Part 2

BRIDGE 78

FOREWORD

FOREWORD

It is undeniable that much of the pleasure in modern life is derived from social intercourse.

From time immemorial the gregarious instinct has contributed greatly to the charm of all populated regions. It is worthy of remark that, during the past decade, both in America and in England, sudden and violent changes have somewhat ruffled the placid waters of polite society. These new conditions of life have naturally necessitated new methods of social procedure. The telephone, coeducation, wireless telegraphy, motor cars, millionaires, bridge whist, women’s rights, Sherry’s, cocktails, four-day liners, pianolas, steam heat, directoire gowns, dirigible balloons, and talking machines have all contributed to an astonishing social metamorphosis.

Curiously enough no book of etiquette has taken count of these violent changes. There is literally no Baedeker for this newly discovered country. Many fruitful and enchanted islands have been sighted, but have, alas, remained uncharted.

It is, therefore, with motives of generosity, charity, and kindness that this little guide has been prepared by the benevolent author.

It will be found to contain concise rules of deportment for all the more important social ceremonies—from a tête-à-tête to a betrothal, a picnic to a funeral, a partie-carrée to a divorce, an ushers’ dinner to a Turkish bath, and a piano recital to a rout. It also contains excellent advice on the choice of a motor car, a summer residence, a wife, or a brand of cigar.

The author feels that it should prove of great value to those people who have been born and brought up in refined and well-bred families, and are, at the same time, desirous of entering fashionable society.

To our newer millionaires and plutocrats it should be a very present help in time of trouble, for it is undeniable that many of these captains of industry—however strong and virile their natures—become utterly helpless and panic-stricken at the mere sight of a gold finger bowl, an alabaster bath, a pronged oyster fork, or the business end of an asparagus.

COUNTRY HOUSES

COUNTRY HOUSES

A country house is an establishment maintained by people of wealth and position who have banished from their home circle the old ideas of family life: the hearth-side, the romping little ones, and the studious evenings under the red lamp.

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There is so much that is pleasurable in a house party at such an establishment that it is difficult to say which part of it is the most delightful. It is thrilling to receive the invitation; the journey there is full of an expectant pleasure; the sport is invigorating; the meals are usually palatable; the society agreeable. On the whole, however, perhaps the most welcome part of it all is the moment of departure.

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At a week-end party, when the servant calls you in the morning and informs you that your bath is running, it is modish to sink off to sleep and allow the bath to overflow. As soon as you are wide awake make certain to turn off the electric light and demand from the servant a brandy and soda. After this bracer you may light a cigarette and send the footman for breakfast and a cigar. It is also a wise precaution to ask for all the morning papers—otherwise the other guests may secure some of them.

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It is usual for the bachelors to dawdle about in their riding things until lunch is announced. They can then go to their rooms, take their baths, and change. This puts off the agony of the lunch—which is always a tiresome meal.

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Go up early to dress for dinner, or the other guests will have drawn off all the hot water for their own baths.

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After a week-end visit it is customary to write your hostess a “bread-and-butter letter,” or “pleaser.” The following note will be found a safe guide for such an occasion.

MY DEAR MRS. WEEKENDE:

How kind you were to open the gates of Heaven and give me that little glimpse of Paradise. Would you be good enough to ask the valet to send me my cap? Perhaps, too, the footman could forward my golf clubs, which I entirely overlooked in the hurry of departure. If not too much trouble, perhaps you will ask the maid to express me my sponge bag, listerine, and razor strop.

With renewed thanks, I am, dear Mrs. Weekende,

Yours sincerely,

PERCY VANDERFORT.