enthusiasm should never be
expressed for any music written after 1870; by a careful observance of
this rule one will constantly experience that delightful satisfaction
which comes with finding one’s opinions shared by the music critics in the
daily press.
The young lady in the picture has just laid out a
perfect drive. She had, unfortunately, neglected to wait until the gentleman
playing ahead of her had progressed more than fifteen yards down the fairway,
and her ball, traveling at a velocity of 1675 f.s., has caught the gentleman
squarely in the half-pint bottle. What mistake, if any, is the gentleman making
in chasing her off the course with his niblick, if we assume that she called
“Fore!” when the ball had attained to within three feet of the
gentleman?
You will exclaim, no doubt, on looking at the scene
depicted above, “Cherchez la femme.” It is, however, nothing so
serious as you will pardonably suppose. The gentleman is merely an
inexperienced “gun” at a shooting-party, who has begun following
his bird before it has risen above the head of his loader. This very clumsy
violation of the etiquette of sport proves, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that
he has learned to shoot from the comic papers, and that his coat-of-arms can
never again be looked upon as anything but bogus.
LISTENING TO A SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA
The first thing to do on arriving at a symphony concert is to express the
wish that the orchestra will play Beethoven’s Fifth. If your companion
then says “Fifth what?” you are safe with him for the rest of the evening;
no metal can touch you. If, however, he says “So do I”—this is a
danger signal and he may require careful handling.
The next step is a glance at the program. If your escort is quite good
looking and worth cultivating, the obvious remark is “Oh dear—not a
very interesting program, to-night. But George—look at what they are
playing next Thursday! My, I wish—.” If George shies at this, it can
be tried again later—say during an “appassionato” passage for the
violins and cellos.
As soon as the music starts, all your attention should be directed toward
discovering someone who is making a noise—whispering or coughing;
having once located such a creature, you should immediately “sh-sh” him.
Should he continue the offence, a severe frown must accompany the next
“sh-sh,” a lorgnette—if available—adding great effectiveness
to the rebuke. This will win you the gratitude of your neighbors and serve
to establish your position socially, as well as musically—for
perfect “sh-shers” do not come from the lower classes.
At the conclusion of the first number the proper remark is “hmmm,”
accompanied by a slow shake of the head. After this you may use any one of
a number of remarks, as for example, “Well, I suppose Mendelssohn appeals
to a great many people,” or “That was meaningless enough to have been
written by a Russian.” This latter is to be preferred, for it leads your
companion to say, “But don’t you like TschaiKOWsky?”, pronouncing the
second syllable as if the composer were a female bull. You can then reply,
“Why, yes, TschaiKOFFsky did write some rather good music—although
it’s all neurotic and obviously Teutonic.” Don’t fail to stress the “v.”
The next number on the program will probably be the soloist—say, a
coloratura soprano. Your first remark should be that you don’t really care
for the human voice—the reason being, of course, that symphonic
Music, ABSOLUTE music, has spoiled you for things like vocal gymnastics.
This leads your bewildered friend to ask you what sort of soloist you
prefer.
Ans.—Why, a piano concerto, of course.
Ques.—And who is your favorite pianist?
Ans.—Rachmaninoff. And then, before the boy has time to breathe
—SHOOT! “Did you knoow that he has a daughter at Vassar?”
Although not necessary, it might be well to finish off the poor fellow at
the end of the concert with one or two well placed depth bombs. My own
particular favorite for this is the following, accompanied by a low sigh:
“After all—Beethoven IS Beethoven.”
CORRECT BEHAVIOR AT A PIANO RECITAL
The same procedure is recommended for the piano or violin recital, with
the possible addition of certain phrases such as “Yes—of course, she
has technique—but, my dear, so has an electric piano.” This remark
gives you a splendid opportunity for sarcasm at the expense of Mr. Duo-Art
and other manufacturers of mere mechanical perfection; the word “soul”—pronounced
with deep feeling, as when repeating a fish order to a stupid waiter—may
be introduced effectively several times.
The program at these recitals is likely to be more complex than that at a
symphony concert. This is a distinct advantage, for it gives you a
splendid opportunity to catch some wretch applauding before the music is
really finished. Nothing is quite comparable to the satisfaction of
smiling knowingly at your neighbors when this faux pas is committed,
unless it be the joy of being the first to applaud at the real conclusion.
This latter course, however, is fraught with danger for the beginner; the
chances for errors in judgment are many, and the only sure way to avoid
anachronistic applause is to play the safe game and refrain altogether
from any expression of approval—a procedure which is heartily
recommended for the musically ignorant, it being also the practise among
the majority of the critics.
IN A BOX AT THE OPERA
The opera differs from the symphony concert, or piano recital, in the same
way that the army drill command of “At Ease!” differs from “Rest!” When
one of these orders (I never could remember which is given to a battalion
in formation), it signifies that talking is permitted; opera, of course,
corresponds to that command.
Before the invention of the phonograph it was often necessary for the
opera goer to pay some attention to the performance—at least while
certain favorite arias were being sung; this handicap to the enjoyment of
opera has now fortunately been overcome and one can devote one’s entire
attention to other more important things, safe in one’s knowledge that one
has Galli-Curci at home on the Vic.
In order really to get the most out of an opera a great deal of study and
preparation is required in advance; I have not space at this time to cover
these preliminaries thoroughly, but would recommend to the earnest student
such supplemental information as can be obtained from Lady Duff-Gordon, or
Messrs. Tiffany, Técla and Pinaud.
Upon entering one’s box the true opera lover at once assumes a musical
attitude; this should be practised at home, by my lady, before a mirror
until she is absolutely sure that the shoulders and back can be seen from
any part of the house. Then, with the aid of a pair of strong opera
glasses, she may proceed to scrutinize carefully the occupants of the
boxes—noting carefully any irregular features. Technical
phraseology, useful in this connection, includes “unearthly creature,”
“stray leopard” or, simply, “that person.”
Your two magical formulas—the Russian “w” and the sad story about
Rachmaninoff’s daughter—may, of course, be held in reserve—but
the chances are that you will be unable to use them, for during an evening
at the opera there will probably be no mention of music.
CHAPTER FIVE:
ETIQUETTE FOR DRY AGENTS
SOME BROADER ASPECTS OF PROHIBITION
In spite of the great pride and joy which we Americans feel over the
success of National Prohibition; in spite of the universal popularity of
the act and the method of its enforcement; in spite of the fact that it is
now almost impossible to obtain in any of our ex-saloons anything in the
least resembling whiskey or gin,—there still remains the distressing
suspicion that quite possibly, at some of the dinner parties and dances of
our more socially prominent people, liquor—or its equivalent—is
openly being served. Dry agents have, of course, tried on several
occasions to verify this suspicion; their praiseworthy efforts have met,
for the most part, with scant success.
The main difficulty has been, I believe, that the average dry agent is too
little versed in the customs and manners of polite society. It is
lamentably true that, too often, has a carefully planned society dry raid
been spoiled because the host noticed that one of his guests was wearing
white socks with a black tie, or that the intruder was using his dessert
spoon on the hors d’œuvres.
The solution of this difficulty lies, of course, in the gradual procuring
of a better class of dry agent. There are signs (though, unfortunately, in
the wrong direction) that some of our younger college generation are
already casting envious eyes toward the rich rewards, the social
opportunities and the exciting life of the professional bootlegger.
It might be well to interest some of these promising youngsters in the no
less exciting occupation of National Prohibition Enforcement Officer. At
present the chief difficulty seems to lie in the fact that, in our
preparatory schools and colleges, a young man acquires a certain code of
honor which causes him to look with distaste on what he calls pussyfooting
and sneaking.
People too often forget that, in order to make effective such a
universally beneficent law, any means are justified. It will be, I hope,
only a matter of years before this distrust of the “sneak” will have died
out, and the Dry Agent will come to be regarded with the reverence and
respect due to one who devotes his life to the altruistic investigation of
his neighbor’s affairs.
THE COLLEGE GRADUATE AS DRY AGENT
Then, too, many young college men are deterred from becoming Dry Agents by
thinking of the comparative scantiness of the monetary rewards. This
difficulty is only an imaginary one—for, luckily, as soon as a man’s
code of honor has been elevated to the extent that it permits him to take
up a career of pussy-footing there is generally eliminated at the same
time any objection he might have to what is often called bribery. Thus, by
a fortunate combination of circumstances, a Dry Agent is enabled to serve
mankind and, at the same time, greatly increase his own personal fortune.
But we cannot wait until our college graduates come to regard pussyfooting
as a career. We must do what we can with the material at our disposal. We
must in some way educate our present Dry Agents so that they can go to any
function in polite society and remain as inconspicuous and as completely
disregarded as the host. As a first step in such a social training I offer
the following suggestions, in the hope that before long no function will
be complete without the presence of four or five correctly dressed
National Prohibition Enforcement Officers, ready and eager to arrest the
host and hostess and all the guests on the slightest provocation.
PLANNING A DRY RAID ON A MASQUERADE BALL
Let us suppose, for example, that you are a Dry Agent and that your name
is Isador Eisenberg, and, one day, you and your chief are sitting around
the Dry Agent’s Club and he says to you, “Izzy—I see by the paper
that there’s a swell society masquerade ball to be given by the younger
married set tomorrow night at the Glen Cove Country Club. Take your squad
to cover it.” At this point you doubtless say, “Chief, I’m afraid I can’t
use my squad. My men have been disguised as trained seals all this week,
and tomorrow night, they are to raid all the actresses’ dressing rooms at
the Hippodrome” and then the Chief says, “Well, Izzy, you’ll have to rent
a costume and pull off the raid all by yourself.”
A WORD ABOUT CORRECT COSTUMES
Your first concern should be, of course, your costume. If you have a high
voice (although really there is no reason for supposing that all Dry
Agents have high voices), you might well attend the masquerade disguised
as a lady. One of the neatest and, on the whole, most satisfactory of
ladies’ disguises is that of Cleopatra. Cleopatra, as you know, was once
Queen of Egypt and the costume is quite simple and attractive. It may be,
however, that you would prefer to appear as a modern rather than an
ancient queen. A modern Queen (if one may judge from the illustrated
foreign periodicals) always wears a plain suit and carries a tightly
rolled umbrella. Should you care to attend the masquerade as an
allegorical figure—say “2000 Years of Progress”—you might wear
the Cleopatra costume and carry the umbrella. Or you might go attired as
some other less prominent member of the nobility—for instance, Lady
Dartmouth, whose delightful costume is more or less featured in the
advertising on our better class subways and street cars, and can be
obtained at a comparatively small cost at any reliable dry goods store.
Should you, however, feel that you would be more at ease in a male
costume, there are several suggestions which might cleverly conceal your
real identity. You might, for example, attend the ball as Jurgen—a
costume which would assure you a pleasurable evening and many pleasing
acquaintances. You might, with equal satisfaction, go as an Indian.
It occurs to me that it might even be a clever move to attend the party
dressed as a Dry Agent. All suspicion would be instantly lost in the
uproar of laughter which would greet your announcement of your disguise;
many men would probably so far enter into the spirit of the joke as to
offer you drinks from their flasks, and much valuable evidence could be
obtained in this way. And the costume is quite easy—simply wear a
pleated soft-bosom dress shirt with your evening dress, and tuck the ends
of your black tie under your collar.
Packets of old letters, bits of verse, locks of hair,
pressed flowers, inscribed books, photographs, etc., all make acceptable
wedding gifts. By telling you whether they should be presented to the Bride or
to the Groom PERFECT BEHAVIOR has, we feel, settled the
question of future happiness in many a new-made home.
You are, let us say, one of the Ushers attending the
Bachelor Dinner. You are handed a bottle of Chateau Lafitte ’69. Can you
select, from the diagram above, the proper implement to use in getting at its
contents? The correct methods of choosing and using table hardware are
explained in PERFECT BEHAVIOR.
The young couple in the picture are trying to word a
plausible letter of regret in answer to an invitation to a house-party. Had
they consulted their PERFECT BEHAVIOR they would have
known that there is no plausible excuse for not accepting any invitation
whatever, and that the simplest and most dignified, method is to write the
attached model letter.
GOOD FORM FOR DRY AGENTS DURING A RAID
After the costume, you should arrange to obtain a mask and a breath. The
former is, of course, for the purpose of hiding your identity; the latter
is essential at any party where you wish to remain inconspicuous. A good
whisky breath can usually be obtained from a bottle of any of the better
known brands of Scotch or Rye whisky by holding a small quantity of the
liquor in the mouth for a short period of time. It is not, of course,
necessary to swallow the liquor and in this connection I would suggest
that you use only the best grade whisky, for there are at present being
manufactured for domestic consumption several brands which, if held in the
mouth for a longer interval than, say, three seconds, are apt to eat away
the tongue or dissolve several of your more important teeth.
On the night of the party, therefore, having donned your Dry Agent
costume, having put on your mask, having secured a good breath—you
jump into a taxicab and drive to the Glen Cove Country Club. And, as you
enter the door of the club, some girl, dressed, probably, as Martha
Washington, will run up and kiss you. This is not because she thinks you
are George Washington; it is because she drank that eighth Bronx cocktail
at dinner.
And right at this point is where most Dry Agents have displayed their
ignorance of the usages of polite society, for most of them are wofully
ignorant of the correct way to handle such a situation. Your average Dry
Agent, not being accustomed to the ways of Younger Marrieds, is often
confused upon being unexpectedly kissed, and in his confusion betrays his
unfortunate lack of social training.
The correct way to meet the above situation is based on the fundamental
rule of all social etiquette—common sense. Return the lady’s kiss in
an easy, natural manner and pass on. If she follows you, lead her at once
to a quiet unoccupied corner of the club and knock her over the head with
a chair or some other convenient implement. It has been found that this is
the only effective way to deal with this type of woman and it is really
only a kindness to her and her husband to keep her from embarrassing you
with her attentions during the rest of the evening.
