The Higgingbothams have not, on the whole, been very success_High society

Produced by ellinora, Harry Lamé and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was

produced from images generously made available by The

Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

Transcriber’s Notes

Text that were printed in italics in the source document has been

transcribed between _underscores_. Small capitals have been changed to

ALL CAPITALS.

More Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this text.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: STOP!]

No reader will be permitted to pass beyond this page who is not actually

_in_ society. This book is not for those who dwell in the gloom of mere

respectability, or the blaze of sheer wealth. It is a pasturage intended

solely for those who bask in the sunlight of the smartest society.

Those whose social standing could conceivably be classed with that of

brewers, green-grocers, minor poets, munition magnates, linen drapers,

provincial actors, and cubist sculptors, _must not_ trespass within

these covers.

BUT--

If your name appears in all the Social Directories; if you are a member

of six or eight fashionable clubs; if you never plan a dinner without

unpotting a pound or so of pâté de foie gras; if you never witness an

opera except from an opera box; if you never go to the city except in an

imported motor-car, why _then_ just knock at the title page, open the

door, walk in, take off your monocle--or your turreted tiara--and make

yourself perfectly at home.

[Illustration]

AN INVITATION TO THE READER

_Elucidating the Little May-Pole Festival on the following page_

Reader, will you join a gay dance

Of the younger Social Set,

And, amid their merry May-dance,

Personally pirouette?

Don a garment, smart and snappy,

Wear your most engaging smile,

Banish boredom and be happy--

In the world of chic and style.

Cedric woos Celeste--who dances--

Vowing love that never dies;

Ethel sees adoring glances

In athletic Albert’s eyes;

Peter--solvent as Mæcenas,

Lures a mermaid to the shore,

Telling her she looks like Venus,

Which, of course, she’s heard before.

You may dance, while Signor Cupid

Fiddles an entrancing tune;

Or, if you find jazzing stupid,

There are gardens--and a moon!

Life, and all its animation

Bids us join the mad mêlée,

And, to use an old quotation,

Gather rose-buds while we may.

Every make of merry mortal,

Wise or otherwise, is here,

And this page is but the portal

Of another world made clear.

Yes, a world, and you may buy it

In this giddy, gaudy book,

Though, of course, I can’t deny it

Has a rather Fish-y look!

G. S. C.

[Illustration]

The Social Merry-Go-Round

The artist is the director, the book a many-colored whirligig. Group

after group revolves before us, while the artist smiles with an arch,

faintly satiric smile, pointing out to us the weaknesses of the

participants in this sacred social world, a delightfully gay throng,

constantly occupied in singing, cajoling, feasting, playing, and

dancing. Each of the characters in this book recognizes only one duty

toward himself--not to be bored--and one law toward his neighbors--not

to bore them. The wheel of the merry-go-round turns again; color is

blurred with color; figure succeeds figure. Montez, Monsieur, montez,

Madame. The show begins.

HIGH SOCIETY

Advice as to Social Campaigning,

and Hints on the Management of

Dowagers, Dinners, Debutantes, Dances,

and the Thousand and One Diversions of

Persons of Quality

[Illustration]

The Drawings by

FISH

The Prose Precepts by

DOROTHY PARKER

GEORGE S. CHAPPELL

and

FRANK CROWNINSHIELD

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS · NEW YORK and LONDON

The Knickerbocker Press

[Illustration]

A HINT TO HIGHWAYMEN

VANITY FAIR PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC.

Fish, And Her Work

When, in the summer of 1914, certain remarkable drawings of social life,

by a new hand, began to appear, in _Vanity Fair_ in New York, and in

_The Tatler_ in London, people all over the world stared at them,

amazed, amused, admiring. Then they stared at each other, demanding,

with one voice: “Who, under the sun, is Fish?”

Meantime, a tall, slender young girl of twenty-two was drawing the

pictures that were helping to keep laughter alive during those dark

days--and troubling very little indeed as to whether Fame’s wandering

searchlight would ever find her out.

That girl was “Fish,” deemed to-day, by many critics, the most

distinguished of satirical black-and-white illustrators.

Miss Fish has created, on that miraculous drawing-board of hers, a

complete human society, as original and amusing as the worlds of George

Du Maurier and Charles Dana Gibson. It is a world populated by young-old

matrons, astoundingly mature young girls, Victorian lady remnants,

resplendent captains of industry, pussy-footing English butlers,

amourous nursemaids, race touts, yearning young lovers, swanking

soldiers, blank and vapid bores, bridge-playing parsons, and

middle-class millionaires. But, for all its sophistication, it is a

world of innocence. The creatures in it are of a touching simplicity, an

incredible naïveté. Fish is one of the only caricaturists who has ever

done this sort of satire without malice--who has ever treated the poor,

misguided children of this world as if they were _really_ children.

But there is beauty in her extraordinary gallery, as well as caricature.

The patterns on her flappers’ gowns are like laces and hangings by

Beardsley; a Pomeranian lying on a rug, becomes a patch of elegant

scrollery, like a detail in a Japanese print. There is no trace at all,

in her drawings, of the hackneyed conventions of illustration:

everything in them is presented through the medium of an original

feeling for form. Even her profiteering millionaires become designs made

up of deft and satisfying curves. Her sketches are creations not only of

a clever and sophisticated intelligence, but of a true artist.

