What Will People Say? A Novel
thickness.
"We are seven," said Forbes.
"Very good, sir. Will you select what you wish, or--"
He handed Forbes the card of the day. Forbes looked at the French. He
could read military memoirs and strategical works in French, but he was
floored by the technical food-terms. A glimpse at the prices unnerved
him further; but he asked: "What would you suggest--I'm just home from
Asia. I feel a little out of it."
"If Monsieur would permit me," said Fernand, with the eagerness of a
benevolent conspirator, an artist with a mission, "I will arrange it and
give you a pleasant surprise or two."
Forbes swallowed a small lump of embarrassment, and was careful to ask
carelessly:
"About how much would it be?"
He wanted to forestall at least one surprise.
"Oh, not a great deal," Fernand smiled, with the bedside manner of a
family doctor. "Miss Cabot hates heavy food. Zhoost a little cocktel,
and some _caviar d'Astrakhan_ to begin; and perhaps a little broth; ah,
better! she likes _puree St.-Germain_. And after, a little berd and some
salade, a sweet, perhaps, or a cheese, some coffee--nothing more! Very
simple is best."
This sounded so sane that Forbes began to pluck up hope. He asked:
"Does she--do they--will you give us wine of any kind?"
"Miss Cabot does not care for champagne; and Mr. Enslee--did you say he
would be of the party?"
Forbes had not said it, and he flushed to think that everybody, even a
head waiter, must be linking Persis' name with Enslee's. But more than
ever now he must make sure not to give a shabby meal. Meanwhile he
answered the question with a casual nod:
"Yes, Mr. Enslee will be here."
Fernand spoke with indulgent pity: "Mr. Enslee takes usually only a
highball of the Scotch. But I think you could tempt them both with a
little sherry--for the sake of the berd. I have a sherry that is
delicious."
"How much delicious?" Forbes asked, trying to be flippant at his own
funeral.
"Eight dollars the bottle. But very fine! They would all like it very
much."
At the mention of a concrete price Forbes grew uneasy, and asked
outright: "Could you tell me how much--about how much this luncheon is
going to cost me?"
Forbes felt ashamed of discussing prices, though many a richer man,
especially Enslee, would have fought all along the line and delivered an
oration on the extortions of restaurateurs. But Fernand began to
compute:
"Let me see; seven cocktels at twenty-five is one-seventy-five. Caviar
would be one-twenty-five per person; for seven would be
eight-seventy-five. The _puree St.-Germain_ we shall make it
special--say, about five dollars. I should recommend the _poulet de
grain aux cepes_; it is two-fifty per person. You do not really need any
_legumes_, except the asparagus. Oh, this morning what asparagus! I saw
it! Asparagus, yes?" Forbes nodded desperately. "That will be seven
dollars more; but then you will not wish _salade_--no, you will not wish
_salade_, though the endive is--no, we will not have endive. For the
sweet would you wish special favors? No, it is too much; the Nesselrode
pudding is nice. Miss Cabot adores the marrons--good! We might serve
cheese, though it is too much. But we will have it ready. Then the
coffee is special, and a liqueur, perhaps--yes? Miss Cabot likes the
white mint. There will be some cigars for the gentlemen, of course--and
the ladies will take their cigarettes with their coffee down the steps
here, I presume. Now, let me see." He mumbled his addition a moment,
then broke the news. "That makes--about fifty-four-seventy-five. Yes--ah
no! we have not added the sherry--one bottle, perhaps two. So you see,
Monsieur, it will come only to sixty--sixty-five dollars--roughly."
Forbes thought the word "roughly" appropriate. In his soul there was a
sound like the last sough of water in an emptying bathtub. He added
mentally the ten dollars he had given Fernand, and the ten dollars he
must give the waiter. He wondered if he looked as sick as he felt; as
sick as his hundred dollars would look. He had cherished a mad fancy for
inviting everybody to dinner, the theater, and a tango supper. If his
modest luncheon put him where it did, he wondered where such an evening
would have left him. From this point of view he was escaping cheaply.
Anyway, he had crossed the Rubicon. He was too poor to be able to afford
to skimp. If he had been an Enslee Estate, he could have offered his
guests toast and distilled water without being suspected of poverty.
And once committed to the course he had chosen, he would have beggared
his family rather than stint his hospitality. He was a gentleman; a
fool, perhaps, but a gentleman.
He gave Fernand the order to go ahead. Fernand was upset by the brevity
of the time allotted him, but promised to do his best. Forbes cast his
eye about for a good table. Fernand put up his hand:
"Miss Cabot has her favorite table. You shall have that, also her
captain and her waiter."
Forbes remembered Persis' warning.
"But this luncheon is really in honor of Mrs. Neff," he said.
"Ah, in that case you will want her table. She prefers the opposite
side, nearer the band."
Forbes, having a little while to kill, set out for a stroll round the
block. It came to him suddenly that the precious hundred dollars he had
drawn to make a good show would evaporate and leave almost nothing. He
went to his bank and wrote a check for fifty dollars more. As he stood
waiting at the paying-teller's grill he felt as if he were a forger
taking money he had no right to. But the teller expressed no surprise.