After you have removed your coat, you should go to the ball room where you
will find the dance in full swing—full being of course used in its
common or alcoholic sense. Take your place in the stag line and don’t,
under any circumstances, allow anyone to induce you to cut in on any of
the dancers. In the first place, you won’t be able to dance because Dry
Agents, like Englishmen, never can; secondly, if you try to dance, you are
taking the enormous chance, especially at a masquerade, that the man who
introduced you to your partner will disappear for the rest of the evening,
leaving you with Somebody’s Albatross hanging around your neck. And, of
all Albatrosses, the married one is perhaps farthest South—especially
if she happens to be a little tight and wants to talk about her husband
and children.
Your policy, therefore, should be one of complete non-partisanship. If you
do not dance, do not let yourself be drawn into conversation, and do not,
above all things, show any consideration for the host or hostess. By
closely observing the actions of the men and women about you, by wandering
down into the club bar, by peeking into the automobiles parked outside the
club, you will probably be able to obtain sufficient evidence of the
presence of alcohol to justify a raid. And then, when you have raided the
Glen Cove Country Club, you can turn your attention to the 12,635,439
other clubs and private houses where the same thing is going on. And, if
Mr. Volstead has a dress suit, you might take him with you, and show him
just how beautifully Prohibition is working and how enthusiastic the
better classes of American society are about it.
CHAPTER SIX:
A CHAPTER FOR SCHOOLGIRLS
Every Fall a larger number of young girls leave home to come East to the
various Finishing Schools in this section of the country. For the benefit
of those who are making this trip for the first time, we outline a few of
the more important points in connection with the preliminaries to the trip
East, together with minute instructions as to the journey itself.
SELECTING A PROPER SCHOOL
This is, of course, mainly a parent’s problem and is best solved by
resorting to the following formula: Let A and B represent two young girls’
finishing schools in the East. Mrs. Raleigh-Jones (X), from the West,
sends her daughter to A; Mrs. Borax (Y), from the same city, sends her
daughter to B. Upon consulting the local social register, it is found that
Mr. Raleigh-Jones is a member of the Union, Colonial, Town and Country,
and Valley Hunt Clubs; upon consulting the telephone directory it is found
that the Boraxes live at 1217 S. Main Street, and that Mr. Borax is an
undertaker. Shall Mrs. F. B. Gerald (Z) send her daughter Annette to A or
to B, and why?
Answer: A, because life is real, life is earnest, and the grave is not its
goal.
CORRECT EQUIPMENT FOR THE SCHOOLGIRL
Having selected an educational institution, the next requisite is a
suitable equipment. Girls who live in other parts of the United States are
often surprised to discover that the clothes which they have purchased at
the best store in their home town are totally unsuited for the rough
climate of the East. I would, therefore, recommend the following list,
subject, of course, to variation in individual cases.
1 Dress, chine, crepe de, pink, for dancing.
1 Dress, chine, crepe de, pink, for petting.
1 Dress, Swiss, Dotted, blue, or
1 Dress, Swiss, undotted, white.
15 yards Tulle, best quality, pink.
4 bottles perfume, domestic, or
1 bottle, perfume, French.
12 Dozen Dorine, men’s pocket size.
6 Soles, cami, assorted.
1 Brassiere, or riding habit.
100 boxes aspirin, for dances and house-parties.
1 wave, permanent, for conversation.
24 waves, temporary.
10,000 nets, hair.
100,000 pins, hair.
1 bottle Quelques Fleurs, for knockout.
EN ROUTE
After the purchase of a complete outfit, it will be necessary to say
goodbye to one’s local friends. Partings are always somewhat sad, but it
will be found that much simple pleasure may be derived from the last
nights with the various boys to whom one is engaged.
In this connection, however, it would be well to avoid making any rash
statements regarding undying friendship and affection, because, when you
next see Eddie or Walter, at Christmas time, you will have been three
months in the East, while they have been at the State University, and
really, after one starts dancing with Yale men—well, it’s a funny
world.
In case you do not happen to meet any friends on the train, the surest way
to protect yourself from any unwelcome advances is to buy a copy of the
Atlantic Monthly and carry it, in plain view. Next to a hare lip, this is
the safest protection for a travelling young girl that I know of; it has,
however, the one objection that all the old ladies on the train are likely
to tell you what they think of Katherine Fullerton Gerould, or their
rheumatism.
If you are compelled to go to the dining car alone, you will probably sit
beside an Elk with white socks, who will call the waiter “George.” Along
about the second course he will say to you, “It’s warm for September,
isn’t it?” to which you should answer “No.” That will dispose of the Elk.
Across the table from you will be a Grand Army man and his wife, going to
visit their boy Elmer’s wife’s folks in Schenectady. When the fish is
served, the Grand Army man will choke on a bone. Let him choke, but do not
be too hopeful, as the chances are that he will dislodge the bone. All
will go well until the dessert, when his wife will begin telling how
raspberry sherbet always disagrees with her. Offer her your raspberry
sherbet.
After dinner you may wish to read for a while, but the porter will
probably have made up all the berths for the night. It will also be found
that the light in your berth does not work, so you will be awake for a
long time; finally, just as you are leaving Buffalo, you will at last get
to sleep, and when you open your eyes again, you will be—in Buffalo.
There will be two more awakenings that night—once at Batavia, where
a merry wedding party with horns and cow bells will follow the lucky bride
and groom into your car, and once at Schenectady, where the Pullman car
shock-absorbing tests are held. The next morning, tired but unhappy, you
will reach New York.
A JOURNEY AROUND NEW YORK
The Aquarium. Take Fifth Avenue Bus to Times Square. Transfer to 42nd
Street Crosstown. Get off at 44th Street, and walk one block south to the
Biltmore. The most interesting fish will be found underneath the hanging
clock, near the telephone booths.
Grant’s Tomb. Take Fifth Avenue bus, and a light lunch. Change at
Washington Square to a blue serge or dotted Swiss. Ride to the end of the
line, and walk three blocks east. Then return the same way you came,
followed by three fast sets of tennis, a light supper and early to bed. If
you do not feel better in the morning, cut out milk, fresh fruit and
uncooked foods for a while.
Metropolitan Museum of Art. Take Subway to Brooklyn. (Flatbush.) Then ask
the subway guard where to go; he will tell you.
The Bronx. Take three oranges, a lemon, three of gin, to one of vermouth,
with a dash of bitters. Serve cold.
The Ritz. Take taxicab and fifty dollars. If you have only fifty dollars
the filet of sole Marguéry is very good.
Brooklyn Bridge. Terrible. And their auction is worse.
When you have visited all these places, it will probably be time to take
the train to your school.
THE FIRST DAYS IN THE NEW SCHOOL
The first week of school life is apt to be quite discouraging, and we can
not too emphatically warn the young girl not to do anything rash under the
influence of homesickness. It is in this initial period that many girls,
feeling utterly alone and friendless, write those letters to boys back
home which are later so difficult to pass off with a laugh. It is during
this first attack of homesickness also that many girls, in their
loneliness, recklessly accept the friendship of other strange girls, only
to find out later that their new acquaintance’s mother was a Miss
Gundlefinger of Council Bluffs, or that she lives on the south side of
Chicago. We advise: Go slow at first.
BECOMING ACCLIMATIZED
In your first day at school you will be shown your room; in your room you
will find a sad-eyed fat girl. You will be told that this will be your
room mate for the year. You will find that you have drawn a blank, that
she comes from Topeka, Kan., that her paw made his money in oil, and that
she is religious. You will be nice to her for the first week, because you
aren’t taking any chances at the start; you will tolerate her for the rest
of the year, because she will do your lessons for you every night.
Across the hall from you there will be two older girls who are back for
their second year. One of them will remind you of the angel painted on the
ceiling of the Victory Theatre back home, until she starts telling about
her summer at Narragansett; from the other you will learn how to inhale.
A VISITOR FROM PRINCETON
About the middle of the first term your cousin Charley Waldron, that
freshman at Princeton, will write and say that he would like to come up
and see you. You go to Miss French and ask her if you can have your cousin
visit you. She sniffs at the “cousin” and tell’s you that she must have a
letter from Charley’s father, one from Charley’s minister, one from the
governor of your state, and one from some disinterested party certifying
that Charley has never been in the penitentiary, has never committed
arson, and is a legitimate child. After you have secured these letters,
Miss French will tell you that Charley will be allowed to see you next
Saturday from four till five.
Charley will come and will be ushered into the reception room. While he is
sitting there alone, the entire school will walk slowly, one by one, past
the open door and look in at him. This will cause Charley to perspire
freely and to wish to God he had worn his dark suit.
It is not at all likely that you will be allowed to go to New Haven during
your first year, which is quite a pity, as this city, founded in 1638, is
rich in historical interest. It was here, for example, in 1893, that Yale
defeated Harvard at football, and the historic Pigskin which was used that
day is still preserved intact. Many other quaint relics are to be seen in
and around the city of elms, mementos of the past which bring to the
younger generation a knowledge and respect for things gone. In the month
of June, for example, there is really nothing which quite conjures up for
the college youth of today a sense of the mutability and impermanence of
this mortal life so much as the sight of a member of the class of 1875
after three days’ intensive drinking. Eheu fugaces!
“Who shall write first?” is a question that has
perplexed many a lady or gentleman who is anxious to do the correct thing
under any circumstances. A lady who has left town may send a brief note or
a “P. P. C.” (“pour prendre congé,” i.e., “to take leave”) card to a
gentleman who remains at home, if the gentleman is her husband and if she
has left town with his business partner. Neither the note nor the card
requires an acknowledgment, but many a husband takes pleasure in penning
his congratulations to the lady, concluding with an expression of
gratitude to his friend.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
THE ETIQUETTE OF GAMES AND SPORTS
GOLF AS A PASTIME
“Golf” (from an old Scottish word meaning “golf”) is becoming increasingly
popular in the United States, and almost every city now has at least one
private club devoted to the pursuit of this stylish pastime. Indeed, in
many of our larger metropolises, the popular enthusiasm has reached such
heights that free “public” courses have been provided for the citizens
with, I may say, somewhat laughable results, as witness the fact that I
myself have often seen persons playing on these “public” courses in
ordinary shirts and trousers, tennis shoes, and suspenders.
The influence of this “democratization” on the etiquette of what was once
an exclusive sport has been, in many instances, deplorable, and I am sure
that our golf-playing forefathers would turn over in their graves were
they to “play around” today on one of the “public” courses. In no pastime
are the customs and unwritten laws more clearly defined, and it is
essential that the young lady or gentleman of fashion who contemplates an
afternoon on the “links” devote considerable time and attention to the
various niceties of the etiquette of this ancient and honorable game.
A young man, for example, when playing with his employer, should always
take pains to let his employer win. This is sometimes extremely difficult,
but with practice even the most stubborn of obstacles can be overcome. On
the first tee, for instance, after the employer, having swung and missed
the ball completely one or two times, has managed to drive a distance of
some forty-nine yards to the extreme right, the young man should take care
to miss the ball completely three times, and then drive forty-eight yards
to the extreme left. This is generally done by closing the eyes tightly
and rising up sharply on both toes just before hitting the ball.
On the “greens” it is customary for a young man to “concede” his employer
every “putt” which is within twenty feet of the hole. If the employer
insists on “putting” [Ed. note:—He won’t] and misses, the young man
should take care to miss his own “putt.” After both have “holed out,” the
young man should ask, “how many strokes, sir?” The employer will reply,
“Let me see—I think I took seven for this hole, didn’t I?” A
well-bred young man will not under any circumstances remind his employer
that he saw him use at least three strokes for the drive, three strokes
for his second shot, four strokes in the “rough,” seven strokes in the
“bunker,” and three “putts” on the “green,” but will at once reply, “No,
sir, I think you only took six, altogether.” The employer will then say,
“Well, well, call it six. I generally get five on this hole. What did you
take?” The young man should then laugh cheerily and reply, “Oh, I took my
customary seven.” To which the employer will sympathetically say, “Too
bad!”
After the employer has thus won his first three holes he will begin to
offer the young man advice on how to improve his game. This is perhaps the
most trying part of the afternoon’s sport, but a young man of correct
breeding and good taste will always remember the respect due an older man,
and will not make the vulgar error of telling his employer for God’s sake
shut up before he gets a brassie in his———— ear.
A wife playing with her husband should do everything in her power to make
the game enjoyable for the latter. She should encourage him, when
possible, with little cheering proverbs, such as, “If at first you don’t
succeed, try, try again,” and she should aid him with her advice when she
thinks he is in need of it. Thus, when he drives into the sycamore tree on
number eleven, she should say, “Don’t you think, dear, that if you aimed a
little bit more to the right....” et cetera. When they come to number
fourteen, and his second shot lands in the middle of the lake, she should
remark, “Perhaps you didn’t hit it hard enough, dear.” And when, on the
eighteenth, his approach goes through the second-story window of the
club-house, she should say, “Dear, I wonder if you didn’t hit that too
hard?” Such a wife is a true helpmate, and not merely a pretty ornament on
which a silly husband can hang expensive clothes, and if he is the right
sort of man, he will appreciate this, and refrain from striking her with a
niblick after this last remark.
A young wife who does not play the game herself can, nevertheless, be of
great help to her husband by listening patiently, night after night, while
he tells her how he drove the green on number three, and took a four on
number eight (Par five), and came up to the fourteenth one under fours.
Caddies should be treated at all times with the respect and pity due one’s
fellow creatures who are “unfortunate.” The sins of the fathers are
visited upon the children, and one should always remember that it is not,
after all, the poor caddy’s fault that he was born blind.
AN AFTERNOON AT THE OLD FARM WITH THE DICE
“Craps” is a game played with dice, which is often popular in the men’s
coat and smoking-rooms before and during formal receptions, balls,
recitals, etcetera. It should not be imagined, however, that “craps” is a
sport for men only; on the contrary, smart women are enthusiastically
taking up this sport in numerous localities, and many an affair which
started as a dinner party or a musicale has ended in a crap game, with all
the guests seated in an excited circle on the floor, contributing to the
host’s efforts to make expenses for the evening.