[Illustration: _Photograph by Malcolm Arbuthnot_

“FISH”]

In depicting fashionable society Miss Fish is perhaps at her best, for

the reason that the spectacle which seems to interest her most is that

pageant of “smart” types that race, as if by magic, to her

drawing-board, from every haunt of social life--from opera boxes,

ballrooms, race-meets, cabarets, smart supper parties, dinners of state,

musicales, and the thousand and one happy backgrounds against which the

contemporary _beau monde_ is wont to pose and posture.

In the pages of this book the reader will meet only with Miss Fish’s

social creations: the double-decked dowagers, the amateur vampires, the

horsey horsemen, the diabolically clever little débutantes, the tango

addicts, the incurable bridge-players, the worn-out week-end hostesses,

and the myriad types of human beings that seem perpetually to haunt the

portals of our most exalted society.

For six years, Miss Fish’s sketches have appeared, in America, only in

_Vanity Fair_. For the past two years the British public has only seen

her work in _Vogue_ (the British edition), and in _The Patrician_,--the

English edition of _Vanity Fair_. All the drawings in this book appear

here with the permission of Condé Nast, the publisher of _Vogue_,

_Vanity Fair_, and _The Patrician_.

THE EDITOR.

[Illustration]

List Of Contents

_In Which the Scenes and the Principal Characters Are Revealed_

PAGE

The Opening of the Social Season

How the Members of the Beau Monde will Spend what is Left of

their War-time Incomes 2

The Opera, in Full Blast

Showing that Things are Sounding Much as Usual at the Opera

this Year 4

Keeping on with the Dance

You Will Certainly be Considered a Social Pariah if you don’t

Dance the Night Out 6

Getting On, in Smart Society

If, at First, You Don’t Succeed, Dine ’em and Dine ’em Again 8

Hints on Honeymoons--for the Very Rich

How to Make a Smart Honeymoon--Comparatively Speaking--

Agreeable 10

The Poets that Bloom in the Spring

A Popular New Pastime in Smart Society--the Matinée Poétique 12

The Art Exhibition: Opening Day

After All, There is Nothing Like Modern Sculpture to

Stimulate the Imagination 13

A Week-End with the Recently Rich

Showing that a Profiteer is Without Honour in his Own Country 14

On the Trail of the Concert Lovers

“Among Those Present”--at all the Smart Concert Halls 16

The Trials of the Newly Poor

A Heart-Rending Picture of Life as it is Lived Behind

Aristocratic Doors 18

The Prize Fight Finally Gets into Society

The Smartest Diversion is now the Science of the Swat and the

Slam 20

Dreadful Moments in Society

Embarrassing Little Episodes which Might Happen to Even the

Best of Us 22

On the Trail of a Wife

Détours on the Road to Matrimony 24

Divorce: A Great Indoor Sport

It is Beginning to Rank First among our Fashionable and

Popular Pastimes 26

Wild Bores We Have Met

Question! Who--in Society--is the Unadulterated, 100 Per Cent

Bore? 28

The Throes of First Love, in Society

A Few Fashionable Little Variations on the Oldest Theme in

the World 30

A Calendar of Popular Outdoor Sports

As Practised among Persons of Breeding and Quality 32

The Seven Deadly Temperaments

As Frequently Met With in the Ladies 34

Six Brands of Week-End Hostesses

It’s a Lusty Life, if You Don’t Week-End 36

After-the-War Servant Problems

How the Great Conflict Ended the Golden Days of Service in

the Houses of the Elect 38

Advice to the Lovelorn

What Every Girl Should Know, Before Choosing a Husband 40

The Open Season for Strikes

If you Don’t See What you Want, Strike for It 42

The Art of Fashionable Portraiture

You Can’t be Quite “It,” Without the Aid of a Modernist

Artist 44

Social Superstitions

With Very Special Obeisances to Cupid 46

Who’s Who--in the Audience

Showing that the Smart Playgoer, Not the Smart Play, is

Really the Thing 48

The Horrors of the Week-End

From the Tortured Hostess’s Point of View 50

When Marriage Is a Failure--Cherchez La Femme

Have You a Little Failure in Your Home? 52

Opening of the Opera Season

The Opera Opened--To Crowded Boxes--With the Usual

Performance of “Aïda” 54

Blighters at Bridge

A Terrifying Triumvirate of Familiar Lady Auction Pests 55

The Way to Succeed on the Stage

A Lady, Once a Creature of Fashion, and Now a Famous Actress,

Tells of Her Success 56

Sports for the Summer

The Increasingly Feminine Tone of Our Outdoor Diversions 58

Sea Bathing has become the King of All the Dry Sports

Fashionable Debutantes Who Sojourn by the Sea 59

The Strategy and Finesse of Proposing

Advance Leaves from the 1921 Handbook of Courtship. 60

Palmy Days at the Seaside

Sights at the Bathing Resorts When the Season for Salt Water

is Declared On 62

An Interview with a Great Dancer

Privileged Peeps into the Soul of Mlle. Angeline, of Paris 64

[Illustration]

HIGH SOCIETY

[Illustration]

THE RESTAURANTS

The season in the restaurants has opened strong. And the worst of it is

that the ladies _will_ spend all their time in these blessed robbers’

dens. Tell a woman that her place is in the home and--but you wouldn’t

do anything as rude as _that_, would you? There are two other

discouraging things about women in a restaurant: first, that they won’t

ever go home, and second, that they won’t ever sit down. Here we see a

tragedy illustrating both of these points. Muriel, who long ago finished

her luncheon simply _will_ not join the gentleman in the hallway (the

one who looks a little like President Wilson), although the poor

creature has been waiting for twenty minutes. And her charming little

_vis a vis_, Esmé by name (the one with the lap dog that looks like a

three-leaved clover), has, on her side, been keeping her fiancé standing

at attention for a similar period of time--and, all because the two

dears have such _thrilling_ and _wonderful_ things to talk about.

