At my request the maid helped me to get into the cream Oriental lace;
and at half past eight I made my appearance in the drawing-room, as to
dress, looking like a Spanish grande dame, and as to face, looking as
yellow, and lonesome, and sour as the fiercest Spanish brigand.
I was introduced to Mr. This-One, and Mr. That-One and Mr.
The-Other-One. They all looked alike to me, with high collars, and
patent-leather shoes. After awhile there was a little dance, but as I
did not know how I had to sit against the wall, and Madam Demill said I
must be put under a dancing master at once.
The day following, in the afternoon (all the so-called lessons are gone
through in the forenoon, and we have nothing to do but amuse ourselves
the rest of the day) a number of the girls came to call on me in my
apartments. There were a dozen or more of them present when an
arrogant-looking one, with her hair arranged in an immense pompadour
over her forehead, from ear to ear, drawled through her nose.
"I suppose you do not love Americans since we beat your country at the
battle of Manila?"
"No," I said truthfully, "I do not love Americans." (Of course I
mentally excepted grandmother, Professor Ballington, Chauffeur
Graham--and Uncle Theodore when he acts nice.)
The girls threw their chins into the air, their eyes shot fire, and I
heard several faint sniffs.
Then a slim, golden-haired, blue-eyed girl stepped out from the group,
and coming quickly to my side, she put her arm around me and said:
"We'll _make_ her love us!" and she actually touched her rosebud lips to
my yellow cheek.
Since that I have not hated Americans quite so savagely.
The act seemed to have a softening effect on the others, too, for from
that time they all have treated me very decently, even the girl with
the pompadour.
Golden Hair seems to have a great deal of influence in the school. There
are _some_ nice girls in America.
_Oct. 15th, 1----_
Life in this "Fashionable Boarding School" is just about a repetition,
daily, of what transpired the evening of my arrival. It is not worth
recording, so I am closing up my diary until I return to grandmother's.
It takes Yick, and Mrs. Yet, and Chauffeur Graham, and Professor
Ballington, and even a pinch of Aunt Gwendolin to give a little spice to
life.
_Thanksgiving_
I took a run back to grandmother's for what those Americans call
Thanksgiving--It is most amusing to foreigners like me--and Yick.
On grandmother's table there was what they tell me is the regulation
dinner for the day--roast turkey and pumpkin pie.
When Yick, in his best costume, had walked proudly into the dining room
with the immense turkey on a platter, and deposited it on the table, he
returned to the kitchen convulsed with laughter, Betty has told me
since.
"Christians queer people! Christians queer people!" he sputtered
merrily. "Thank God eat turkey, thank God eat turkey!"
I knew what Yick meant, the Oriental idea of thanking God would have
been some act of self-denial. It was hard for the poor "heathen Chinee"
to construe the American self-indulgence into an act of thanksgiving.
Poor Yick, and poor Yellow Pearl! How far both of you are from
comprehending civilisation.
_Holidays, Dec. 20th, 1----_
I am back again at grandmother's for the holidays. Grandmother and Uncle
Theodore seemed so glad to see me that I am beginning to feel quite as
if this were home. Yick and Betty are still here, Chauffeur Graham still
manipulates the automobile.
Mrs. Delancy gave a "little Christmas dance," as she calls it, last
night, and the description has come out in the morning paper:
"The home of Mrs. Delancy was transformed into a bower of flowers, ferns
and softly shaded lights, on the night of her Christmas dance. The hall
and staircase were decorated with Southern smilax entwined with white
flowers, and the dressing-rooms with mauve orchids; while in the
drawing-room the mantelpiece was banked with Richmond roses and
maidenhair ferns, and that in the dining room with lily-of-the-valley
and single daffodils. Passing through the dining room, where an
orchestra was stationed behind a screen of bamboo, twined with flowers,
the guests entered the Japanese tea pavilion, which had been erected for
the occasion. The entrance was formed of bamboo trellis work covered
with Southern smilax, flowers, and innumerable tiny electric lights. The
walls were covered with fluted yellow silk, and from the ceiling
depended dozens of baskets filled with flowers interspersed with
Japanese lanterns and parasols. Huge bouquets of chrysanthemums were
fastened against the wall. The table was exquisitely decorated with
enormous baskets of flowers; in the centre was one with large mauve
orchids over which was tilted a large pink Japanese umbrella, trimmed
with violets, while from each basket sprang bamboo wands suspended from
which were Japanese lanterns filled with lily-of-the-valley and violets,
the whole forming the most beautiful scheme of decoration seen this
season."
How tired I am writing it all! I wonder if any one felt tired looking at
it.
Then followed a description of the ladies' gowns:
"The ladies were simply stunning in their smartest gowns, Mrs. Delancy
queening it in an exquisite apple-green satin, with pearls and diamonds;
Miss Morgan (which means my respected aunt), whose sparkling blonde
beauty always charms her friends, in maize chiffon, through which
sparkled a gold-sequined bodice and underskirt, and Mrs. Deforest, dark
and graceful, in a rich white satin gown. Mrs. Austin looked extremely
handsome in a most becoming orchid gown, with ribbon of the same shade
twisted in her dark hair."
There was a lot more of the same, but my hand refuses to write it. One
would think it was a number of half-grown children the newspaper
reporter was trying to please by saying nice things about them. Strange
that in this America nothing is ever said about what the women _say_ or
_do_ at those social functions; nothing seems worth noticing about them
but the kind of clothes they have on. The men do not count for anything
at all.
I wonder was Professor Ballington there. I wonder did he look at any
one with that smile away back in his eyes which was there when he looked
at me the time I sang my _one_ Spanish song.
_December 21st, 1----_
Yick has given us a new diversion. Aunt Gwendolin gave him orders to
make a _particularly_ nice layer-cake for an afternoon "tea."