It is in connection with these “mixed” games, however, that most of the
more serious questions of “craps” etiquette arise. If, for example, you
are a young man desirous of “shooting craps” with your grandmother, the
correct way of indicating your desire when you meet the old lady in a
public place is for you to remove your hat deferentially and say “Shoot a
nickel, Grandmother?” If she wishes to play she will reply “Shoot, boy!”
and you should then select some spot suitable for the game and assist her,
if she wishes your aid, to kneel on the ground. It might be an added mark
of gentility to offer her your handkerchief or coat upon which to rest her
knees.
You should then take out the dice and “shoot.” Your grandmother will look
at your “throw” and say, “Oh, boy! He fives—he fives—a three
and a two—never make a five—come on, you baby seven!” You
should then take up the dice again and shake them in your right hand while
your grandmother chants, “A four and a three—a four and a two—dicety
dice, and an old black joe—come on, you SEVEN!” You should then
again “shoot.” This time, as you have thrown a six and a one, your
grandmother will then exclaim, “He sevens—the boy sevens—come
on to grandmother, dice—talk to the nice old lady—Phoebe for
grandma, dice, for grandpa needs a new pair of shoes—shoot a dime!”
She will then “throw,” and so the game will go on until the old lady
evidences a desire to stop, or, possibly, until either you or she are
“cleaned out.” In this latter case, however, it would be a customary act
of courtesy towards an older person for you to offer to shoot your
grandmother for her shawl or her side combs, thus giving her several more
chances to win back the money she has lost. It should be recommended that
young men never make a mistake in going a little out of their way on
occasion to make life more pleasant and agreeable for the aged.
CORRECT BEHAVIOR ON A PICNIC
There often comes a time in the life of the members of “society” when they
grow a little weary of the ceaseless round of teas, balls and dinners, and
for such I would not hesitate to recommend a “picnic.”
A day spent in the “open,” with the blue sky over one’s head, is indeed a
splendid tonic for jaded nerves. But one should not make the mistake of
thinking that because he (or she) is “roughing it” for a day, he (or she)
can therefore leave behind his (or her) “manners,” for such is not the
case. There is a distinct etiquette for picnics, and any one who
disregards this fact is apt to find to his (or her) sorrow that the “shoe”
in this case is decidedly “on the other foot.”
A young man, for example, is often asked by a young lady to accompany her
on a “family picnic.” To this invitation he should, after some
consideration, reply either “Yes” or “No,” and if the former, he should
present himself at the young lady’s house promptly on the day set for the
affair (usually Sunday).
A “family picnic” generally consists of a Buick, a father, a mother, a
daughter, a small son, beef loaf, lettuce sandwiches, a young man (you),
two blow-outs, one spare tire, and Aunt Florence.
The father drives with his small boy beside him; in the rear are the
mother, the daughter, Aunt Florence, the thermos bottles, the lunch
baskets and you. As you take your seat you must remember that it is a
distinct evidence of bad breeding to show in any way that you are
conscious of the fact that the car has been standing for the last hour and
forty-four minutes in the hot July sun.
“We’re off!” cries father, pressing his foot on the self-starting pedal.
Thirty minutes later you roll away from the curb and the picnic has begun.
The intervening time has, of course, been profitably spent by you in
walking to the nearest garage for two new sparkplugs.
It should be your duty, as guest, to see that the conversation in the rear
seat is not allowed to lag. “It’s a great day,” you remark, as the car
speeds along. “I think it’s going to rain,” replies Aunt Florence. “Not
too fast, Will!” says mother. “Mother!” says the daughter.
Ten minutes later you should again remark, “My, what a wonderful day!”
“Those clouds are gathering in the west,” says Aunt Florence, “I think we
had better put the top up.” “I think this is the wrong road,” says mother.
“Dear, I know what I’m doing,” replies father.
The secret of good conversation lies in discovering the “hobby” of the
person with whom one is conversing, and a good talker always throws out
several “feelers” in order to find out the things in which his partner is
most interested. You should, therefore, next say to mother, “Don’t you
think this is a glorious day for a picnic?” to which she will reply,
“Well, I’m sure this is the wrong road. Hadn’t you better ask?” The
husband will answer nothing, but Aunt Florence will murmur, “I think I
felt a drop of rain, Will. If you don’t put the top up now, we’ll all be
drenched.”
The husband will then stop the car, and you and he will proceed to put up
the top. In doing this, it is customary for the guest to get the second
and third fingers of his right hand so severely pinched that he can not
use the hand for several days. As soon as the top is up and the rain
curtains are in place the sun will come out and you can at once get out
and put the top down, taking care this time to ruin two fingers of the
left hand.
No good conversationalist confines himself exclusively to one subject, and
when you are once more “under way” you should remark to the mother, “I
think that motoring is great fun, don’t you, Mrs. Caldwell?” Her answer
will be, “I wish you wouldn’t drive so fast!” You should then smile and
say to Aunt Florence, “Don’tyou think that motoring is great fun, Mrs.
Lockwood?” As she is about to reply, the left rear tire will blow out with
a loud noise and the car will come to a bumping stop.
The etiquette of changing a tire is fairly simple. As soon as the
“puncture” occurs one should at once remark, “Is there anything I can do?”
This request should be repeated from time to time, always taking care,
however, that no one takes it at all seriously. The real duty of a young
man who is a “guest” on a motor trip on which a “blow-out” occurs is, of
course, to keep the ladies of the party amused during the delay. This can
be accomplished by any of the conventional methods, such as card tricks,
handsprings, and other feats of athletic agility, or making funny jokes
about the host who is at work on the tire.
When the damage has been repaired and the car is once more speeding along,
leaving behind it mile after mile of dusty road as well as father’s best
“jack” and set of tire tools, the small boy will suddenly remark, “I’m
hungry.” His father will then reply, “We’ll be at a fine place to eat in
ten minutes.” Thirty minutes later mother will remark, “Will, that looks
like a good place for a picnic over there.” The father will reply, “No—we’re
coming to a wonderful place—just trust me, Mary!” Twenty minutes
later Aunt Florence will say, “Will, I think that grove over there would
be fine for our lunch,” to which the husband will reply, “We’re almost at
the place I know about—it’s ideal for a picnic.” Forty minutes after
this, father will stop the car and point to a clump of trees. “There,” he
will say, “what do you think of that?” “Oh, we can’t eat there!” will be
the answer of mother, daughter and Aunt Florence. “Drive on a bit further—I
think I know a place.”
Three hours and thirty minutes later (i. e. four hours past your normal
lunch hour) there will be another puncture and as the car stops beside a
wheat field it will begin to rain, and the daughter will sigh, “Well, we
might as well eat here.” The “picnic” will then be held in the car, and
nothing really quite carries one back to nature and primeval man as does
warm lemonade and a lettuce sandwich in a Buick with the top up and side
curtains on.
After lunch it will be time to return home, and after you and father have
ruined your clothes in repairing the punctures, the merry party will
proceed on its way. The next morning, if you have not caught pneumonia,
you will be able to go to your work greatly refreshed by your day’s outing
in the lap of old Mother Nature.
Nowhere is the etiquette of travel more abused than
our subways. The gentleman shown above is en route to his fiancée’s flat
in the Bronx. He has neglected to purchase the customary bouquet for his
intended and has offered his seat to the lady, who is standing, in exchange for
her corsage bouquet. Should she accept the proposition without further ado, or
should she request the guard to introduce the gentleman first?
The young lady has received an invitation to a
quilting-bee from a Mrs. Steenwyck and, anxious to make a correct reply, she
has bought a Complete Letter Writer to aid her to this end. To her surprise and
dismay, she finds that it contains three model replies to such an invitation
beginning “Dear Mrs. Peartree,” “Dear Mrs. Rombouts,”
and “Dear Mrs. Bevy,” and one invitation to a christening
beginning, “Dear Mrs. Steenwyck,” but no reply to an invitation to
a quilting-bee beginning “Dear Mrs. Steenwyck.” PERFECT
BEHAVIOR settles such perplexities.
Crests or other armorial bearings on notepaper are no
longer considered absolutely necessary to establish one’s social
position. Nevertheless, if one feels that note-paper that does not bear the
family escutcheon is not quite all that note-paper should be, it is permissible
to have it stamped neatly at the top of the first sheet. Care should be
exercised to avoid selecting coats-of-arms that might be recognized, such as
that of the United States or Great Britain. Rather solicit the taste of a good
stationer than commit the blunders depicted above.
BOXING IN AMERICAN SOCIETY
Although many of America’s foremost boxers have been persons whom one
would not care to know socially, yet much fun and pleasure can be had out
of the “manly art” if practised in a gentlemanly manner.
“Boxing parties” are generally held in the evening. The ballroom of one’s
home can be pleasantly decorated for the occasion, with a square ring
roped off in the centre surrounded by seats for the ladies and gentlemen
who come as invited guests. Evening dress is usually worn.
The contests should be between various members of one’s social “set” who
are fond of the sport and can be counted on to remember at all times that
they are gentlemen.
The matches should be arranged in tournament form, so that the winner of
one bout meets the winner of the next bout, et cetera, until all but two
have been eliminated. The boxer who wins this final contest shall be
proclaimed the “champion.”
Great fun can then be had by announcing that the “champion” will be
permitted to box three rounds with a “masked marvel.” The identity of this
“unknown” (who is usually Jack Dempsey or some other noted professional
pugilist) should be kept carefully secret, so that all the guests are in a
glow of mystified excitement when the contest begins, and you can imagine
their delight and happy enthusiasm when the “masked marvel” cleverly
knocks the “champion” for a double loop through the ropes into the lap of
some tittering “dowager.”
Refreshments should then be served and the “champion” can be carried home
in a car or ambulance provided by the thoughtful host.
BRIDGE WHIST
“Bridge whist,” or “Bridge,” as it is often called by the younger
generation, is rapidly replacing whist as the favorite card game of good
society, and “bridge” parties are much en vogue for both afternoon and
evening entertainments. In order to become an expert “bridge” player one
must, of course, spend many months and even years in a study of the game,
but any gentleman or lady of average intelligence can, I believe, pick up
the fundamentals of “bridge” in a short while.
Let us suppose, for example, that you, as a “young man about town,” are
invited to play “bridge” on the evening of Friday, November seventeenth,
at the home of Mrs. Franklin Gregory. Now, although you may have played
the game only once or twice in your life, it would never do to admit the
fact, for in good society one is supposed to play “bridge” just as one is
supposed to hate newspaper publicity, and on the evening of Friday,
November seventeenth, you should present yourself in suitable attire at
Mrs. Gregory’s home.
There you will find fifteen or twenty other guests, and after a few
minutes of light social banter a bell will ring and the players will take
their places. At your table will be Mrs. F. Jamison Dollings (your
partner) and Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Watts. Mrs. Dollings (Sept. 6, 1880) is
considered one of the most expert “bridge” players in the city, while Mr.
Watts has one of the largest retail clothing stores in the central part of
the State. Mrs. Watts was one of the Van Cortlandt girls (the plain one).
As you are probably (next to Mr. and Mrs. Watts) the worst “bridge” player
in the room it should be your duty to make up for this deficiency by
keeping the other three players conversationally stimulated, for nothing
so enlivens a game of “bridge” as a young man or woman with a pleasing
personality and a gift for “small talk.” Thus, at the very beginning,
after you have finished dealing the cards, you should fill in what seems
to you an embarrassing pause by telling one of your cleverest stories, at
the conclusion of which Mrs. Dollings will remark, “We are waiting for
your bid, Mr. S——.”
The etiquette of “bidding,” as far as you are concerned, should resolve
itself into a consistent effort on your part to become “dummy” for each
and every game. The minute your partner (Mrs. Dollings) bids anything, it
should be your duty as a gentleman to see that she gets it, no matter what
the cost.
Thus, on the first hand, you “pass.” Mr. Watts then says, “Wait a minute,
till I get these cards fixed”; to which Mrs. Watts replies, “Theodore, for
Heaven’s sake, how long do you want?” Mr. Watts then says, “Which is
higher—clubs or hearts?” to which Mrs. Watts replies, “Clubs.” Mrs.
Dollings then says, “I beg your pardon, but hearts have always been
considered higher than clubs.” Mrs. Watts says, “Oh, yes, of course,” and
gives Mr. Watts a mean look. Mr. Watts then says, “I bid—let’s see—I
bid two spades—no, two diamonds.” Mrs. Dollings quickly says, “Two
lilies,” Mr. Watts says, “What’s a lily?” to which Mrs. Watts replies,
“Theodore!” and then bids “Two spades,” at which Mrs. Dollings says, “I
beg your pardon, but I have just bid two spades.” Mr. Watts then chuckles,
and Mrs. Watts says (but not to Mr. Watts), “I beg your pardon.” Mrs.
Watts then bids “Three spades,” at which you quickly say, “Four spades.”
This bid is not “raised.” Mrs. Dollings then says to you, “I am counting
on your spades to help me out,” at which you look at the only spade in
your hand (the three) and answer, “Ha! Ha! Ha!” There is then a wait of
four minutes, at the end of which Mrs. Dollings wearily says, “It is your
first lead, is it not, Mrs. Watts?” Mrs. Watts then blushes, says, “Oh, I
beg your pardon!” and leads the four of hearts. You then lay down your
“dummy” hand. Before Mrs. Dollings has had time to discover just what you
have done to her, you should rise quickly and say, “Excuse me, but I want
to use the telephone a minute.” You should then go into the next room and
wait ten or fifteen minutes. When you return Mrs. Dollings will have
disappeared, Mrs. Watts will be looking fixedly at Mr. Watts, and Mr.
Watts will be saying, “Well, it’s a silly game, anyway.”