[Illustration]

The Opening of the Social Season

_How the Members of the Beau Monde Will Spend What Is Left of Their

War-time Incomes_

THE HORSE SHOW

Here we see the horse show in full blast. Here you will see everybody

happy, everybody occupied, scandals energetically and effectually

discussed, meetings arranged in whispers, society reporters calling

everybody by their wrong names, and everybody paying the strictest

attention to everything about them--except the horses.

THE ART SHOWS

Below we see the opening of the Vorticist Sculpture Salon, a debauch in

marble that always brings out a full quota of the artistic cognoscenti

of the town. Bohemia always appears in goodly numbers at these charming

little revels in stone. The extraordinary thing about much of the new

sculpture is that it looks like illustrations for those wonderful books

on hygiene, in which ladies’ are taking their matutinal exercises--by

correspondence, of course. Take, for instance, the case of the delicate

little gem entitled “Love” in this illustration. Captain De Pluyster who

is viewing it in company with his fiancée, Miss Corinna Walpole, is

listening to her: “Oh, that’s an easy one. I do that twenty times, every

morning, just before my bath.”

[Illustration]

THE FASHION FÊTES

Perhaps the most delightful social occasion of all--at least as far as

married men are concerned--is the winter Fashion Fête at Luciline’s

select little dressmaking establishment. In the picture, you will

observe a married gentleman, accompanied by his gross tonnage. The poor

man is not at all listening to Mme. Luciline; no, he is gazing wistfully

and, with eyes aflame, toward the wholly divine young ladies who, every

season, do so much toward making the happy modes and unmaking the

unhappy marriages. “How different would have been my life,” he reflects,

“had I met one of those limp and sinuous sirens before I took up with my

Henrietta.”

[Illustration]

The Opera, in Full Blast

_Showing That Things Are Sounding Much as Usual At the Opera This Year_

AN OPERATIC DUET

For upward of a generation, now, operatic and musical matters have gone

along much as usual at our opera house. It’s always dangerous to be

different, or original, or diverting. Literally, the only novel thing

that has happened at the opera this season is that the director’s box,

which has always been empty, was, at one performance last week, tenanted

by a young gentleman in our best society, along with a tiny little

friend of his. To see this usually dim, untenanted cave so decoratively

occupied was a welcome change in the monotony of a somewhat uneventful

season.

HOME, SWEET HOME

Below, you will behold a little scene in Pneumonia Alley otherwise known

as the lobby of the opera. It is here that all of our best people

gather, after the opera, and wait for hours for their flunkeys and

limousines. Fashionable personages are really much cleverer than mere

people are wont to suppose. After twenty years of hard study, they have

finally devised a system by which--after the opera--they can wait around

in the lobby for their motors and reach their houses only an hour later

than they would if they left by the main door and picked up a passing

taxi.

[Illustration]

HEARTS AND FLOWERS

One of the great tragedies of life is that men and women have a way of

saying pleasant things to your face, and _truthful_ things behind it.

Nowhere is this practice more prevalent than in grand opera. Above, for

instance, you will observe a portrait of Signor Enrico Scottinelli,

buttering with fair words the bewitching soprano. Nothing could exceed

the sweetness of his remarks to her, during the opera. You know the

remarks we mean: “Your eyes are radiant arrows in my soul. Your lips are

torments to my heart. Look at me, and an eagle lifts my feet; kiss me,

and pansies blossom in my breast.” It’s all very operatic and charming,

but, back of the scenes--oh my!--what a difference!--“You call yourself

an artist! You, who paid a press agent for every line you ever got in a

newspaper! You who were hissed at Monte Carlo. You, who are only kept on

here at the opera in order to save storage charges on your body at the

warehouse! A singer! Ha! ha! ha! Why don’t you go back to washing? An

artist! Corpo di Bacco! Why don’t you go back to scrubbing floors? You,

who stand there dressed up like Marguerite! Where is your fur, where are

your claws, where are your shiny yellow eyes, cat that you are!” All of

this, disheartening and saddening as it is, only proves that social

amenities at the opera are very much as they are with us all in real

life.

[Illustration]

THE SPELL OF MUSIC

Why is it, we wonder, that the people in the first tier boxes at the

opera always seem like human beings. Even their tiaras, feathers, and

red Indian facial accoutrements, fail wholly to remove them from the

category of living creatures. But the inhabitants of the second tier

boxes are, somehow, a race apart. Their faces, figures, fans, hair, and

bodily habiliments all somehow take on a strange, wild note. “Are they

human?” we ask ourselves, “or are they merely some wax figures which we,

as children were wont to admire?” In the sketch we see a group of these

second-tier creatures suffering intensely under the spell of the

director’s baton.

