The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him Part 55

"Your ward, Peter?"

"Yes. I don't know whether I can make you understand it. I didn't at first. You see I became a.s.sociated with the ward, in people's minds, after I had been in politics for a few years. So I was sometimes put in positions to a certain extent representative of it. I never thought much how I dressed, and it seems that sometimes at public meetings, and parades, and that sort of thing, I wasn't dressed quite as well as the other men. So when the people of my ward, who were present, were asked to point me out to strangers, they were mortified about the way I looked. It seemed to reflect on the ward. The first inkling I had of it was after one of these parades, in which, without thinking, I had worn a soft hat. I was the only man who did not wear a silk one, and my ward felt very badly about it. So they made up a purse, and came to me to ask me to buy a new suit and silk hat and gloves. Of course that set me asking questions, and though they didn't want to hurt my feelings, I wormed enough out of them to learn how they felt. Since then I've spent a good deal of money on tailors, and dress very carefully."

"Good for 'de sixt'! Hurrah for the unwashed democracy, where one man's as good as another! So a 'Mick' ward wants its great man to put on all the frills? I tell you, chum, we may talk about equality, but the lower cla.s.ses can't but admire and worship the tinsel and flummery of aristocracy."

"You are mistaken. They may like to see brilliant sights. Soldiers, ball-rooms or the like, and who does not? Beauty is aesthetic, not aristocratic. But they judge people less by their dress or money than is usually supposed. Far less than the people up-town do. They wanted me to dress better, because it was appropriate. But let a man in the ward try to dress beyond his station, and he'd be jeered out of it, or the ward, if nothing worse happened."

"Oh, of course they'd hoot at their own kind," said Watts. "The hardest thing to forgive in this world is your equal's success. But they wouldn't say anything to one of us."

"If you, or Pell, or Ogden should go into Blunkers's place in my ward, this evening, dressed as you are, or better, you probably would be told to get out. I don't believe you could get a drink. And you would stand a chance of pretty rough usage. Last week I went right from a dinner to Blunkers's to say a word to him. I was in evening dress, newcastle, and crush hat--even a bunch of lilies of the valley--yet every man there was willing to shake hands and have me sit down and stay. Blunkers couldn't have been dressed so, because it didn't belong to him. For the same reason, you would have no business in Blunkers's place, because you don't belong there. But the men know I dressed for a reason, and came to the saloon for a reason. I wasn't putting on airs. I wasn't intruding my wealth on them."

"Look here, chum, will you take me into Blunkers's place some night, and let me hear you powwow the 'b'ys?' I should like to see how you do it."

"Yes," Peter said deliberately, "if some night you'll let me bring Blunkers up to watch one of your formal dinners. He would enjoy the sight, I'm sure."

Leonore c.o.c.ked her little nose up in the air, and laughed merrily.

"Oh, but that's very different," said Watts.

"It's just as different as the two men with the toothache," said Peter.

"They both met at the dentist's, who it seems had only time to pull one tooth. The question arose as to which it should be. 'I'm so brave,' said one, 'that I can wait till to-morrow.' 'I'm such a coward,' said the other, 'that I don't dare have it done to-day.'"

"Haven't you ever taken people to those places, Peter?" asked Leonore.

"No. I've always refused. It's a society fad now to have what are called 'slumming parties,' and of course I've been asked to help. It makes my blood tingle when I hear them talk over the 'fun' as they call it. They get detectives to protect them, and then go through the tenements--the homes of the poor--and pry into their privacy and poverty, just out of curiosity. Then they go home and over a chafing dish of lobster or terrapin, and champagne, they laugh at the funny things they saw. If the poor could get detectives, and look in on the luxury and comfort of the rich, they wouldn't see much fun in it, and there's less fun in a down-town tenement than there is in a Fifth Avenue palace. I heard a girl tell the other night about breaking in on a wake by chance.

'Weren't we lucky?' she said. 'It was so funny to see the poor people weeping and drinking whisky at the same time. Isn't it heartless?' Yet the dead--perhaps the bread-winner of the family, fallen in the struggle--perhaps the last little comer, not strong enough to fight this earth's battle--must have lain there in plain view of that girl.

Who was the most heartless? The family and friends who had gathered over that body, according to their customs, or the party who looked in on them and laughed?" Peter had forgotten where he was, or to whom he was talking.

Leonore had listened breathlessly. But the moment he ceased speaking, she bowed her head and began to sob. Peter came down from his indignant tirade like a flash. "Miss D'Alloi," he cried, "forgive me. I forgot.

Don't cry so." Peter was pleading in an anxious voice. He felt as if he had committed murder.

"There, there, Dot. Don't cry. It's nothing to cry about."

Miss D'Alloi was crying and endeavoring at the same time to solve the most intricate puzzle ever yet propounded by man or woman--that is, to find a woman's pocket. She complicated things even more by trying to talk. "I--I--know I'm ver--ver--very fooooooolish," she managed to get out, however much she failed in a similar result with her pocket-handkerchief.

"Since I caused the tears, you must let me stop them," said Peter. He had produced his own handkerchief, and was made happy by seeing Leonore bury her face in it, and re-appear not quite so woe-begone.