When Forbes returned to the Ritz-Carlton he found his guests already
gathering in the lounge. Willie Enslee came in late and surly. He
explained that his man had had the impudence to fall ill, and had left
him to dress himself.
They had their cocktails, and then Forbes led his little flock up to the
rich pasture. He had to beg pardon through a knot of people pleading
vainly for tables in the circle. They were being turned off into the
side rooms of mediocrity.
It gave Forbes a feeling of elation to be greeted with homage by name
and led at once to his table. It made a brave showing with silver,
glass, and napery already disposed, and a great bouquet of fresh lilacs
in the center.
Fernand whispered to Forbes that he had taken the liberty of changing
the bill of fare somewhat. The result was a surprise to those spoiled
palates, and Forbes' guests were like children in their expressions of
delight. Forbes was voted a gourmet, but he gave the credit to the
hovering Fernand. He was honest enough still for that, though he had not
the courage to admit how deep a gouge the luncheon made in his savings.
Still, he felt as he surveyed his triumph that wealth was a noble thing.
If only he could give such artistic banquets every day! If only he could
frequent such places and hold up his end among all these brilliant
crowds! So many, many people had so much money. Thousands of them were
banqueting here and in other restaurants, encouraging all the arts from
architecture to salad-dressing. Why should he be denied the status of
his tastes?
He attempted to grovel before Persis in apology for oversleeping. But
she refused to take the offense seriously, and she congratulated him for
having the courage and the honesty to confess the real excuse for
absence. He told her that he was sure, from her alert and lustrous eye,
that she too had overslept, but she vowed she had not, and he wondered
again that such delicate beauty should be conjoined to such unfailing
strength.
Save when it was interrupted by exclamations of applause for the choice
of the dishes, or childish yum-yums for the exquisiteness of their
preparation, the talk was all about the mayor's order closing the _thes
dansants_.
"They call this a free country," Mrs. Neff grumbled, "and yet they tell
us we may not dance with our tea!"
"A good thing, too!" said Enslee. "It was time somebody stepped in
before the whole country went absolutely nutty over this dance business.
A little more and they'd have had the waiters trotting in with soup."
"But what are we to do with our afternoons?" Winifred sighed.
"What did you do before?" said Willie.
"I don't know; but I'm sure it was stupid."
Ten Eyck, the consoler, came to the rescue. "Sigh no more, ladies!
There'll be turkey-trotting in this old town when we're all trotted out
to Woodlawn. Forbesy, were you ever in Yellowstone Park?"
"Yes."
"Did you see the Old Faithful geyser geyse?"
"Yes."
"Remember how she would lie quiet as a tub for an hour, and then blow
off her head and explode a stream of water to the clouds, make an awful
fuss for a few minutes, and then drop off to sleep again?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's reform in New York or any big town. There's wild
excitement now; there'll be editorials and sermons and police raids and
license-revoking for a few days. Then everything will quiet down, and in
a week all the old dancing-stands will be running away as before."
Willie changed the subject with his usual abruptness. All this time he
had been revealing an unexpected enthusiasm for the little purple forest
of lilacs in the centerpiece. He kept pulling the nearest sprays to him
and breathing their incense in.
"Do you know I simply adore lilacs," he smiled. "Up at my country place
they must be glorious. My gardener writes me they have never been so
good as this year. I wish I could see them."
Nobody paid much heed to his emotions until, a little later, he broke
out suddenly:
"By Jove, I believe I'll take a run up in the country and see my lilacs
and spend a night in real air."
"That's a fine idea," said Winifred; "we'll all go along."
"Oh no, you won't," said Willie. "The place isn't open yet. Nobody there
but the gardener and his helpers."
This checked Winifred only for a moment, then she returned to the
charge.
"All the more fun," she exclaimed. "Let's all go up and make a week-end
of it."
"But there are no servants there, I tell you," Willie insisted.
"That's where the fun comes in," said Winifred, in love with her
inspiration. "It would be a glorious lark. There's nothing to do here in
town."
"We have to eat, you know," Willie reminded her, coldly; "and nobody to
cook it."
"I'm a love of a cook," said Winifred. "And I've been through your
kitchen up there. It's a model--electric dingblats and all sorts of
things. I'll cook the meals if the rest of you will build the fires and
make the beds and wash the dishes."
"Oh, Winifred, behave!" Willie sniffed.
But Winifred would not behave. She drummed up her scheme until she
raised the others to a kind of amused interest in the venture. It would
be a novelty at least.
"We can always cut and run at a moment's notice," Winifred explained,
for a clincher. "A couple of hours in a car and we're back in town."
"But there are no servants there, I tell you," Willie reiterated. "You
don't seriously expect us to go up there and do our own work?"
"Why not?" said Winifred. "It's time you learned to use your lazy hands
before they drop off from neglect."
"No thank you!" Willie demurred. "If we've got to go, we'll take along
some deck-hands. What do you say, Persis?"
"The only thing I like about it," said Persis, "is the absence of the
servants. I can't remember a time when they haven't been standing round
staring or listening through the doors. Oh, Lord, how good it would be
to be out from under their thumbs for a few days!"
"We can't afford the scandal," said Willie. "Servants are the best
chaperons there are. If we went up without them there'd be a sensation
in the papers."
"You and your fear of the newspapers!" Winifred retorted. "They need
never know."