Part 7

In wriggling out of a dinner at the last moment in New York, it is chic to invent some mythical female relative in Philadelphia who has developed a sudden and alarming illness and has hastily summoned you to her bedside.

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If, at a dinner, food is passed to you which you do not care to eat, it is good form to take a generous heap of it, to pat it and mess it up on your plate with a fork.

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After dinner, if a lady has been asked to sing and refused, do not urge her further. It is the height of bad manners, and there is just the off chance that she may yield.

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In England the matter of precedence at dinners is simplicity itself. The Sovereign precedes an ambassador, who precedes the Archbishop of Canterbury, who precedes the Earl Marshal, who precedes a duke, who precedes an earl, a marquis, a viscount, a bishop, a baron, etc.; but in America the matter is a much more perplexing one.

The author of this brochure respectfully suggests the following scheme of American dinner precedence: Let an opera box count 6 points; steam yacht, 5; town house, 5; country house, 4; motors, 3 each; every million dollars, 2; tiara, 1; good wine cellar, 1; ballroom in town house, 1; a known grandparent of either sex, ½; culture, ⅛. By this system, a woman of culture with four known grandparents and a million dollars will have a total of 4⅛. She will, of course, be forced to follow in the wake of a lady with a town house and a tiara (6); who, in turn, will trail after a woman with a steam yacht and two motors (11). The highest known total is about 100; the lowest, about ⅛. The housekeeper may arrange the totals, and the hostess can then send the guests in according to their listed quotations.

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People who arrive late at a large dinner sometimes have very quaint and amusing excuses. A hostess at a recent eight-o’clock banquet collected the following gems:

I overslept in my bath.

A cinder lodged in my eye and I have just come from the chemist’s.

My maid is ill and I was forced to hook myself.

The twins put crumbs in my stockings.

I read your invitation upside down and, naturally, mistook the hour of dinner.

I never eat soup, and thought, of course, you wouldn’t wait.

I knew Mrs. V—t would be much later than I—so I took a chance.

I was taking my memory lesson, and it was all so absorbing that I completely forgot the dinner.

I lost your note, and, as everybody dines at 8.30, I thought, of course, that you would.

My chauffeur was so drunk that he took me next door by mistake, and delayed me fearfully.

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Every year it is becoming more and more difficult for hostesses to secure a sufficient number of blades for their dinners and evening routs. “Odd men” are always in tremendous demand.

The custom of shouting names, which is imperfectly followed at the hotels, should be perfected in our clubs, and we hope soon to see the club waiters wandering about the halls and lounging rooms shouting out, as they go: “Mrs. Vanderlip, four odd men for dinner.” “Mrs. Miles, two bachelors for the opera.” “Mrs. Nestor, one married couple for bridge,” etc.

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When a lady beside you is so generously avoirdupoised or embonpointed that it is a physical impossibility for her to see the food upon her plate, it is sometimes an act of kindness to inform her as to the nature of the bird or beast so hopelessly removed from her vision. This saves her the trouble of lifting it above the horizon in order to discover its exact species.

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A clever hostess in New York has recently trained a highly intelligent dachshund to fly about after dinner, under the banquet table, and fetch out the long white gloves, make-up boxes, scarves, and lace handkerchiefs. Most hostesses, however, prefer to put their guests on the scent and let them retrieve the hidden treasures.

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