"I--only--didn't--know--you--could--talk--like--like that," explained Leonore.

"Let this be a lesson for you," said Watts. "Don't come any more of your jury-pathos on my little girl."

"Papa! You--I--Peter, I'm so glad you told me--I'll never go to one."

Watts laughed. "Now I know why you charm all the women whom I hear talking about you. I tell you, when you rear your head up like that, and your eyes blaze so, and you put that husk in your voice, I don't wonder you fetch them. By George, you were really splendid to look at."

That was the reason why Leonore had not cried till Peter had finished his speech. We don't charge women with crying whenever they wish, but we are sure that they never cry when they have anything better to do.

CHAPTER XL.

OPINIONS.

When the ride was ended, Leonore was sent home in the carriage, Watts saying he would go with Peter to his club. As soon as they were in the cab, he said:

"I wanted to see you about your letter."

"Well?"

"Everything's going as well as can be expected. Of course the little woman's scandalized over your supposed iniquity, but I'm working the heavy sentimental 'saved-our-little-girl's life' business for all it's worth. I had her crying last night on my shoulder over it, and no woman can do that and be obstinate long. She'll come round before a great while."

Peter winced. He almost felt like calling Watts off from the endeavor.

But he thought of Leonore. He must see her--just to prove to himself that she was not for him, be it understood--and how could he see enough of her to do that--for Peter recognized that it would take a good deal of that charming face and figure and manner to pall on him--if he was excluded from her home? So he justified the continuance of the attempt by saying to himself: "She only excludes me because of something of which I am guiltless, and I've saved her from far greater suffering than my presence can ever give her. I have earned the privilege if ever man earned it" Most people can prove to themselves what they wish to prove.

The successful orator is always the man who imposes his frame of mind on his audience. We call it "saying what the people want said." But many of the greatest speakers first suggest an idea to their listeners, and when they say it in plain English, a moment later, the audience say, mentally, "That's just what we thought a moment ago," and are convinced that the speaker is right.

Peter remained silent, and Watts continued: "We get into our own house to-morrow, and give Leonore a birthday dinner Tuesday week as a combined house-warming and celebration. Save that day, for I'm determined you shall be asked. Only the invitation may come a little late. You won't mind that?"

"No. But don't send me too many of these formal things. I keep out of them as much as I can. I'm not a society man and probably won't fit in with your friends."

"I should know you were not _de societe_ by that single speech. If there's one thing easy to talk to, or fit in with, it's a society man or woman. It's their business to be chatty and pleasant, and they would be polite and entertaining to a kangaroo, if they found one next them at dinner. That's what society is for. We are the yolk of the egg, which holds and blends all the discordant, untrained elements. The oil, vinegar, salt, and mustard We don't add much flavor to life, but people wouldn't mix without us."

"I know," said Peter, "if you want to talk petty personalities and trivialities, that it's easy enough to get through endless hours of time. But I have other things to do."

"Exactly. But we have a purpose, too. You mustn't think society is all frivolity. It's one of the hardest working professions."

"And the most brainless."

"No. Don't you see, that society is like any other kind of work, and that the people who will centre their whole life on it must be the leaders of it? To you, the spending hours over a new _entree_, or over a cotillion figure, seems rubbish, but it's the exact equivalent of your spending hours over who shall be nominated for a certain office. Because you are willing to do that, you are one of the 'big four.' Because we are willing to do our task, we differentiate into the 'four hundred.'

You mustn't think society doesn't grind up brain-tissue. But we use so much in running it, that we don't have enough for other subjects, and so you think we are stupid. I remember a woman once saying she didn't like conversazioni, 'because they are really brain-parties, and there is never enough to go round, and give a second help,' Any way, how can you expect society to talk anything but society, when men like yourself stay away from it."

"I don't ask you to talk anything else. But let me keep out of it."

"'He's not the man for Galway'," hummed Watts. "He prefers talking to 'heelers,' and 'b'ys,' and 'toughs,' and other clever, intellectual men."

"I like to talk to any one who is working with a purpose in life."

"I say, Peter, what do those fellows really say of us?"

"I can best describe it by something Miss De Voe once said. We were at a dinner together, where there was a Chicago man who became irritated at one or two bits of ignorance displayed by some of the other guests over the size and prominence of his abiding place. Finally he said: 'Why, look here, you people are so ignorant of my city, that you don't even know how to p.r.o.nounce its name.' He turned to Miss De Voe and said, 'We say Chicawgo. Now, how do you p.r.o.nounce it in New York?' Miss De Voe put on that quiet, crushing manner she has when a man displeases her, and said, 'We never p.r.o.nounce it in New York.'"

"Good for our Dutch-Huguenot stock! I tell you, Peter, blood does tell."

"It wasn't a speech I should care to make, because it did no good, and could only mortify. But it does describe the position of the lower wards of New York towards society. I've been working in them for nearly sixteen years, and I've never even heard the subject mentioned."

"But I thought the anarchists and socialists were always taking a whack at us?"

"They cry out against over-rich men--not against society. Don't confuse the const.i.tuents with the compound. Citric acid is a deadly poison, but weakened down with water and sugar, it is only lemonade. They growl at the poison, not at the water and sugar. Before there can be hate, there must be strength."