[Illustration]

LES TROIS CORYPHÉES

Above is pictured a bright moment from the Ballet of the Rosebud--one of

the lighter, sweeter forms of ballet. The plot concerns the love of the

Rosebud for the South Wind--the sex interest is always developed early

in these little dramas--and it shows how he subsequently leaves her

ruthlessly--as it’s against the rules for any ballet to end happily.

This scene shows a Trio of Spring Flowers, in action.

THE EIGHT HOUR NIGHT

Below is an intimate glimpse of any gathering any evening, anywhere in

the, broadly speaking, civilized world. Now that the war is really over,

something had to be found to keep all the men interested,--so the dance

habit has come back more strongly than ever. If he can only have seven

or eight hours of fox-trotting every evening, a young man will get so

that he hardly misses his bayonet practise at all.

[Illustration]

Keeping on With the Dance

_You Will Certainly Be Considered a Social Pariah if You Don’t Dance the

Night Out_

In spite of sporadic outbursts of protest from non-dancing editors of

hearth-side magazines, the dance craze is still going strong. In fact,

it’s more violent than it ever was; it is no longer a mere craze--it has

reached the point of frenzy. Any kind of dance goes (whether in Rome,

Madrid, New York, Paris or London) from the intricacies of the Russian

ballet on the stage of the opera, to the simple little fox trot in the

privacy of your own home. Joy has never been so completely unconfined as

it is this season; everybody is going on--and on--with the dance. You

simply can’t get away from it. No matter where you go, some form of

dancing is sure to come into your life, someone is certain to appear

suddenly and dance with, beside, in front, or all over you.

[Illustration]

A LEGEND OF RUSSIA

A quiet corner of the Ballet Russe--one of the calmest moments in the

company’s entire repertory. Both the lady and gentleman are, of course,

stars of the Imperial Ballet of Moscow--they always are. Any male dancer

wearing trick red boots, and any female dancer whose costumes are

Moscow. This is a scene from “The Golden Vodka,” a drama all about the

love of the Princess Soviet for Nikailovitch, the handsome samovar.

MORNING--IN THE PARK

Somebody once got all worked up about dancing and called it the poetry

of motion; if you want to go right along with the idea, you might speak

of barefoot dancing as the vers libre of motion. No one is quite certain

of what it’s all about. The lady in this sketch, a disciple of the art,

has left home to run wild in the park at dawn, in a little dance called

“The Birth of the Crocus.”

[Illustration]

THE SOCIETY DERVISHES

This is what some euphemist has delicately called “ballroom dancing.” It

occurs at least once in the course of every musical comedy and variety

show. The male half of the cast seems forever looking for an opportunity

to toss his partner out into the orchestra. Perhaps it’s the element of

uncertainty about this sort of dancing that makes it so popular with the

public; you never know at just what moment it’s going to prove too much

of a strain for the male member of the team, or when the lady in the

case is going to land, with a pretty informality, in your lap.

[Illustration]

THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS

The Dance of Salome seems never to lose its popularity--perhaps the

secret of its appeal is the sweet, wholesome joyousness of it all. It

requires very few properties. All a girl needs, to give her own version

of Salome’s famous specialty, is a plated silver platter, a papier maché

head, and the usual lack of costume.

Getting On, in Smart Society

_If, at First, You Don’t Succeed, Dine ’em and Dine ’em Again_

[Illustration]

IN THE INTELLECTUAL SET

The T. Pennypacker Higgingbothams reached the metropolis, a short while

ago, from the social ooze of the Texas oil fields. They wanted to break

into society, but, alas, a fondness for eating and a fortune of twenty

millions were all that they had to do it with. These pictures mirror

their progress in the frigid marble-and-gold society of our inhospitable

city. They are here shown at their first important dinner--a little

repast of eight--at their palace, a palace which, architecturally

considered, is a cross between the Temple of Karnak and Charing Cross

Station. They are wisely beginning their social climb among the

intellectual set. Brains are the best things to climb on until you got

fairly high up, when you can safely discard them. Reading from left to

right, T. Pennypacker Higgingbotham; Marietta Pillsbury Powyss, author

of “The Fear of Love,” “More Than Kisses”; Frederick von Nippelzow,

Professor of Czech, and the Slav and Bulgar languages at Oxford; Miss

Sophronisba Ottway, Japanese lacquer worker, Etruscan embosser, designer

of Indian art-jewelry; Guido Bruno Pfaff, lecturer on Malthusianism,

Mendelism and sea worms; Babette La Rue, smock designer, garden-stick

maker, flower-pot varnisher, book-end painter, art stenciler and jig-saw

artist; Bliss Merriweather Gow, play-reader, author of nine

Shakespearean masques, creator of a ballet entitled “The Birth of

Passion”; and, finally, the dazed Hostess, about to go down for the

third time.

[Illustration]

HEARTS AND DIAMONDS

The Higgingbothams were told that they could do nothing without a social

secretary. They accordingly engaged Miss Audrey De Vere, a young lady of

lineage. Audrey smokes, drinks, and plays “poker”: she also knows how to

get first-night tickets at the theatres and an outside table at a

cabaret. She can mix eleven different kinds of cocktails with only one

bottle of gin, one lemon, two bottles of Vermouth and a single olive.