You and Mr. and Mrs. Watts can then have a nice game of twenty-five cent
limit stud poker for the rest of the evening, and it would certainly be
considered a thoughtful and gracious “gesture” if, during the next two or
three weeks, you should call occasionally at the hospital to see how Mrs.
Dollings is “getting on,” or you might even send some flowers or a nice
potted plant.
FORMAL AND INFORMAL DRINKING
“Drinking” has, of course, always been a popular sport among the members
of the better classes of society, but never has the enthusiasm for this
pastime been so great in America as since the advent of “prohibition.”
Gentlemen and ladies who never before cared much for “drinking” have now
given up almost all other amusements in favor of this fascinating sport;
young men and debutantes have become, in the last few years, fully as
expert in the game as their parents. In many cities “drinking” has become
more popular than “bridge” or dancing and it is predicted that, with a few
more years of “prohibition,” “drinking” will supersede golf and baseball
as the great American pastime.
The effect of this has been to change radically many of the fundamental
rules of the sport, and the influence on the etiquette of the game has
been no less marked. What was considered “good form” in this pastime among
our forefathers now decidedly démodé, and the correct drinker of 1910 is
as obsolete and out of date in the present decade as the “frock-coat.”
The game today is divided into (a) formal and (b) informal drinking.
“Formal drinking” is usually played after dinner and is more and more
coming to take the place of charades, sleight-of-hand performances, magic
lantern shows, “dumb crambo,” et cetera, as the parlor amusement par
excellence. “Formal drinking” can be played by from one to fifteen people
in a house of ordinary dimensions; for a larger number it is generally
better to provide a garage, a large yard, and special police, fire and
plate glass insurance. The game is played with glasses, ice, and a dozen
bottles of either whisky or gin.
The sport is begun by the host’s wife, who says, “How would you all like
to play a little bridge?” This is followed by silence. Another wife then
says, “I think it would be awfully nice to play a little bridge.” One of
the men players then steps forward and says “I think it would be awfully
nice to have a little drink.”
An “It” is then selected—always, by courtesy, the host. The “It”
then says, “How would you all like to have a little drink?” The men
players then answer in the affirmative and the “It’s” wife says, “Now
Henry dear, please—remember what happened last time.” The “It”
replies, “Yes, dear,” and goes into the cellar, while the “It’s” wife,
after providing each guest with a glass, puts away the Dresden china
clock, the porcelain parrot. and the gold fish globe.
Sides are chosen—usually with the husbands on one “team” and the
wives on the other. The purpose of the game is for the “husbands’, team”
to try to drink up all the “It’s” liquor before the “wives’ team” can get
them to go home.
When the “It” returns with the liquor he pours out a portion for each
player and at a given signal all drink steadily for several minutes. The
“It’s” wife then says, “Now—how about a few rubbers of bridge?” She
is immediately elected “team captain” for the rest of the evening. It is
the duty of the “team captain” to provide cracked ice and water, to get
ready the two spare bedrooms, to hold Wallie Spencer’s hand, to keep Eddie
Armstrong from putting his lighted cigaret ends on the piano, and to break
up the party as soon as possible. The game generally ends when (1) the
liquor is all gone, (2) the “It” (or three guests) have passed “out,” (3)
Wallie Spencer starts telling about his war experiences. “Informal”
drinking needs, of course, no such elaborate preparations and can be
played anywhere and any time there is anything to drink. The person who is
caught with the liquor is “It,” and the object of the game is to take all
the liquor away from the “It” as soon as possible. In order to avoid being
“It,” many players sometimes resort to various low subterfuges, such as
sneaking down alone to the club locker-room during a dance, but this
practise is generally looked upon with great disfavor—especially by
that increasingly large group of citizens who are unselfishly devoting
their lives to the cause of a “dry America” by consuming all of the
present rapidly diminishing visible supply.
A JOLLY HALLOWE’EN PARTY
The problem of providing suitable entertainment for one’s informal parties
is something which has perplexed many a host and hostess in recent years.
How often has it happened that just when you had gotten your guests nicely
seated around the parlor listening to the Caruso record, some ill-mannered
fellow would remark, “Oh, Lord—let’s go over to the Tom Phillips’
and get something to drink.” How many times in the past have you prepared
original little “get-together” games, such as Carol Kennicott did in Main
Street, only to find that, when you again turned the lights on, half the
company had disappeared for the evening.
Of course we cannot all be as startlingly clever as Carol, but Hallowe’en,
which comes this year on October 31st, offers a splendid opportunity for
originality and “peppy” fun. The following suggestions are presented to
ambitious hostesses with the absolute guaranty that no matter what other
reactions her guests may have, they will certainly not be bored.
Few people realize the value of picture post-cards as
indicators of the birth, breeding, and character of the sender, yet nothing so
definitely “places” a person socially as his choice of these
souvenirs. Could you have selected the senders of the above cards?
In spite of his haughty airs and fine clothes, the
gentleman betrays that he is not much accustomed to good society when, having
been asked by his hostess if he would care to remove his coat and waistcoat
during the warm evening of bridge, he, in doing so, reveals the presence of
several useful cards hidden about his person. This sort of thing, while often
tolerated at less formal “stag” poker-parties, is seldom, ever,
permissible when ladies are present. The young man was simply ignorant of the
fact that Hoyle and not Herman the Great is the generally accepted authority on
cards in the “beau monde.”
INVITATIONS
The whole spirit of Hallowe’en is, of course, one of “spooky” gayety and
light-hearted ghastliness. Witches and ghosts run riot; corpses dance and
black cats howl. “More work for the undertaker” should be the leitmotif of
the evening’s fun.
The moribund spirit can be delightfully observed, first of all, in the
preparation of the invitations. I know of one hostess, for instance, who
gained a great reputation for originality by enclosing a dead fish with
each bidding to the evening’s gayeties. It is, of course, not at all
necessary to follow her example to the letter; the enclosure of anything
dead will suffice, providing, of course, that it is not TOO dead. There is
such a thing as carrying a joke beyond the limits of propriety, and the
canons of good taste should always be respectfully observed.
Another amusing way of preparing invitations is to cut out colored paper
in the shape of cats, witches, etc., upon which appropriate verses are
inscribed. Such as:
“Next Monday night is Hallowe’en,
You big stiff.”
or
“On Monday next comes All-Hallows-Even,
My grandmother’s maiden name was Stephens.”
or
“On Hallowe’en you may see a witch
If you don’t look out, you funny fellow.”
or
“Harry and I are giving a Hallowe’en party;
Harry says you owe him four dollars; please be prompt.
or
“Monday night the ghosts do dance;
Why didn’t you enlist and go to France,
You slacker?”
Another novel invitation is made by cutting a piece of yellow paper
thirteen inches long and four inches wide, and writing on each inch one of
the lines given below. Then begin at the bottom and fold the paper up,
inch by inch. Fasten the last turn down with a “spooky” gummed sticker,
and slip into a small envelope. When the recipient unfolds the invitation,
he will be surprised to read the following:
Now what on earth
do you suppose
is in this
little folder
keep turning
ha ha ha
further
ha ha ha
further
ha ha ha,
further
ha ha ha
further
It would perhaps be best to telephone the next day to those guests whom
you really want, and give them further details as to the date and time of
the party. Additional fun can be gotten out of this invitation by failing
to put postage stamps on the envelopes when you mail them; the two cents
which each guest will have to pay for postage due can be returned in a
novel manner on the night of the party by inserting them in sandwiches or
stuffed tomatoes.
For those who may wish to send out more elaborate invitations, the
following distinctly original plan is suggested: Procure a number of small
alarm clocks and a quantity of nitroglycerine or other high explosive.
Insert in each clock a small amount of the nitroglycerine, being careful
not to put too much; a quantity sufficient to wreck a room 20 X 30 Will
generally suffice. Then arrange the alarm mechanism so that the explosion
will occur at 12 midnight. Attach to the clock a card, neatly decorated
with witches, goblins, etc., on which is written
“Midnight is the mystic hour
Of yawning graves and coffins dour.
Beneath your bed this clock please hide
And when it strikes—you’ll be surprised.”
These clocks should then be delivered in the afternoon to those of the
guests whom you are merely inviting because they are your husband’s
business associates, or because they were nice to your mother when she did
her own work. Later on, in order to avoid hard feelings on the part of
relatives and friends of the deceased, it might be well to explain to them
that you sent the clocks only in the spirit of Hallowe’en fun; it might
even help to invite them to one of your next parties.
RECEIVING THE GUESTS
On Hallowe’en night great care should be taken in the preparations for
receiving the guests in a mystic manner; no pains should be spared in the
effort to start the evening off with a “bang.”
Several novel ideas are offered for starting the guests off on the right
informal spirit. Before they arrive, it is a good plan to take the street
number off your house and fasten it to the porch of your next door
neighbors, who will, of course, be at home because they are perfectly
impossible people whom no one would invite anywhere. Extinguish all the
lights in your own house; your neighbor, as he comes downstairs
twenty-five or thirty times in the next hour, will obligingly tell your
bewildered friends specifically where to go.
When the guest finally learns from the neighborhood policeman which house
on the block is really yours he will discover on your door a sign reading:
“If you would be my Valentine,
Follow please the bright green line.”
Leading from the door is a green cord which the mystified guest proceeds
to follow, according to directions. This cord should guide the way to the
coal cellar of your other neighbor who has recently purchased an automatic
revolver under the delusion that burglars are operating in the
neighborhood. As your bewildered guest gropes his way about the cellar, it
is quite likely that he will be shot at several times and by the time he
emerges (if he does emerge) he will be quite delightfully full of the
informal spirit of Hallowe’en and ready for anything.
HOW TO MYSTIFY
At this point, your wife, dressed as a witch, should unexpectedly rush out
at him; there is always the delightful possibility that he will pick up a
convenient rock and brain her on the spot—an event which often adds
an unexpected touch of gayety to the evening’s fun. If, however, no such
event occurs, the guest should be blindfolded and led into the house. Once
inside he is conducted upstairs to the attic, where he will find three or
four earlier arrivals also blindfolded.
The hands and feet of these four are then securely tied and they are told
that they are to be left there all evening. This is really a great joke,
because they do not, of course, at the time, believe what you say, and
when you come up to untie them the next morning, their shame-faced
discomposure is truly laughable.
The green-cord-into-neighbor’s-coal-cellar joke can be cleverly varied by
taking the lid off your cistern and making the green line lead in that
direction. Great care should be taken, however, to keep an exact account
of the number of guests who succumb to this trick, for although an
unexpected “ducking” is excruciatingly humorous, drowning often results
fatally.
Great fun can be added to the evening’s entertainment by dressing several
of the guests as ghosts, witches, corpses, etc; these costumes can be
quite simply and economically made in the home, or can be procured from
some reliable department store.
An “old-fashioned” witch’s costume consists of a union suit (Munsing or
any other standard brand), corset, brassiere, chemise, underpetticoat,
overpetticoat, long black skirt, long black stockings, shoes, black waist
and shawl, with a pointed witch’s hat and a broomstick. The “modern”
witch’s costume is much simpler and inexpensive in many details.
A particularly novel and “hair raising” effect may be produced by painting
the entire body of one of the male guests with phosphorus. As this glowing
nude stalks uncannily through the darkened rooms you may easily imagine
the ghastly effect—especially upon his wife.
GAMES
After the guests have sufficiently amused themselves with the ghosts and
witches it will be time to commence some of the many games which are
always associated with Hallowe’en. “Bobbing for apples” is, of course, the
most common of these games and great sport it is, too, to watch the
awkward efforts of the guests as they try to pick up with their teeth the
apples floating in a large tub. I know of one hostess who added greatly to
the evening’s fun by pouring twelve quarts of gin into the tub; the effect
on the bobbers was, of course, extremely comical, except for the
unfortunate conduct of two gentlemen, one of whom went to sleep in the
tub, the other so far forgetting himself as playfully to throw all the
floating fruit at the hostess’ pet Pomeranian.
Most Hallowe’en games concern themselves with delving into the future in
the hopes that one may there discover one’s husband or bride-to-be. In one
of these games the men stand at one end of the room, facing the girls,
with their hands behind their backs and eyes tightly closed. The girls are
blindfolded and one by one they are led to within six feet of the
expectant men and given a soft pin cushion which they hurl forward. The
tradition is that whichever man the girl hits, him will she marry. Great
fun can be added to the game by occasionally substituting a rock or iron
dumb-bell in place of the romantic pin cushion.
Another game based on a delightful old Hallowe’en tradition is as follows:
A girl is given a lighted candle and told to walk upstairs into the room
at the end of the hall where, by looking in a mirror, she will see her
future husband. Have it arranged so that you are concealed alone in the
room. When the girl arrives, look over her shoulder into the mirror. She
had better go downstairs after ten minutes, though, so that another girl
can come up. This tradition dates from before William the Conqueror.
No Hallowe’en is complete, of course, without fortune telling. Dress
yourself as a wizard and have the guests led in one by one to hear their
fortune told. Hanging in front of you should be a caldron, from which you
extract the slip of paper containing the particular fortune. These slips
of paper should be prepared beforehand. The following are suggested:
“You will meet a well dressed, good looking man who understands you better
than your husband. How about Thursday at the Plaza?”
“You are about to receive a shipment of Scotch whisky that you ordered
last month. And it’s about time you kicked across with some of your own.”
“You will have much trouble in your life if you lie about your golf score
as you did last Sunday on Number 12.”
Still another pleasing Hallowe’en game, based on the revelation of one’s
matrimonial future, is played as follows: Seven lighted candles are placed
in a row on a table. The men are then blindfolded, whirled around three
times and commanded to blow out the candles. The number extinguished at a
blow tells the number of years before they meet their bride. This game
only grows interesting, of course, when some old goat with long whiskers
can be induced to take a blind shot at blowing out the candles. Have
Pyrene convenient—but not too convenient to spoil the fun.
