IT was during this period that I received my first
baptism of dismay as patron of a high-class restaurant. The
occasion was a lunch to which I had invited a buyer from
Philadelphia. The word "buyer" had a bewitching sound for me,
inspiring me with awe and enthusiasm at once. The word "king"
certainly did not mean so much to me. The august person to whom
I was doing homage on the occasion in question was a man named
Charles M. Eaton, a full-blooded Anglo-Saxon of New England
origin, with a huge round forehead and small, blue, extremely
genial eyes. He was a large, fair-complexioned man, and the way
his kindly little eyes looked from under his hemispherical
forehead, like two swallows viewing the world from under the
eaves of a roof, gave him a striking appearance. The immense
restaurant, with its high, frescoed ceiling, the dazzling whiteness
of its rows and rows of table-cloths, the crowd of well-dressed
customers, the glint and rattle of knives and forks, the subdued
tones of the orchestra, and the imposing black-and-white figures
of the waiters struck terror into my Antomir heart.
The bill of fare was, of course, Chinese to me, though I made a
pretense of reading it. The words swam before me. My inside
pocket contained sufficient money to foot the most extravagant
bill our lordly waiter was likely to present, but I was in constant
dread lest my treasure disappear in some mysterious way; so, from
time to time, I felt my breast to ascertain whether it was still there
The worst part of it all was that I had not the least idea what I was
to say or do. The occasion seemed to call for a sort of table
manners which were beyond the resources not only of a poor
novice like myself, but also of a trained specialist like Dora
Finally my instinct of self-preservation whispered in my ear,
"Make a clean breast of it." And so, dropping the bill of fare with
an air of mock despair, I said, jovially: "I'm afraid you'll have to
tell me what to do, Mr. Eaton. It's no use bluffing. I have never
been in such a fine restaurant in my life. I am scared to death, Mr.
Eaton. Take pity."
The Philadelphian, who was a slow-spoken, slow-witted, though
shrewd, man, was perplexed at first
"I see," he said, coloring, and looking confusedly at me. The next
minute he seemed to realize the situation and to enjoy it, too, but
even then he was apparently embarrassed. I cracked another joke
or two at my own expense, until finally he burst into a hearty
laugh and cheerfully agreed to act as master of ceremonies. Not
only did he do the ordering, explaining things to me when the
waiter was not around, but he also showed me how to use my
napkin, how to eat the soup, the fish, the meat, what to do with the
finger-bowl, and so forth and so on, to the minutest detail
"I am afraid one lesson won't be enough," I said. "You must give
me another chance."
"With pleasure," he replied. "Only the next 'lesson' will be on me."
And then he had to tell me what "on me" meant
He took a fancy to me and that meant orders, not only from him,
but also from some people of his acquaintance, buyers from other
towns
I sought to dress like a genteel American, my favorite color for
clothes and hats being (and still is) dark brown. It became my
dark hair well, I thought. The difference between taste and vulgar
ostentation was coming slowly, but surely, I hope. I remember the
passionate efforts I made to learn to tie a four-in-hand cravat, then
a recent invention. I was forever watching and striving to imitate
the dress and the ways of the well-bred American merchants with
whom I was, or trying to be, thrown. All this, I felt, was an
essential element in achieving business success; but the ambition
to act and look like a gentleman grew in me quite apart from these
motives
Now, Dora seemed to notice these things in me, and to like them.
So I would parade my newly acquired manners before her as I did
my neckties or my English vocabulary.
After that lecture I gave her on adverbs she no longer called my
English in question. To be educated and an "American lady" had,
thanks to Lucy's influence, become the great passion of her life. It
almost amounted to an obsession. She thought me educated and a
good deal of an American, so she looked up to me and would
listen to my harangues reverently.