She is engaged to a war hero--her vis-a-vis at this table. The dinner

has been cleared away and Audrey and her friends have just finished a

little session with the cards. Net result: the T. Pennypacker

Higgingbothams are minus the value of one small Texas oil well.

THE RECEPTION COMMITTEE

Front elevation of Mr. and Mrs. H. at the head of the grand stairway

leading to the gold organ room in their palace. Mr. and Mrs. H. are

expecting forty more or less strangers to dine with them. Gold favors

will be found under the napkins. Twenty pairs of footmen’s calves, in

wood, have just been successfully adjusted by the H’s footmen, in the

magenta and gold dining room, brought, at some expense, from Verocchio’s

palace in Venice.

[Illustration]

THE ATTACK ON BOHEMIA

The Higgingbothams have not, on the whole, been very successful in their

attacks on the smart set, so they are at present engaged in entertaining

Bohemia. Here you see a section of it let loose in the Verocchio

dining-room. Reading from left to right: Mr. H., somewhat at a loss to

know how to manage the bright young thing on his left; Miss Tessie

Truefitt, artists’ model, understudy to a barefoot dancer, poses for Jo

Davidson; Le Roy Eastman, socialist, drawing room anarchist, author of

“The Red Flag in Spain,” lectures on Government Ownership of Women;

Theda B. Small, film vampire, the worst woman in the city, rolls her

own cigarettes, never wears stockings; Archibald Witherspoon Troutt,

fashion artist, introduced the hoop in men’s evening coats, is suing

Lady Duff Gordon for stealing his ideas (note the Byron collar and the

Hero tie); Polly Pym, keeps a restaurant in the Apache region--paper

napkins, waiters in red shirts, pipe smoking allowed, _eau de quinine_

served from straw bottles, choral singing and recitations; Aristede Le

Blanc, French Impressionist, paints with a palette knife; and, finally,

poor Mrs. H., speechless at the wild and wanton scene around.

SUCCESS AT LAST

The Higgingbothams have had bad luck with their dinners and have now

decided to try nothing but little suppers after the opera. Here we

behold them with Mr. and Mrs. Lestranges, who compose the thickest part

of the social cream. The Higgingbothams have at last _arrived_. They

have a loge at the opera and know so many great people that they can

perfectly well afford to discard all their intellectuals, social

secretaries and Bohemians--all of them now unnecessary and _de trop_.

The Lestranges have already refused three courses at supper and are now

engaged in inspecting the little _Escargots, à la Melba_.

[Illustration]

HE’S A JOLLY GOOD FELLOW

Mr. Higgingbotham has at last been permitted to join an ancient social

club. He is here enjoying a bottle or two of his famous private stock,

Veuve Clicquot, 1883, gray label, silver foil: only two cases in the

world--and Mr. Higgingbotham owns them both.

Hints on Honeymoons--For the Very Rich

_How to Make a Smart Honeymoon--Comparatively Speaking--Agreeable_

PEACE HATH HER VICTORIES

A type of honeymoon which is not seen very much now is the War Brand.

The lady mooner in the sketch below (she is the one leaning against the

tree) is Colonel of the First Daffodils, and, of course, the flower of

the regiment. The gentleman mooner is the Captain of the 7th Scotch

Sodas. They are taking their honeymoon in little slices, between drills,

as it were; not a bad system, as it prevents the happy young warriors

from becoming fed up with the sweetness of love.

[Illustration]

THE COTTAGE OF DREAMS

Oh, honeymooners, do you remember the little creeper-covered cottage to

which You and She planned to fly immediately after the Voice had

breathed o’er Eden? It was millions of miles from home, that little

rose-colored paradise, and there wasn’t to be any telephone, and letters

were not to be forwarded, and mother couldn’t annoy you, and you were

going to pick heartsease in the garden,--and then you found you couldn’t

afford it, and so you settled in a suburban villa in solitary exile.

[Illustration]

ALONE, AT LAST

The moment in the honeymoon, which is pictured below, is technically

known as the _enfin seuls_. The parents have been banished, the best man

is still in wine; the bridemaids are at the photographer’s, the footmen

have gone to chase up the entrée, and the lovers are at last alone with

their J-HOY. What a blissful moment! Six months later a moment like this

is a bit of a bore. Any third person then, even a dun from the tailor,

would be welcome, for love, alas, is like caviare; a little

indigestible--unless consumed in very small portions.

[Illustration]

WATER, WATER, EVERYWHERE

The yachting honeymoon is always a mistake. If anybody offers you a

yacht for your honeymoon don’t accept it. The trouble with the ocean,

for social purposes, is that it has no kind of taxi service. Take the

case of Mr. and Mrs. Boodle-Beauty, who would have died of loneliness if

it hadn’t been for bridge. Fortunately, a cook and a sailor knew their

way about the card deck. Hearts would come into the bridegroom’s hand,

but, with the bride, everything was diamonds.

[Illustration]

THE EXPRESS TO EDEN

Showing the bride and groom at the station just before the departure of

the Eden express. Note the almost amorous gentleness with which the

sentimental porters are caring for the slippered luggage. Good luck to

you, happy newlyweds, before you pass into the Beatific Blue! Good luck,

and here’s hoping that the train is a limited express, with no

“stop-overs” in Nevada.