For the older members of the party, the host should provide various games
of cards and dice. In keeping with the ghastly spirit of the occasion, it
would be well to have the dice carefully loaded. Many hosts have thus been
able to make all expenses and often a handsome profit out of the evening’s
entertainment.
If the crap game goes particularly well, many hosts do not hesitate to
provide elaborate refreshments for the guests. Here, too, the spirit of
fun and jollity should prevail, and great merriment is always provoked by
the ludicrous expression of the guest who has broken two teeth on the
cast-iron olive. Other delightful surprises should be arranged, and a
little Sloan’s liniment in the punch or ground glass in the ice cream will
go a long way toward making the supper amusing. And finally, when the
guests are ready to depart and just before they discover that you have cut
cute little black cats and witches out of the backs of their evening wraps
and over coats, it would perhaps be well to run up stairs and lock
yourself securely in your room.
CHAPTER EIGHT:
CORRESPONDENCE AND INVITATIONS
CORRESPONDENCE
It is narrated of a well-known English lady (who is noted on the other
side of the Atlantic for the sharpness of her wit) that on one occasion,
when a vainglorious American was boasting of his country’s prowess in
digging the Panama Canal, she calmly waited until he had finished and then
replied, with an indescribable smile, “Ah—but you Americans do not
know how to write letters.” Needless to say the discomfited young man took
himself off at the earliest opportunity.
There is much truth, alas, in the English lady’s clever retort, for the
automatic typewriter, the telegraph, and the penny postal card have done
much to cause a gradual decline in the gentle art of correspondence. As
one American woman recently remarked to a visitor (with more wit, however,
than good taste), “Yes, we do have correspondents here—but they are
all in the divorce courts.”
CORRESPONDENCE FOR YOUNG LADIES
There are certain rules in regard to correct letter-writing which must be
followed by all who would “take their pen in hand.” Young people are the
most apt to offend in this respect against the accepted canons of good
taste and it is to these that I would first address the contents of this
chapter. A young girl often lets her high spirits run away with her amour
propre, with the result that her letters, especially those addressed to
strangers, are often lacking in that dignity which is the sine qua non of
correct correspondence.
Consider, for example, the following two letters composed by Miss Florence
......, a debutante of New York City, who is writing to a taxidermist
thanking him for his neat work in having recently stuffed her deceased pet
Alice. The first of these letters illustrates the evil to which I have
just referred, viz., the complete absence of proper dignity. The second,
written with the aid of her mama, whose experience in social affairs has
been considerable, shows the correct method of corresponding with
comparative strangers.
An Incorrect Letter from a Débutante to a Taxidermist Thanking Him for
Having Stuffed Her Pet Alice
DEAR MR. Epps:
Aren’t you an old peach to have gone and stuffed Alice so
prettily! Really, Mr. Epps, I never saw such a knockout piece of
taxidermy, even in Europe, and I simply adore it. Mother gave a
dinner party last night and everybody was just wild about it and
wanted to know who had done it. How on earth did you manage to
get the wings to stay like that? And the eyes are just too
priceless for words. Honestly, every time I look at it, it’s so
darned natural that I can’t believe Alice is really dead. I guess
you must be pretty dog-goned crazy about birds yourself to have
done such a lovely job on Alice, and I guess you know how
perfectly sick I was over her death. Honestly, Mr. Epps, she was
such a peach of an owl. But I suppose it had to be, and anyway,
thanks just heaps for having done such a really perfectly
gorgeous bit of taxidermy.
Gratefully,
FLORENCE CHASE.
593 Fifth Avenue,
New York City.
The above is, you observe, quite lacking in that reserve with which young
ladies should always treat strange gentlemen and especially those who are
not in their own social “set.” Slang may be excusable in shop girls or
baseball players, but never in the mouth of a young lady with any
pretensions to breeding. And the use of “darned” and “dog-goned” is simply
unpardonable. Notice, now, the way in which Miss Florence writes the
letter after, her mama has given her the proper instruction.
A Correct Letter from a Débutante to a Taxidermist Thanking Him for Having
Stuffed Her Pet Alice
Mr. Lloyd Epps, Taxidermist,
New York City.
DEAR SIR:
It is with sincere pleasure that I take my pen in hand to
compliment you upon the successful manner in which you have
rendered your services as taxidermist upon my late owl Alice.
Death in the animal kingdom is all too often regarded with an
unbecoming levity or, at least, a careless lack of sympathetic
appreciation, and it is with genuine feelings of gratitude that I
pen these lines upon the occasion of the receipt of the sample of
the excellent manner in which you have performed your task. Of
the same opinion is my father, a vice-president of the Guaranty
Trust Co., and himself a taxidermist of no inconsiderable merit,
who joins me in expressing to you our most grateful appreciation.
Sincerely yours,
FLORENCE ELIOT CHASE.
December 11, 1922.
The young man is leaving the home of his host in
“high dudgeon.” He is of the type rather slangily known among the
members of our younger set as “finale hopper” which means, in the
“King’s English,” one who is very fond of dancing. His
indignation is well founded, since it is not the custom among members of the
socially elite to comment in the presence of the guest on either the quantity
of soup consumed or the method of consumption adopted. These things should be
left for the privacy of the boudoir or smoking den where they will afford much
innocent amusement. Nor is the host mending matters by his kindly meant but
perhaps tactless offer of a nickel for carfare.
The gentleman with the excellent teeth has just been
guilty of a gross social error. Wrongly supposing that the secret of popularity
lies in a helpful spirit and having discovered that the son of his hostess is
about to enter a dental school, he has removed the excellent teeth (false) from
his mouth and passed them around for inspection. The fact that the teeth are of
the latest mode does not in any way condone the breach. Leniency in such
matters is not recommended. “Facilis descensus Averni” as one of
the great poets of the Middle Ages so aptly put it.
COLLEGE BOYS
It is the tendency of the age to excuse many social errors in young
people, and especially is this true of the mischievous pranks of college
boys. If Harvard football heroes and their “rooters,” for example, wish to
let their hair grow long and wear high turtle-necked red “sweaters,”
corduroy trousers and huge “frat” pins, I, for one, can see no grave
objection, for “boys will be boys” and I am, I hope, no “old fogy” in such
matters. But I also see no reason why these same young fellows should not
be interested in the graces of the salon and the arts of the drawing-room.
Consider, for example, the following two letters, illustrating the correct
and incorrect method in which two young college men should correspond, and
tell me if there is not some place in our college curriculum for a
Professor of Deportment:
An Incorrect Letter from a Princeton Student to a Yale Student
Congratulating the Latter on His Football Victory
DEAR MIKE:
Here’s your damn money. I was a fool to give you odds.
ED.
P. S. What happened at the Nass? I woke up Sunday with a terrific
welt on my forehead and somebody’s hat with the initials L. G.
T., also a Brooks coat. Do you know whose they are? P. P. S.
Please for God’s sake don’t cash this check until the fifteenth
or I’m ruined.
And here is the way in which I would suggest that this same letter be
indited.
A Correct Letter from a Princeton Student to a Yale Student Congratulating
the Latter on His Football Victory
MY DEAR “FRIENDLY ENEMY”:
Well, well, it was a jolly game, wasn’t it, and it was so good to
see you in “Old Nassau.” I am sorry that you could not have come
earlier in the fall, when the trees were still bronze and gold. I
also regret exceedingly that you did not stay over until Sunday,
for it would have been such a treat to have taken you to see the
Graduate School buildings and the Cleveland Memorial Tower.
However, “better luck next time.”
The enclosed check is, as you may well guess, in payment of our
wager on the result of the gridiron-contest. Truly, I am almost
glad that I lost, for I can not but think that gambling in any
form is at best an unprofitable diversion, and this has taught
me, I hope, a lesson from which I may well benefit. Do not think
me a “prig,” dear Harry, I beg of you, for I am sure that you
will agree with me that even a seemingly innocent wager on a
football match may lead in later life to a taste for gambling
with dice and cards or even worse. Shall we not agree to make
this our last wager—or at least, next time, let us not lend it
the appearance of professional gambling by giving “odds,” such as
I gave you this year.
You must have thought it frightfully rude of me not to have seen
you to the train after that enjoyable evening at the Nassau Inn,
but to tell you the truth, Harry, the nervous excitement of the
day proved too much for me and I was forced to retire. My
indisposition was further accentuated by a slight mishap which
befell me outside the Inn but which need cause you no alarm as a
scalp wound was the only result and a few days’ rest in my cozy
dormitory room will soon set matters to rights. I trust, however,
that you will explain to your friends the cause of my sudden
departure and my seeming inhospitality. Such jolly fellows they
were—and I am only too glad to find that the “bulldogs” are as
thoroughly nice as the chaps we have down here. Incidentally, I
discovered, somewhat to my dismay, as you may well imagine, that
in taking my departure I inadvertently “walked off” with the hat
and overcoat of one of your friends whose initials are L. G. T. I
am mortified beyond words and shall send the garments to you by
the next post with my deepest apologies to the unlucky owner.
Rest assured, Harry my friend, that I am looking forward to
visiting you some time in the near future, for I have always been
curious to observe the many interesting sights of “Eli land.”
Particularly anxious am I to see the beautiful trees which have
given New Haven its name of “the City of Elms,” and the
collection of primitive paintings for which your college is
justly celebrated. And in closing may I make the slight request
that you postpone the cashing of my enclosed check until the
fifteenth of this month, as, due to some slight misunderstanding,
I find that my account is in the unfortunate condition of being
“overdrawn.”
Believe me, Harry, with kindest regards to your nice friends and
yourself and with congratulations on the well deserved victory of
your “eleven,”
Your devoted friend and well wisher,
EDWARD ELLIS COCHRAN.
LETTERS TO PARENTS
Of course, when young people write to the members of their immediate
family, it is not necessary that they employ such reserve as in
correspondence with friends. The following letter well illustrates the
change in tone which is permissible in such intimate correspondence:
A Correct Letter from a Young Lady in Boarding School to Her Parents
DEAR MOTHER:
Of course I am terribly glad that you and father are thinking of
coming to visit me here at school next week, but don’t you think
it would be better if, instead of your coming all the way up
here, I should come down and stay with you in New York? The
railroad trip up here will be very hard on you, as the trains are
usually late and the porters and conductors are notorious for
their gruffness and it is awfully hard to get parlor-car seats
and you know what sitting in a day-coach means. I should love to
have you come only I wouldn’t want you or father to get some
terrible sickness on the train and last month there were at least
three wrecks on that road, with many fatalities, and when you get
here the accommodations aren’t very good for outsiders, many of
the guests having been severely poisoned only last year by eating
ripe olives and the beds, they say, are extremely hard. Don’t you
really think it would be ever so much nicer if you and father
stayed in some comfortable hotel in New York with all the
conveniences in the world and there are some wonderful things at
the theaters which you really ought to see. I could probably get
permission from Miss Spencer to come and visit you over Saturday
and Sunday if you are stopping at one of the five hotels on her
“permitted” list.
However, if you do decide to come here, perhaps it would be
better to leave father in New York because I know he wouldn’t
like it at all with nothing but women and girls around and I am
sure that he couldn’t get his glass of hot water in the morning
before breakfast and he would have a much better time in New
York. But if he does come please mother don’t let him wear that
old gray hat or that brown suit, and mother couldn’t you get him
to get some gloves and a cane in New York before he comes? And
please, mother dear, make him put those “stogies” of his in an
inside pocket and would you mind, mother, not wearing that brooch
father’s employees gave you last Christmas?
I shall be awfully glad to see you both but as I say it would be
better if you let me come to New York where you and father will
be ever so much more comfortable.
Your loving daughter,
JEANNETTE.
LETTERS FROM PARENTS
THE same familiarity may be observed by parents when corresponding with
their children, with, of course, the addition of a certain amount of
dignity commensurate with the fact that they are, as it were, in loco
parentis. The following example will no doubt be of aid to parents in
correctly corresponding with their children:
A Correct Letter from a Mother to Her Son Congratulating Him on His
Election to the Presidency of the United States
DEAR FREDERICK:
I am very glad that you have been elected President of the United
States, Frederick, and I hope that now you will have sense enough
to see Dr. Kincaid about your teeth. It would be well to have him
give you a thorough looking over at this time. And Mrs. Peasely
has given me the name of a splendid throat specialist in New York
whom I wish you would see as soon as possible, for it has been
almost a year since you went to Dr. Ryan. Are you getting good
wholesome food? Mrs. Dennison stopped in this morning and she
told me that Washington is very damp in the spring and I think
you had better get a new overcoat—a heavy warm one. She also
told me the name of a place where you can buy real woolen socks
and pajamas. I hope that you aren’t going to be so foolish as to
wear those short B. V. D.’s all winter because now that you are
president you must take care of yourself, Edward dear. Are you
keeping up those exercises in the morning? I found those
dumb-bells of yours in the attic yesterday and will send them on
to you if you wish. And, dear, please keep your throat covered
when you go out—Mrs. Kennedy says that the subways are always
cold and full of draughts. I saw a picture of you at the “movies”
the other evening and you were making a speech in the rain
without a hat or rubbers. Your uncle Frederick was just such a
fool as you are about wearing rubbers and he almost died of
pneumonia the winter we moved to Jefferson Avenue. Be sure and
let me know what Dr. Kincaid says and tell him everything.
Your loving mother.
P. S. What direction does your window face?
LETTERS TO PROSPECTIVE FATHERS-IN-LAW
A young man desiring to marry a young girl does not, in polite society,
“pop the question” to her by mail, unless she happens, at the time, to be
out of the city or otherwise unable to “receive.” It is often advisable,
however, after she has said “yes,” to write a letter to her father instead
of calling on him to ask for his permission to the match, as a personal
interview is often apt to result unsatisfactorily. In writing these
letters to prospective fathers-in-law, the cardinal point is, of course,
the creation by the young man of a good impression in the mind of the
father, and for this purpose he should study to make his letter one which
will appeal irresistibly to the older gentleman’s habits and tastes.