Yick is quite proud of his cakes, and this day he wished to outdo
anything he had previously done, so he made a layer cake, icing it with
red and white trimmings. He delights to get a new recipe, or find some
new way of decoration. The daily paper, which always in the end finds
its way into the kitchen, had evidently attracted his attention. He saw
in the advertisement pages a round box with an inscription on top.
Taking the box for a cake, he decorated his culinary effort in imitation
of the picture. Aunt Gwendolin never saw it until it was carried in to
the table, before all the finest ladies of the city, and this was what
they all read, in three rows of red letters across the white icing:
Dodd's
Kidney
Pills
Who says my people are not clever and original?
_Dec. 23d, 1----_
It is drawing near the festive season in this remarkable land, and there
is a great bustle everywhere. Some people are concerned about providing
luxuries for themselves, and some are concerned about providing for
those poorer than themselves.
Mrs. Delancy came in all fagged out from her arduous work of shopping.
"I have just been treating myself to a few little Christmas presents,"
she gasped, as she carried a great, fat, pug dog and deposited him on
grandmother's best white satin sofa pillow. She called the dog many
endearing names, such as "darling," "little baby boy," "sweet one," and
"tootsy-wootsy."
Dogs are thought as much of as babies in America; those are the very
same terms of endearment that the women address to their babies.
"I had to leave this little darling in a restaurant to be fed and cared
for while I did my shopping," she explained. "He _would_ come with me,
the pet."
She then informed Aunt Gwendolin that she had been to the milliner's
and ordered five hats, and had just completed the purchase of a three
thousand dollar jacket at the furrier's.
The dog on the pillow whined in the midst of her recital, and she
stopped long enough to go over and give him a kiss.
She was still enlarging on the beauty of the fur coat, when the
housemaid tapped on the door, and ushered Mrs. Paton into the
sitting-room.
"I heard that you ladies were here," she said, "and I thought you might
like to have the privilege of helping a little in those charities," and
she began to unfold some papers which she held in her hand.
"Oh, my dear Mrs. Paton, do not ask me to-day, _really_," exclaimed Mrs.
Delancy, holding up her hands. "I am among the poor myself to-day, and
you know charity begins at home. I really haven't a cent to give to any
one else. I'm stony broke, as the boys say. I have laid out so much
money to-day for necessities!"
Mrs. Paton then turned to my aunt and said, "Gwendolin, _do_ give
something out of the thousands you are expending on self-indulgence to
help those who have not the necessities of life!"
Taking the paper into her hand with an ungracious air, my aunt wrote
down a certain amount, and then passed it back.
"Dear me!" sighed Mrs. Delancy, as soon as Mrs. Paton had left the
place, "how tired I get of those people with their solicitations for
some Y. M. C. A., or Y. W. C. A., or something else _eternally_. They'd
keep a person poor if one paid any heed to them, _really_! Some one
starving or unclothed every time! It does annoy me so to hear harrowing
tales!"
_January 1st, 1----_
Last night there was a sound of revelry in this great land. At the
solemn hour of midnight, when the old year was dying, and the new year
was just being born, one class of people in this American city rushed
out into the open streets, cheering, blowing horns, ringing bells, and
making all possible noises on all sorts of musical instruments. Another
class celebrated the birth of the new year by eating an elaborate meal.
This is what appeared in the morning paper regarding the latter:
"One million dollars was spent last night in this city celebrating
the birth of another year. More than twenty-five thousand persons
engaged tables at from three to ten dollars a plate in the leading
hotels and cafés."
How fond of eating Americans are!
This is the first time I have seen the birth of a new year in any but my
native land, and my mind goes back to the celebration on a similar
occasion in China. It is a solemn event there. For weeks the people are
preparing for it; houses are cleaned, and debts are paid, for a
Chinaman, if he has any self-respect, will be sure to pay his debts
before the new year.
I told this to Uncle Theodore a few days ago, and he said, "I wish that
Americans would rise to that state of grace."
Nobody goes to bed that night, but all sit up waiting for the first hour
of the new year, when the father of the home, his wife and children all
worship before the spirit tablets of their ancestors, and then at the
shrine of the household gods.
Then the door is opened, and the whole family with the servants go
outside and bow down to a certain part of the heavens, and so worship
heaven and earth, and receive the spirit of gladness and good fortune,
which they say comes from that quarter.
At the same hour, when the old year is dying, China's Emperor, as High
Priest of his people, goes in state to worship. Kneeling alone under the
silent stars he renders homage to the Superior Powers. He on his
imperial throne makes the third in the great Trinity, Heaven, Earth, and
Man. Should there come a famine or pestilence, upon him rests the blame,
and he must by sacrifice and prayer atone for the imperfections of
which heaven has seen him guilty.
Oh, China! I would prefer kneeling with you under the silent stars on
New Year's eve, to feasting at the groaning tables, or ringing the bells
and blowing the horns of this great, civilised, noisy America!
_January 7th, 1----_
Oh, glorious! Grandmother says I need not go back to boarding school for
the winter term; she says the family always go South during the cold
weather, and she wants me to go with them. Wants me, think of it,
_wants_ me. Isn't it nice to have somebody want one along with her! I
believe grandmother really loves me. Aunt Gwendolin doesn't; she wanted
me sent back to school. She said I would never be fit to be brought
_out_ with that kind of carrying on. I love those that love me, but as
for loving those that _hate_ me, as grandmother had been teaching me
from the Bible, I haven't come to that yet.
That reminds me, I wish Aunt Gwendolin would stop snapping at Yick; I am
afraid some day he will kill himself on the doorstep, so his ghost may
haunt her the rest of her life. But I think he likes grandmother and the
other members of the family sufficiently well to cause him to refrain
from that act of Chinese revenge.