AMOUR DE VOYAGE

Of course, _most_ honeymoons take place at hotels. Such wonderful food,

and such dim, religious corners in the corridors. And it makes letters

home so ridiculously easy. “Dear Mamma, and all: Arthur and I arrived

last night. So, so happy. We are very comfortable. Arthur tries to be

very cruel, but, so far, I have had no trouble in sitting on him.”

[Illustration]

The Poets That Bloom in the Spring

_A Popular New Pastime in Smart Society--the Matinée Poétique_

New York, and other American cities, have lately had a visiting

procession of foreign poets. Robert Nichols, W. B. Yeats, Siegfried

Sasson, John Drinkwater and Lord Dunsany have given ringing poetry

recitals, and added greatly to their laurels. Here we have the latest

arrival from English shores, Lonsdale Thornditch, the young poet, who

finds compensation for the indifference of the British public by

reciting his verse to the appreciative audience of America. With the

present rate of exchange, and everything, Mr. Thornditch feels very

well compensated. He is here seen in the futuristic salon of Mrs. Updike

Jones, in New York, reading from his still-unpublished volume,

“Skeletons in Scarlet.” His poems are most effective when read aloud, as

may be judged from observing the prostrate illuminati about him. We

cannot see why this pretty idea of lending literati to other lands

should not be taken up by America. Why not redeem America’s literary

debt and introduce the people of England to the joys--and even

horrors--of the imported poetry recital.

[Illustration]

The Art Exhibition: Opening Day

_After All, There Is Nothing Like Modern Sculpture to Stimulate the

Imagination_

There was a time when one visited the Natural History Museums to observe

Nature’s latest vagaries in the shape of undeveloped amoebæ in bowls,

rudimentary horns on recently unearthed amphibians, and models of funny

little puffins, and green lizards, who had gone wrong while still in a

pre-natal state.

Now one may see all these little jokes of Mother Nature at any

fashionable exhibition of ultra modernist sculpture. The city is full

of them. You are probably familiar with them. Here, for instance, are a

few, which have been named by their creators as follows--reading from

left to right--along the very top row: “The Birth of Love,” “Portrait of

My Wife,” “Study of a lady,” “Fruitage,” “Inhibited Motherhood” and,

finally, “The Death of Libido.”

[Illustration]

A Week-End With the Recently Rich

_Showing That a Profiteer Is Without Honour in His Own Country_

OUR HERO

Mr. John R. Blivvins, of America, one of the leading figures in that

noble band of munitions factory owners who did such yeoman service--for

themselves--all through the great conflict. However, even though peace

is here, there is still work to be done,--Mr. Blivvins is about to crash

in on British Society. By way of a start in the right direction, he has

purchased--at 10 per cent discount for cash--an ancestral estate

equipped with all the modern conveniences, including built-in butlers,

hot and cold running footmen at all hours, and a resident bishop.

Everything goes with the estate but the title, and Mr. Blivvins looks to

his attractive daughter, Angelica, to furnish that, by marrying one.

[Illustration]

A HORRIBLE MOMENT

Up to this moment, everything has gone along beautifully. Angelica has

worked up a visiting Duke to the proposal point, and Mr. Blivvins has

behaved so conservatively that the dinner guests are on the verge of

accepting him. And then he had to wreck the entire works. Led away by

too conscientious attention to the products of the ancestral

wine-cellar, Mr. B. is, with unfortunate geniality, insisting that the

footman try one of his best cigars. The Duke might overlook this, but

the footman--never.

[Illustration]

THE COMMITTEE OF WELCOME

This moment marks the dawn of a new life for the Blivvins family. Their

future seems to be practically assured. Angelica, the one and only

daughter, has got in some deadly work on one of the local Dukes, who has

been pressed into coming down for the week-end. To make it all

delightfully homelike, the Duke has brought along his sister, one of the

most unmarried noble-women in the entire United Kingdom. This charming

little domestic scene shows the arrival of the guests, just at tea time.

Angelica is going strong with the Duke (his is the third figure from the

right--the clean-cut, red-blooded lad of barely seventy summers). Mr.

Blivvins is welcoming the bishop to the little circle--a bishop is

always so ornamental when draped gracefully around a tea-table.

[Illustration]

THE EROTIC MOTIVE

This picture does not show the great moment in any one of our popular

farces,--it is far more tragic than that. It shows how Mr.

Blivvins--always an artist at that sort of thing--has managed to get

himself disliked. In an absent-minded moment--all life’s bitter

tragedies happen in such moments--our hero has mistaken a door, and

walked into the room where the Duke’s sister has retired to her chaste

repose. The noble vestal is defending her honor at the point of a

curling-iron, shrieking, “Stop, villain, or I fire.”

[Illustration]

THE GRAND TOUR

The snappy little evening’s entertainment--Mr. Blivvins takes his guests

on a personally conducted tour of the picture galleries, proudly

pointing out all of his ancestral portraits--that came with the house,

when he bought it. Of course, a little of that sort of thing is

perfectly ripping, but, after the first eight miles, picture galleries

seem to pall a bit. The Duke’s sister is plainly bored.