Thus, in writing to a father who is above everything else a “business
man,” the following form is suggested:
A Correct Letter to a Prospective Father-in-Law Who Is a Business Man
My letter,
10-6-22
Your letter,
In reply please refer to: ————
File—Love—personal—
N. Y.—1922
No. G, 16 19
Mr. Harrison Williams,
Vice-Pres. Kinnear-Williams Mfg. Co.,
Buffalo, N. Y.
DEAR SIR:
Confirming verbal message of even date re: being in love with
your daughter, this is to advise that I am in love with your
daughter. Any favorable action which you would care to take in
this matter would be greatly appreciated.
Yours truly,
EDWARD FISH.
Copy to your Daughter per E. F.
“ “ “ Wife
EF/F
Or, should the girl’s father be prominent in the advertising business, the
following would probably create a favorable impression, especially if
printed on a blotter or other useful article:
A Correct Letter to a Prospective Father-in-Law Who Is in the Advertising
Business
JUST A MOMENT!
Have you ever stopped to consider the problem of grandchildren?
Do you know, for example, that ONLY 58% of the fathers in America
are GRANDFATHERS?
Did it ever occur to you that only 39% of the grandfathers in
America EVER HAVE GRANDCHILDREN?
Honestly, now, don’t there come moments, after the day’s work is
done and you are sitting in your slippers before the fire, when
you would give any thing in the world for a soft little voice to
call you GRANDPA?
Be fair to your daughter
Give her a College educated husband!
COMPLIMENTS OF EDWARD FISH
Perhaps, if the old gentleman is employed in the Credit Department of
Brooks Brothers, Frank Brothers, or any one of the better class stores,
the following might prove effective:
A Correct Letter to a Prospective Father-in-Law Who Is Employed in a
Credit Department
MY DEAR MR. ROBERTS: 10-6-22
I am writing you in regard to a little matter of matrimony which
no doubt you have overlooked in the press of business elsewhere.
This is not to be considered as a “dun” but merely as a gentle
reminder of the fact that it would be extremely agreeable if you
could see fit to let me marry your daughter before the first of
next month. I feel sure that you will give this matter your
immediate attention.
Yours truly,
ED. FISH.
11-2-22
DEAR MR. ROBERTS:
As you have not as yet replied to my communication of 10-6-22
regarding marriage to your daughter, I presume that you were not
at the time disposed to take care of the matter to which I
referred. I feel sure that upon consideration you will agree that
my terms are exceedingly liberal and I must therefore request
that you let me have some word from you before the first of next
month.
Yours truly,
EDWARD FISH.
(Registered Mail) 12-2-22
DEAR SIR:
You have not as yet replied to my communication of 10-6-22 and
11-2-22. I should regret exceedingly being forced to place this
matter in the hands of my attorneys, Messrs. Goldstein and
Nusselmann, 41 City Nat’l Bank Bldg.
E. FISH.
Of course, it would never do to carry this series to its conclusion and if
no reply is received to this last letter it might be well to call on the
gentleman in his place of business—or, possibly, it might even be
better to call off the engagement. “None but the brave deserve the fair”—but
there is also a line in one of Byron’s poems which goes, I believe, “Here
sleep the brave.”
LOVE LETTERS
A young man corresponding with his fiancée is never, of course, as formal
as in his letters to other people. This does not mean, however, that his
correspondence should be full of silly meaningless “nothings.” On the
contrary, he should aim to instruct and benefit his future spouse as well
as convey to her his tokens of affection. The following letter well
illustrates the manner in which a young man may write his fiancée a letter
which, while it is replete with proper expressions of amatory good will,
yet manages to embody a fund of sensible and useful information:
A Correct Letter from a Young Man Traveling in Europe to His Fiancée
MY DEAREST EDITH:
How I long to see you—to hold tight your hand—to look into your
eyes. But alas! you are in Toledo and I am in Paris, which, as
you know, is situated on the Seine River near the middle of the
so-called Paris basin at a height above sea-level varying from 85
feet to 419 feet and extending 7 1/2 miles from W. to E. and 5
1/2 miles from N. to S. But, dearest, I carry your image with me
in my heart wherever I go in this vast city with its population
(1921) of 2,856,986 and its average mean rainfall Of 2.6 inches,
and I wish—oh, how I wish—that you might be here with me.
Yesterday, for example, I went to the Père Lachaise cemetery
which is the largest (106 acres) and most fashionable cemetery in
Paris, its 90,148 (est.) tombs forming a veritable open-air
sculpture gallery. And what do you think I found there which made
me think of you more than ever? Not the tombs of La Fontaine (d.
1695) and Molière (d. 1673) whose remains, transferred to this
cemetery in 1804, constituted the first interments—not the last
resting place of Rosa Bonheur (d. 1899) or the victims of the
Opéra Comique fire (1887)—no, dearest, it was the tomb of
Abelard and Heloïse, those late 11th early 12th century lovers,
and you may well imagine what thoughts, centering upon a young
lady whose first name begins with E, filled my heart as I gazed
at this impressive tomb, the canopy of which is composed of
sculptured fragments collected by Lenoir from the Abbey of
Nogent-sur-Seine (Aube).
Edith dearest, I am sitting in my room gazing first at your dear
picture and then out of my window at the Eiffel Tower which is
the tallest structure in the world, being 984 feet high
(Woolworth Building 750 feet, Washington Obelisk 555 feet, Great
Pyramid 450 feet). And although it may sound too romantic, yet it
seems to me, dearest, that our love is as strong and as sturdy as
this masterpiece of engineering construction which weighs 7,000
tons, being composed of 12,000 pieces of metal fastened by
2,500,000 iron rivets.
Farewell, my dearest one—I must go now to visit the Catacombs, a
huge charnelhouse which is said to contain the remains of nearly
three million persons, consisting of a labyrinth of galleries
lined with bones and rows of skulls through which visitors are
escorted on the first and third Saturday of each month at 2 P. M.
I long to hold you in my arms.
Devotedly,
PAUL.
CORRESPONDENCE OF PUBLIC OFFICIALS
Congressmen and other public officials are as a rule more careful
correspondents than are men whose letters are never to be seen by the
public at large. There is a certain well-defined form for a letter meant
for public consumption which distinguishes it from correspondence of a
more private nature. Thus a Congressman, writing a “public letter,” would
cast it in the following form:
A Correct “Public Letter” from a Congressman
Mr. Ellison Lothrop,
Vice-Pres. Washington Co.. “Better Citizenship” League,
MY DEAR MR. LOTHROP:
You have requested that I give to the Washington County Better
Citizenship League, of which you are an active vice-president,
some expression of my views upon the question of Prohibition.
Sir, can there be any doubt as to the belief of every right
thinking American citizen in this matter? The Eighteenth
Amendment is here and here, thank God, to stay! The great benefit
which Prohibition has done to the poor and the working classes is
reason enough for its continued existence. It is for the
manufacturers, the professional class, the capitalists to give up
gladly whatever small pleasure they may have derived from the use
of alcohol, in order that John Jones, workingman, may have money
in the bank and a happy home, instead of his Saturday night
debauch. In every democracy the few sacrifice for the many—“the
greatest good of the greatest number” is the slogan. And I, for
one, am proud to have been a member of that legislative body
which passed so truly God-bidden and democratic an act as the
Eighteenth Amendment.
I beg to remain, with best wishes to your great
organization,
Sincerely yours,
WALTER G. TOWNSLEY.
A Correct Private Letter of a Congressman
DEAR BOB:
Tell that fellow on Mulberry Street that I will pay $135 a case
for Scotch and $90 for gin delivered and not a cent more.
W. G. T.
The problem of an introduction when there is no mutual
acquaintance is sometimes perplexing. But the young man, having had the good
taste to purchase a copy of PERFECT BEHAVIOR, is having
no difficulty. He has fastened a rope across the sidewalk in front of the
lady’s house and, with the aid of a match and some kerosene, has set fire
to the house. Driven by the heat, the young lady will eventually emerge and in
her haste will fall over the rope. To a gentleman of gallantry and ingenuity
the rest should be comparatively simple.
A knowledge of the language of flowers is essential to
a successful courtship and may avoid much unnecessary pain. With the best
intentions in the world the young man is about to present the young lady with a
flower of whose meaning he is in total ignorance. The young lady, being a
faithful student of PERFECT BEHAVIOR, knows its exact
meaning and it will be perfectly correct for her to turn and, with a frigid
bow, break the pot over the young man’s head. Alas, how differently this
romance might have ended if the so-called “friends” of the young
man had tactfully but firmly pointed out to him the value of a book on
etiquette such as PERFECT BEHAVIOR.
LETTERS TO NEWSPAPERS, MAGAZINES, ETC.
Another type of public correspondence is the letter which is intended for
publication in some periodical. This is usually written by elderly
gentlemen with whiskers and should be cast in the following form:
A Correct Letter from an Elderly Gentleman to the Editor of a Newspaper or
Magazine
To the Editor:
SIR:
On February next, Deo volente, I shall have been a constant
reader of your worthy publication for forty-one years. I feel,
sir, that that record gives me the right ipso facto to offer my
humble criticism of a statement made in your November number by
that worthy critic of the drama, Mr. Heywood Broun. Humanum est
errare, and I am sure that Mr. Broun (with whom I have
unfortunately not the honour of an acquaintance) will forgive me
for calling his attention to what is indeed a serious, and I
might say, unbelievable, misstatement. In my younger days, now
long past, it was not considered infra dig for a critic to reply
to such letters as this, and I hope that Mr. Broun will deem this
epistle worthy of consideration, and recognize the justice of my
complaint.
I remember well a controversy that raged between critic and
public for many weeks in the days when Joe Jefferson was playing
Rip Van Winkle. Ah, sir, do you remember (but, of course, you
don’t) that entrance of Joe in the first act with his dog
Schneider? That was not my first play by many years, but I
believe that it is still my favorite. I think the first time I
ever attended a dramatic performance was in the winter of ’68
when I was a student at Harvard College. Five of us freshmen went
into the old Boston Museum to see Our American Cousin. Joe
Chappell was with us that night and the two Dawes boys and, I
think, Elmer Mitchell. One of the Dawes twins was, I believe,
afterwards prominent in the Hayes administration. There were many
men besides Will Dawes in that Harvard class who were heard from
in later years. Ed Twitchell for one, and “Sam” Caldwell, who was
one of the nominees for vice president in ’92. I sat next to Sam
in “Bull” Warren’s Greek class. There was one of the finest
scholars this country has ever produced—a stern taskmaster, and
a thorough gentleman. It would be well for this younger
generation if they could spend a few hours in that old classroom,
with “Bull” pacing up and down the aisle and all of us trembling
in our shoes. But Delenda est Carthago—fuit Ilium—Requiescat in
pace. I last saw “Bull” at our fifteenth reunion and we were all
just as afraid of him as in the old days at Hollis.
But I digress. Tempus fugit,—which reminds me of a story “Billy”
Hallowell once told at a meeting of the American Bar Association
in Minneapolis, in 1906. Hallowell was perhaps the most brilliant
after-dinner speaker I have ever heard—with the possible
exception of W. D. Evarts. I shall never forget the speech that
Evarts made during the second Blaine campaign.
But I digress. Your critic, Mr. Heywood Broun, says on page 33 of
the November issue of your worthy magazine that The Easiest Way
is the father of all modern American tragedy. Sir, does Mr. Broun
forget that there once lived a man named William Shakespeare? Is
it possible to overlook such immortal tragedies as Hamlet and
Othello? I think not. Fiat justitia, ruat cœlum.
Sincerely,
SHERWIN G. COLLINS.
A Correct Letter from an Indignant Father to an Editor of Low Ideals
To the Editor: Sir:
I have a son—a little fourteen-year-old boy who proudly bears my
name. This lad I have brought up with the greatest care. I have
spared no pains to make him an upright, moral, God-fearing youth.
I had succeeded, I thought, in inculcating in him all those
worthy principles for which our Puritan fathers fought
and—aye—died. I do not believe that there existed in our
neighborhood a more virtuous, more righteous boy.
From his earliest childhood until now Mrs. Pringle and I have
kept him carefully free from any suggestion of evil. We have put
in his hands only the best and purest of books; we have not
allowed him to attend any motion picture performances other than
the yearly visit of the Burton Holmes travelogues, and, last
year, a film called Snow White and Rose Red; we have forbidden
him to enter a theater. Roland (for that is his name) has never
in his life exhibited any interest in what is known as sex.
Sir, you may imagine my chagrin when my Roland—my boy who, for
fourteen years, I have carefully shielded from sin—rushed in
last night to where Mrs. Pringle and I were enjoying our evening
game of Bézique, bearing in his hand a copy of your magazine
which, I presume, he had picked up at some so-called friend’s
house. “Papa, look,” said my boy to me, pointing to the cover of
the magazine. “What are these?”
Sir, I looked. Mrs. Pringle gave a shriek, and well may she have.
My boy was pointing to a cover on which was what is called—in
barroom parlance—a “nude.” And not one nude but twelve!
Sir, you have destroyed the parental labors of fourteen years. I
trust you are satisfied.
Yours, etc.,
EVERETT G. PRINGLE.
A Letter from a Member of the Lower Classes. Particular pains should be
taken in answering such letters as it should always be our aim to lend a
hand to those aspiring toward better things.
To the Editor:
Dear Sir:
I am a motorman on the Third Ave. South Ferry local, and the
other day one of the passengers left a copy of your magazine on
my car and I want to ask you something which maybe you can tell
me and anyway it don’t do no harm to ask what I want to know is
will it be O. K to wear a white vest with a dinner coat this
coming winter and what color socks I enclose stamps for reply.
Yrs.
ED. WALSH.
A Correct Letter to the Lost and Found Department of a Periodical,
inquiring for a Missing Relative. This should be referred to the persons
mentioned in the letter who will probably take prompt and vigorous action.