[Illustration]

ON WITH THE DANCE

Things are looking considerably brighter here. Angelica has had the

inspiration of injecting a little jazz into the Duke’s attentions. After

all, dukes are but human; they can’t hold out against a jazz. The noble

antique has dropped forty years from his age, and is dancing with all

the abandon of a chorus man. Nothing could be sweeter, so far as

Angelica’s proud parents are concerned, but the bishop and the Duke’s

sister,--oh, Heavens!

THE BITTER END

And this is the hideous conclusion of the whole affair. The Duke is

indubitably not as young as he used to be, and the jazz dance has

brought on a complete breakdown. He has to be ignominiously led away to

Mortgaged Towers, the ducal estate, in a bath chair. The Blivvins family

plumbs the utmost depths of gloom--and all bets on Angelica’s marriage

into the British peerage have been officially declared off.

[Illustration]

THE DANCE OF THE GHOULS

A view of the extreme left wing of the balcony, during a piano recital

by the newest Russian prodigy. The members of this exclusive little

group simply don’t know how they would ever get along without music. If

it weren’t for music, they would be absolutely powerless to express

their souls. Nothing is over their heads. Debussy to them is just like

nothing at all to you or me, and they whistle catchy little tunes by

Rimsky-Korsakoff in their bath-tubs. They are shown here still a trifle

spent with enthusiasm after the pianist has obliged with one of his own

compositions, entitled, “Dance of the Ghouls.”

[Illustration]

LONG MAY HE PERMANENTLY WAVE

The world-famous pianist, who was once told that he had a Beethoven-like

brow and has been dressing the part ever since. He can only manage to

work in one concert annually; the rest of his time is taken up in making

phonograph and pianola records, posing for heavily shadowed photographs,

paying premiums for the insurance on his hands, and lending atmosphere

and tone to the more exclusive studio teas.

[Illustration]

NO COAXING

The society soprano--always a feature of the programme for the charity

concert. It is pretty to see how gladly she volunteers her services for

such events; there is no false modesty about it, no hanging back, no

making excuses, no insistence on being coaxed, no niggardliness as to

encores. No, she steps right forward, brings her music, supplies her own

accompanist, and just lets herself go. She is here portrayed at work,

rendering, by her own request, “Baby’s Boat’s the Silver Moon.”

On the Trail of the Concert Lovers

_“Among Those Present”--at All the Smart Concert Halls_

[Illustration]

THE INFANT PRODIGY

The little dear has been appearing in public for the last four

years--she is soon to celebrate her seventh birthday--and has played in

every country in Europe, before all the royalty worth knowing, adding

materially to the uneasiness of the crowned heads. This wonder-kiddie,

as her press-agent so affectionately calls her, never had a lesson in

her life; it’s a gift. It has also proved to be a gift to the father of

the phenomenon--he hasn’t done a day’s work in years.

[Illustration]

THE MALE DUET

The male, broadly speaking, duet--a great favorite with concert

audiences. They go in strongly for the brighter, cleaner school of song;

they are particularly good in those ballads about shepherds and

shepherdesses, named Colin and Phyllis. They also get in some really

great work on the botanical numbers; those heartbreaking ditties with

the mild sex interest, all about the love of the violet for the rose.

[Illustration]

AMONG THOSE PRESENT

A pack of concert-hounds about to corner their prey--straining at their

leashes in the foyer of the concert hall, just before the performance

gets under way. All the best-known types of the species are here

represented, from the strange beings who are here because they like this

sort of thing, to the pitiful creatures who _have_ to come--because

their wives like it.

The Trials of the Newly Poor

_A Heart-rending Picture of Life as it is Lived Behind Aristocratic

Doors_

[Illustration]

THE IDEALS OF ALGY

What a topsy-turvy old world it is. And how its recent antics have upset

our very highest Society! For a smart young Johnny to-day, Peace hath

its horrors just as well as War. Imagine being a Penniless Peer, as was

young Algernon Wemyss (of Wimbledon) when sterling-exchange suddenly

established its low-visibility record. But, did the brave lad falter?

Well, hardly. With only his coronet for capital, he strolled into the

pleasant supper parties, of the musical comedy field, finally playing,

with great success, the title-role in “The Ideals of Algy,” two of which

he may be seen embracing as he takes his first step toward

rehabilitating the shattered fortunes of his proud old family.

BACK TO NATURE

But there was, to Algy, something raffish about the stage. Once on his

financial feet again, he realized that the smartest possible form of

trade, for a chap with his tastes, is that of the creator of lovely

frocks for lovely maidens. And--no sooner said than done! In less than

two weeks Algy was known, far and wide, as the man who made Poiret take

to French brandy. Algy’s little shop was a rendezvous for every fair

lady with any pretensions to _chic_. But alas! he hopelessly offended

his very best customer, Mlle. Nini Latouche, of the Opera. Nini had him

black listed _everywhere_, with the result that the shutters were soon

up at Algy’s.

THE PEER AND THE PERI

It is something of a drop from the frills of fashion to the grease and

grime of being a fashionable chauffeur; but needs must when the problem

of high living drives. Having owned cars all his life, Algy naturally

spoke the language perfectly and found no difficulty in landing a job

with Abraham Ashurst, the Mattress King. Unfortunately, Algy became much

less interested in the mechanism of his car than in the personality of

its daily occupant--Miss Annabelle Ashurst who simply doted on

ignitions, and everything connected with speed, including the chauffeur.