Literary Editors:
Dear Sirs:
I have been very much interested in the clever work of Nancy and
Ernest Boyd which has been appearing in your magazine, and I
wonder if you could take the time to give me a little piece of
information about them. You see there was a Nancy Boyd (her
mother was Nancy Kroomen of Beaver Dam) and her bro. Ernest, who
was neighbors to us for several years, and when they moved I sort
of lost track of them. You know how those things are. But it’s a
small world after all, isn’t it? and I shouldn’t be at all
surprised if this was the same party and, if it is, will you say
hello to Nancy for me, and tell Ernest that Ed. Gold still comes
down from Akron to see E. W. every Saturday. He’ll know who I
mean.
Ever sincerely,
MAY WINTERS.
LETTERS TO STRANGERS
In writing to a person with whom you have only a slight acquaintance, it
is a sign of proper breeding to attempt to show the stranger that you are
interested in the things in which he is interested. Thus, for example, if
you were to write a letter to a Frenchman who was visiting your city for
the first time, you would endeavor, as in the following example, to speak
to him in his own idiom and put him at his ease by referring to the things
with which he is undoubtedly familiar. It is only a “boor” who seeks to
impose his own hobbies and interests upon a stranger, disregarding
entirely the presumable likes and dislikes of the latter.
A CORRECT LETTER TO A FRENCH VISITOR
Monsieur Jules La Chaise,
Hotel Enterprise,
City.
MONSIEUR:
I hope that you have had a bon voyage on your trip from la belle
France, and my wife and I are looking forward to welcoming you to
our city. Although I cannot say, as your great king Louis XV. so
justly remarked, “L’etat, c’est moi,” yet I believe that I can
entertain you comme il faut during your stay here. But all bon
mots aside, would you care to join us this afternoon in a ride
around the city? If you say the word, voila! we shall be at your
hotel in our automobile and I think that you will find here much
that is interesting to a native of Lafayette’s great country and
especially to a citizen of Paris. Did you know, for example, that
this city manufactures 38% of the toilet soap and perfumery je ne
sais quoi which are used in this state? Of course, our sewers are
not to be compared to yours, mon Dieu, but we have recently
completed a pumping station on the outskirts of the city which I
think might almost be denominated an objet d’art.
I am enclosing a visitor’s card to the City Club here, which I
wish you would use during your stay. I am sure that you will find
there several bon vivants who will be glad to join you in a game
of vingt et un, and in the large room on the second floor is a
victrola with splendid instrumental and vocal records of “La
Marseillaise.”
Au revoir until I see you this afternoon.
Robert C. Crocker.
And above all, in writing to strangers or comparative strangers, seek to
avoid the mention of subjects which might be distasteful to the recipient
of the letter. Many a friendship has been utterly ruined because one of
the parties, in her correspondence or conversation, carelessly referred to
some matter—perhaps some physical peculiarity—upon which the
other was extremely sensitive. The following letter well illustrates how
the use of a little tact may go “a long way.”
A CORRECT LETTER TO A BEARDED LADY
My dear Mrs. Lenox:
I wonder if you would care to go with us to the opera Wednesday
evening? The Cromwells have offered us their box for that night,
which accounts for our selection of that particular evening.
“Beggars cannot be choosers,” and while personally we would all
rather go on some other night, yet it is perhaps best that we do
not refuse the Cromwells’ generous offer. Then, too, Wednesday is
really the only evening that my husband and I are free to go, for
the children take so much of our time on other nights. I do hope,
therefore, that you can go with us Wednesday to hear “The Barber
of Seville.”
Sincerely,
Esther G. (Mrs. Thomas D.) Franklin.
INVITATIONS
The form of the invitation depends a great deal upon the character of the
function to which one wishes to invite the guests to whom one issues the
invitation. Or, to put it more simply, invitations differ according to the
nature of the party to which one invites the guests. In other words, when
issuing invitations to invited guests one must have due regard for the
fact that these invitations vary with the various types of entertainments
for which one issues the invitations. That is to say, one would obviously
not send out the same form of invitation to a wedding as to a dinner
party, and vice versa. This is an iron-clad rule in polite society.
For example, a gentleman and lady named Mr. and Mrs. Weems, respectively,
living at 1063 Railroad Ave., wishing to invite a gentleman named Mr.
Cleek to dinner, would send him the following engraved invitation:
MR. AND MRS. LIONEL THONG WEEMS
request the pleasure of
MR. WALLACE TILFORD CLEEK’Scompany at dinner
on Tuesday January the tenth
at half after seven o’clock
1063 Railroad Avenue.
This invitation would of course be worded differently for different
circumstances, such as, for example, if the name of the people giving the
party wasn’t Weems or if they didn’t live at 1063 Railroad Ave., or if
they didn’t have any intention of giving a dinner party on that particular
evening.
Many prospective hostesses prefer to send written notes instead of the
engraved invitation, especially if the dinner is to be fairly informal.
This sort of invitation should, however, be extremely simple. I think that
most well-informed hostesses would agree that the following is too
verbose:
DEAR MR. BURPEE.
It would give us great pleasure if you would dine with us on
Monday next at seven-thirty. By the way, did you know that Mr.
Sheldon died yesterday of pneumonia?
Cordially,
ESTELLE G. BESSERABO.
For receptions in honor of noted guests, word the invitation in this
manner:
MR. AND MRS. CORNELIUS VANDERBILT
request the pleasure of your company
on Friday evening February sixth
from nine to twelve
AT DELMONICO’S
to meet Asst. Fire-Chief CHARLEY SCHMIDT and
Mrs. SCHMIDT
Invitations to graduating exercises are worded thus:
THE SENIOR CLASS
of the
SOUTH ROCHESTER FEMALE DENTAL INSTITUTE
requests the honor of your presence at the
Commencement Exercises
on Tuesday evening, June the fifth
at eight o’clock
MASONIC OPERA HOUSE
“That Six” Orchestra.
ACCEPTANCES AND REGRETS
Responses to invitations usually take the form of “acceptances” or
“regrets.” It is never correct, for example, to write the following sort
of note:
DEAR MRS. CRONICK:
Your invitation for the 12th inst. received and in reply would
advise that I am not at the present time in a position to signify
whether or not I can accept. Could you at your convenience
furnish me with additional particulars re the proposed
affair—number of guests, character of refreshments, size of
orchestra, etc.? Awaiting an early reply, I am,
Yours truly,
ALFRED CASS NAPE.
If one wishes to attend the party, one “accepts” on a clean sheet of
note-paper with black ink from a “fountain” pen or inkwell. A hostess
should not, however, make the mistake of thinking that a large number of
“acceptances” implies that anybody really wishes to attend her party.
The following is a standard form of acceptance:
Dr. Tanner accepts with pleasure the kind invitation of Mrs.
Frederick Cummings Bussey for Thursday evening, December twelfth,
at half after eight.
This note need not be signed. The following “acceptance” is decidedly
demode:
DEAR MRS. ASTOR:
Will I be at your ball? Say, can a duck swim?
Count on me sure. FRED.
It is also incorrect and somewhat boorish to write “accepted” across the
face of the invitation and return it signed to the hostess.
If one does not care to attend the party, one often sends one’s “regrets”
although one just as often sends one’s “acceptances,” depending largely
upon the social position of one’s hostess. The proper form of “regret” is
generally as follows:
Alice Ben Bolt regrets that she will be unable to accept the kind
invitation of Major General and Mrs. Hannafield for Wednesday
evening at half after eight.
Sometimes it is better to explain in some manner the cause of the
“regret,” as for example:
Alice Ben Bolt regrets that, owing to an ulcerated tooth in the
left side of her mouth, and severe neuralgic pains all up and
down her left side, she will be unable to accept the kind
invitation of Major General and Mrs. Hannafield for Wednesday
evening at half after eight, at “The Bananas.”
This is not, however, always necessary.
This is an admirable picture with which to test the
“kiddies’” knowledge of good manners at a dinner table. It
will also keep them occupied as a puzzle picture since the “faux
pas” illustrated herewith will probably not be apparent to the little
ones except after careful examination. If, however, they have been
conscientiously trained it will not be long, before the brighter ones discover
that the spoon has been incorrectly left standing in the cup, that the coffee
is being served from the right instead of the left side, and that the lettering
of the motto on the wall too nearly resembles the German style to be quite
“au fait” in the home of any red-blooded American
citizen.
Dessert has been reached and the gentleman in the
picture is perspiring freely—in itself a deplorable breach of etiquette.
He has been attempting all evening to engage the ladies on either side of him
in conversation on babies, Camp’s Reducing Exercises, politics,
Camp’s Developing Exercises, music or Charlie Chaplin, only to be
rebuffed by a haughty chin on the one hand and a cold shoulder on the other. If
he had taken the precaution to consult Stewart’s Lightning Calculator of
Dinner Table Conversation (one of the many aids to social success to be found
in PERFECT BEHAVIOR) he would have realized the bad taste
characterizing his choice of topics and would not have made himself a marked
figure at this well-appointed dinner table.
CHAPTER NINE:
THE ETIQUETTE OF DINNERS AND BALLS
FORMAL DINNERS IN AMERICA
Eating is an extremely old custom and has been practiced by the better
classes of society almost without interruption from earliest times. And
“society,” like the potentate of the parable whose touch transformed every
object into gold, has embellished and adorned the all-too-common habit of
eating, until there has been evolved throughout the ages that most
charming and exquisite product of human culture—the formal dinner
party. The gentleman of today who delightedly dons his dress suit and
escorts into a ten-course dinner some lady mountain climber or other
celebrity, is probably little aware of what he owes to his forefathers for
having so painstakingly devised for him such a pleasant method of spending
his time.
But “before one runs, one must learn to walk”—and the joys of the
dinner-party are not to be partaken of without a long preliminary course
of training, as many a young man has learned to his sorrow when he
discovered that his inelegant use of knife and fork was causing humorous
comment up and down the “board” and was drawing upon himself the haughty
glances of an outraged hostess. The first requisite of success in dining
out is the possession of a complete set of correct table manners—and
these, like anything worth while, can be achieved only by patient study
and daily practise.
TABLE MANNERS FOR CHILDREN
AS a matter of fact, it is never too early to begin to acquire the
technique of correct eating, and the nursery is the best possible place
for the first lessons in dining-room behavior. Children should be taught
at an early age the fundamentals of “table” manners in such a way that by
the time they have reached the years of manhood the correct use of knife,
fork, spoon and fingerbowl is to them almost second nature. But the
parents should remember, above everything else, to instruct their children
in such a way that the pupil takes pleasure in his lessons. This is the
method which is employed today in every successful school or
“kindergarten”; this is the method which really produces satisfactory
results.
Thus, for example, if you are a father and your boy Edward persists in
bringing his pet tadpole to the table in a glass jar, you should not
punish or scold him; a much more effective and graphic method of
correcting this habit would be for you to suddenly pick up the tadpole one
day at luncheon and swallow it. No whipping or scolding would so impress
upon the growing boy the importance of the fact that the dinner table is
not the place for pets.
Another effective way of teaching table manners to children consists in
making up attractive games about the various lessons to be learned. Thus,
whenever you have guests for dinner, the children can play “Boner” which
consists in watching the visitor closely all during the meal in order to
catch him in any irregularity in table etiquette. As soon as the guest has
committed a mistake, the first Child to discover it points his finger at
him and shouts, “Pulled a Boner, Pulled a Boner!” and the boy or girl who
discovers the greatest number of “Boners” during the evening is rewarded
with a prize, based on the following table of points:
If the guest has dirty hands, 5 points.
If the guest uses wrong fork or spoon, 5 points.
If the guest chokes on bone, 8 points.
If the guest blows on soup, 5 points.
If the guest drops fork or spoon, 3 points.
If the guest spills soup on table, 10 points.
If the guest spills soup on self, 1 point.
Of course it is often well to tell the guests about the game in advance in
order that they may not feel embarrassed but will enter thoroughly into
the spirit of this helpful sport.
A CHILD’S GARDEN OF ETIQUETTE
Children can also acquire knowledge more easily if it is imparted to them
in the form of verse or easy rhymes, and many valuable facts about the
dinner table can be embodied in children’s verses. A few of these which I
can remember from my own happy childhood are as follows:
Oh, wouldn’t it be jolly
To be a nice hors d’œuvre
And just bring joy to people
Whom fondest you were of.
Soup is eaten with a spoon
But not to any haunting tune.
Oysters live down in the sea
In zones both temp. and torrid,
And when they are good they are very good indeed,
And when they are bad they are horrid.
My papa makes a lovely Bronx
With gin so rare and old,
And two of them will set you right
But four will knock you cold.
The boys with Polly will not frolic
Because she’s eaten too much garlic.
Mama said the other day,
“A little goes a long, long way.”
A wind came up out of the sea
And said, “Those dams are not for me.”
Uncle Frank choked on a bone
From eating shad au gratin
Aunt Ethel said it served him right
And went back to her flat in
NEWARK (spoken)
Poor Uncle Frank! (chanted)
I love my little finger bowl
So full of late filet of sole.
Cousin George at lunch one day
Remarked, “That apple looks quite tasty.
Now George a dentist’s bill must pay
Because he was so very hasty.
The proverb’s teachings we must hold
“All that glitters is not gold.”
And mama said to George, “Oh, shoot,
You’ve gone and ruined my glass fruit.”
Jim broke bread into his soup,
Jim knocked Mrs. Vanderbilt for a loop.
Kate drank from her finger bowl,
Kate knocked Mrs. Vanderbilt for a goal.
Children who perform such tricks
Are socially in Class G-6.
ETIQUETTE IN THE SCHOOL
Of course, as the children become older, the instruction should gradually
come to embrace all forms of correct behaviour, and the youthful games and
rhymes should give way to the more complex and intricate problems of
mature social etiquette. It is suggested that the teachings during this
period may be successfully combined with the young gentleman’s or lady’s
other schoolroom studies; in the case of mathematics, for example, the
instruction might be handled in somewhat the following manner:
A Problem in Mathematics (7th grade)
A swimmer starts across a stream which is 450 yards wide. He swims for
five minutes at the rate of three miles per hour, and for three minutes at
the rate of four miles per hour. He then reaches the other bank, where he
sees a young lady five feet ten inches tall, walking around a tree, in a
circle the circumference of which is forty-two yards.
A. What is the diameter of the circle?
B. How fast is the current flowing in the stream?
C. At what point would the swimmer land if there were no current
in the stream?
D. At what point does the swimmer actually land?
E. But suppose that he has no bathing suit on?
And so, when the young person has reached the age for his first formal
dinner party, he will undoubtedly be able to handle the fundamentals of
correct etiquette in a satisfactory manner. But, as in every sport or
profession, there are certain refinements—certain niceties which
come only after long experience—and it is with a view of helping the
ambitious diner-out to master these more complex details, that I suggest
that he study carefully the following “unwritten laws” which govern every
dinner party.
In the first place, a guest is supposed tacitly to consent to the menu
which the hostess has arranged, and the diner-out who makes a habit of
saying “Squab, you know, never agrees with me—I wonder if I might
have a couple of poached eggs,” is apt to find that such squeamishness
does not pay in the long run.
Practical jokes are never countenanced at a formal affair of this sort. I
do not mean that a certain amount of good-natured fun is out of place, but
such “stunts” as pulling the hostess’ chair out from under her—or
gleefully kicking the shins of your neighbor under the table and shouting
“Guess who?”—are decidedly among the “non-ests” of correct modern
dinner-table behaviour.
Then, too, it is now distinctly bad form to practise legerdemain or feats
of sleight-of-hand at a dinner party. Time was when it was considered
correct for a young man who could do card or other tricks to add to the
gayety of the party by displaying his skill, but that time is past, and
the guest of today, who thinks to make a “hit” by pulling a live rabbit or
a potted plant from the back of the mystified hostess or one of the
butlers, is in reality only making a “fool” of himself if he only knew it.
The same “taboo” also holds good as concerns feats of juggling and no
hostess of today will, I am sure, ever issue a second invitation to a
young man who has attempted to enliven her evening by balancing, on his
nose, a knife, a radish, a plate of soup and a lighted candle.
“Cleverness” is a valuable asset but only up to a certain point, and I
know of one unfortunately “clever” young chap who almost completely ruined
a promising social career by the unexpected failure of one of his pet
juggling tricks and the consequent dumping of a large dish of mashed
potatoes on the head of a vice-president of the Equitable Trust Company.
Besides, people almost always distrust “clever” persons.
It does not “do,” either, to “ride your hobby” at a dinner party, and the
real truth as to the cause of the sudden social ostracism of young Freddie
H——, a New York clubman of some years ago (now happily
deceased), is that on one occasion this young fellow, who had developed a
craze for marksmanship amounting almost to a mania, very nearly ruined a
dinner party given by a prominent Boston society matron by attempting to
shoot the whiskers off a certain elderly gentleman, who happened to be a
direct descendant of John Smith and Priscilla Alden.
It might also be remarked that the possession of certain physical gifts—such
as the ability to wriggle one’s ears or do the “splits”—is in itself
no “open sesame” to lasting social success. “Slow and sure” is a good rule
for the young man to follow, and although he may somewhat enviously watch
his more brilliant colleagues as they gain momentary applause by their
ability to throw their thumbs out of joint or squirt water through a hole
in their front teeth, yet he may console himself with the thought that
“the race is not always to the swift” and that “Rome was not built in a
day.” The gifts of this world have been distributed fairly equally, and
you may be sure that the young girl who has been born a ventriloquist very
likely is totally unable to spell difficult words correctly or carry even
a simple tune. Ventriloquism, by the way, is also passing out as a form of
dinner party diversion, and it is no longer considered a priceless
accomplishment to be able to make a dog bark or a baby cry under the
hostess’s chair.
CONVERSATION AT DINNER
Gradually, however, conversation—real conversation—is coming
into its own as the favorite pastime of dinner guests, and the young man
or lady who can keep the conversational “ball” rolling is coming more and
more into demand. Good conversationalists are, I fear, born and not made—but
by study and practise any ambitious young man can probably acquire the
technique, and, with time, mould himself into the kind of person upon whom
hostesses depend for the success of their party. As an aid in this
direction I have prepared the following chart which I would advise all my
readers to cut out and paste in some convenient place so that at their
next dinner party it can be readily consulted.
STEWART’S LIGHTNING CALCULATOR OF DINNER TABLE CONVERSATION
This chart divides the dinner into its various courses, and under each
course is given what I call an “opening sentence,” together with your
partner’s probable reply and the topic which is then introduced for
discussion. And, most valuable of all, under each such topic I have listed
certain helpful facts which will enable you to prolong the conversation
along those lines until the arrival of the next course, and the consequent
opening of another field for discussion. The chart follows:
I. Cocktails.
You say to the partner on your right: “What terrible gin!” She (he)
replies: “Perfectly ghastly.” This leads to a discussion of: Some Aspects
of Alcohol. Helpful Facts:
1. An oyster soaked in alcohol becomes quite rigid in eleven minutes.
2. Senator Volstead was born Sept. 4, 1869.
3. Alcohol, if taken in too great quantities, often produces internal
disorders.
II. Oysters.
You say to the partner on your right: “Think of being an oyster!”
She (he) replies: “How perfectly ghastly.”
This leads to a discussion of: Home Life of Oysters.
Helpful Facts:
1. The average life of an oyster is 38 days, 11 hours.
2. Polygamy is practised among certain classes of oysters.
3. The first oyster was eaten by Ossip Gatch, a Pole (d. 1783).
III. Fish.
You say to the partner at your right: “Do you enjoy fish?”
She (he) replies: “I simply adore fish.”
This leads to a discussion of: Fish—Then, and Now.
Helpful Facts:
1. Fish make notoriously bad pets, whereas seals can be taught to do many
novel tricks.
2. Gloucester (Mass.) smells badly in summer.
3. Gloucester (Mass.) smells badly in winter.
IV. Meat.
You say to the partner at your right: “Have you ever been
through the Stock-Yards?”
She (he) replies: “No.” (“Yes.”)
This leads to a discussion of: “The Meat Industry in America.”
Helpful Facts:
1. Every time a street car goes over the Brooklyn Bridge, a steer is
killed in Chicago—and oftener.
2. Raw beefsteak in quantities is harmful to children under two years of
age.
3. A man died recently in Topeka, Kansas, weighing 312 pounds.
4. Many prominent people live on the North Side of Chicago.
V. Salad.
You say to the partner at your right: “What is your favorite salad?”
She (he) replies: “I don’t know, what’s yours?”
This leads to a discussion of: Favorite Things.
Helpful Facts:
1. Richard Barthelmess is married.
2. B. V. D. stands for “Best Value Delivered.”
3. Amy Lowell is fond of cigars.
VI. Dessert.
You say to the partner at your right: “I love ice cream.”
She (he) replies: “So do I.”
This leads to a discussion of: Love.
Helpful Facts:
1. New York is the hardest state in which to get a divorce in America.
2. Dr. Sigmund Freud is now living in Vienna, Austria.
3. D. H. Lawrence has a black beard.
BALLS AND DANCES
In order to succeed in the modern ballroom, and especially in the
ballrooms of our exclusive country clubs, a young gentleman or lady of
fashion must today be possessed of the following two requisites: i. A
“Line.” 2. A closed car. The latter of these “sine qua nons” is now owned
as a matter of course by most families and is no longer regarded as a mark
of distinction. The former requisite, however, is not so common, but it is
nevertheless true that any young person with ambition and a good memory
can eventually acquire a quite effective “Line.” It is a great aid in this
direction if one happens to have spent a year or more at one of our
leading eastern universities or “finishing schools.” These vary, of
course, in degree of excellence, but it does not pay to be dogmatic on
this subject, and to those who would insist that the Princeton “Line” is
more effective than the Harvard ditto, or that the Westover “Line” flows
more smoothly than that of Farmington or Spence, one can only say “De
gustibus non disputandum est.” “Lines” vary also in accordance with the
different types of girls who happen to be using them, and (to misquote a
rather vulgar proverb) “What is one girl’s food may be another girl’s
poison.” Thus it happens that the “Line” which is most universally and
interminably employed by the “beautiful” type of girl (consisting, in its
entirety, of the three words “How perfectly priceless”) would never in the
world do for the young miss whose chief asset is a kind heart or a love
for really good books.
The above diagram (one of man), filling the
instructive and refined pages of PERFECT BEHAVIOR, will
serve as a model to any debutante or dancing man who seriously sets out to
achieve social eminence. It is only fair to warn aspirants that rigid adherence
to the formula is essential and that any slight slackening of the pace is
likely to prove fatal. On the other hand, we confidently guarantee complete
success to those who, in reverence and faith, keep the final goal always in
sight. His (or hers) be it to keep the sacred flame burning and to pass the
torch along from father to son, from mother to daughter till the end of time,
or so long as they do not make any mesalliances, which is just as important in
America, whatever may be said to the contrary, as among our “English
cousins.”
MIXED DANCING
Another quality which is often helpful on the dance floor, especially to
girls, is the ability to dance. This seems to have become largely a trick
of keeping abreast of the latest “mode” and while, personally, I greatly
regret the passing of the stately lancers and other dignified “round
dances,” yet, if “mixed dancing” has come to stay, it is the duty of every
young person to learn to dance as well as possible in the generally
accepted manner, even though this often involves some compromising of
one’samour propre.
But in addition to all these necessary qualifications the really great
person—the true super man or woman of the ballroom—must be
possessed of that certain divine something, that je ne sais quoi ability
to rise superior to all occasions, to overcome the most difficult
situations, which has distinguished the great men and women of all ages.
Joan of Arc had it, George Washington had it, Napoleon had it—and I
venture to say that any of these three, had they lived today, Would have
been a social success. But perhaps this fact can best be illustrated by
taking a typical instance in the ballroom in which “When duty whispered
low ‘Thou must,’ the youth replied ‘I can.’”
HINTS FOR STAGS
Let us suppose, for example, that you are a young man who has been invited
to a dance to be given at the East Shore Country Club. It is your original
intention, let us say, to attend as a “stag,” but on the afternoon of the
party you receive a note from a young lady of your acquaintance asking if
you would be so kind as to accompany to the ball a guest of hers, a “sweet
girl from South Orange” who was in her class at college.
The correct costume for a dance of this sort is usually a dinner coat with
a black or white vest, and when you have robed yourself correctly, you
should drive in your car to the young lady’s home. There you are presented
to the sweet girl from South Orange, who is six feet tall and has
protruding teeth. After the customary words of greeting and a few brief
bits of pleasantry, you set off with your partner for the dance.
Arrived at the East Shore Club, you find the party in “full swing,” and
after shaking hands with your host and hostess, you should ask your
partner if she would care to dance.
The first three times that she steps on your left foot, you should
politely murmur, “My fault.” But when she begins to sing in your ear it is
proper to steer her over toward the “stag line” in order to petition for
an injunction or a temporary restraining order.
The “stag line” consists of a group of the wisest, shrewdest and most
hard-hearted young men ever gathered together under one roof. The original
purpose of a “stag line” was to provide a place where unattached young men
might stand while searching for a partner, but the institution has now
come to be a form of Supreme Court, passing life or death sentence upon
the various debutantes who pass before it.
After you have piloted your partner five times along the length of this
line you have a pretty fair idea as to her merits or demerits, and, in
this particular case, you have a pretty fair idea as to just what the
evening holds out for you. When the music stops you should therefore lead
the girl over to a chair and ask to be allowed to bring her a glass of
punch.
Instead of going directly to the punch bowl, you should turn your steps
toward the “stag line.” There you will find several young men whom only as
late as that afternoon you counted among your very best friends, but who
do not, at the present, seem to remember ever having met you before.
Seizing the arm of one of these you say, “Tom, I want you to meet——”
That is as far as you will get, for Tom will suddenly interrupt you by
remarking, “Excuse me a minute, Ed—, I see a girl over there I’ve
simply got to speak to. I’ll come right back.”
He will not come right back. He will not come back at all. And after you
have met with the same response from four other so-called friends, you
should return to the South Orange visitor and “carry on.”
At the end of the second hour, however, your mind should begin to clear,
and if you are at all possessed of the qualifications for future ballroom
leadership, you should gradually throw off the slough of despond and
determine to make a fight for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
And when the music has once more ceased, you should ask your partner if
she would not care to take a jaunt in the open air.
“I know a lovely walk,” you should say, “across a quaint old bridge.”
The rest is, of course, easy. Arrived in the middle of the quaint old
bridge, which leads across a cavern some three hundred feet deep, you
should quickly seize the tall college graduate, and push her, not too
roughly or ungentlemanly, off the bridge.
And, if you are really a genius, and not merely “one of the crowd” you
will return to the ballroom and, going up to the young lady who was
responsible for your having met the sweet girl from South Orange, you will
offer her your arm, and smile invitingly.
“I know a lovely walk,” you will say, “across a quaint old bridge.”
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Perfect Behavior, by Donald Ogden Stewart
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PERFECT BEHAVIOR ***
***** This file should be named 1446-h.htm or 1446-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/4/1446/
Produced by Charles Keller, and David Widger
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook
for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports,
performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given
away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks
not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the
trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
1.E.8.
1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country outside the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you
are located before using this ebook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase『Project
Gutenberg』associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original『Plain
Vanilla ASCII』or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
provided that
* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation."
* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
works.
* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The
Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the『Right
of Replacement or Refund』described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
www.gutenberg.org
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous
locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt
Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to
date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and
official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
gbnewby@pglaf.org
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.