Observing, from his classic portico, that Algy was more of a magneto

than a man-servant, father Abraham banished him forthwith from his

richly upholstered bosom.

[Illustration]

DE PROFUNDIS

And now we see Algy in that darkest hour which comes before

dawn--joyless and jobless, and yet still able to derive a certain bitter

amusement from a new game of solitaire which he plays exclusively with

unpaid bills. The idea is to work the things into two piles, in one of

which the certificates of indebtedness shall equal the accounts

receivable in the other. We may add that, in this pathetic pastime, Algy

has just failed to go game for the thirty-seventh time.

SUCCESS AT LAST

Hurrah for Algy! Like an inspiration came his last and best idea, to

capitalize his nimble feet and become a dancing instructor. Below, you

see him at the turning-point of his career, just as the maid is

informing him that a fabulously rich Miss Detworthy has arrived for her

first instruction. Note the enraptured expression of Miss D. (the lady

with the circular marks on her gown). Note the appreciative glance of

our hero. And so, at last, Algy is able to witness the triumph, in his

unhappy life, of Romance, Laughter, and Love.

[Illustration]

MILLY, THE LIGHT-WEIGHT

As the subsequent series of ringside flash-lights indicates, all the

world’s fashionable fair ones have taken up the maidenly art of

self-defense. Everybody’s doing it--both in London and New York. The

Wilson family is a typical example. Dainty Millicent, shown at right, is

prominently mentioned to win the Junior cup. No more breakfast in bed

for Milly. Vanished, the boredom of banting. An eight o’clock round with

the punching bag and the girl’s day has really begun.

[Illustration]

The Prize Fight Finally Gets into Society

_The Smartest Diversion Is Now the Science of the Swat and the Slam_

[Illustration]

MILADY, THE WELTER-WEIGHT

On the right is Millicent’s mama, who, as the picture clearly shows, is

rapidly rounding into championship form. Her sparring partner,

kind-hearted old Harry Wilson, who is both outweighted and outranged,

labors under the added disadvantage of being, in private life, the

lady’s husband. The male half of the bout is plainly covering-up. One

false blow,--a cross-counter to any one of his adversary’s chins, for

example,--and Harry could be haled into the nearest court on a charge of

mass murder.

Showing how the smartest dowagers of the sea lion class are waking up to

the need of fighting their way into the bear-cat class. It’s only in

play, of course, but it’s wicked play.

[Illustration]

THE LADY BANTAM

Below, we see little sister Grace, home from school for the holidays

and, of course, mad about boxing, as all the rest of society is. The

young parson, bless his pale pink soul, has inquired about the

extra-curriculum activities of Grace’s schoolmates, not for a moment

expecting that the answer to his innocent interest would be a blow in

the Adam’s-apple. This, Grace explains, is the favorite blow of M.

Carpentier. An intriguing phase of the tragedy is the delight of old

Mrs. Brown, who sits in the right-hand, ring-side armchair, and who has

secret designs on the parson--in the shape of her daughter, the adjacent

young person who looks a little like a turban-ed turkey’s-egg.

[Illustration]

A CHARMING EVENING IN HIGH SOCIETY

Just now boxing is all the rage in the great and wicked metropolis.

Set-to’s happen in the best regulated sets. Nothing, for instance, could

have kept the last Sutherby dinner-party awake, after ten, had it not

been the perfectly arranged post-prandial entertainment provided by

these thoughtful hosts. In spite of an abundance of wines, Lucullan

dishes, triple extract of mocha, and an orchestra of twelve saxophones,

the party was dying on its feet, until Madame S. escorted the guests to

the ballroom where a ring greeted their eyes. From that point on, the

weary guests came out of their slumbers, and gaiety reigned supreme.

[Illustration]

THE CARELESS CRITIC

The unexpected is always interesting but it is sometimes frightfully

disturbing, as well. For instance, here is Miss Emily Rivington, who has

gone to a dance and has just remarked, over her left shoulder, to her

friend Lucille Taplow--“I ask you, my dear, have you ever seen anything

more hideous than this room?” Of course, the poor child was entirely

unaware of the fact that her hostess had pussyfooted her way into the

room just in time to receive, point blank, the full force of little

Emily’s remarks.

[Illustration]

Dreadful Moments in Society

_Embarrassing Little Episodes Which Might Happen to Even the Best of

Us_

[Illustration]

ART FOR THE ARTLESS

If Algy Appleton’s fiancée had shown him something easy to understand in

the way of art--like an insurance calendar or the cover of a seed

catalogue--he might have been able to murmur something intelligent, but

when, in the presence of the sculptor, she led him up to a portrait of

herself done in the most modern manner, the poor boy’s mental motor went

absolutely dead.

[Illustration]

SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE

What is a modern ménage without its little _affaire de coeur?_ Surely,

those whose hearts still find room for romance will pity the plight of

charming Mrs. Francklyn Sunderland who finds herself, as it were,

between two fires, one of which warms the slippers of her home-loving

husband, while the other crackles over the telephone in the burning

words of Mrs. S.’s latest and very best beau. Mrs. S.’s situation is

rapidly growing desperate. Query! What should she do?

[Illustration]

THE GREAT UNKNOWN

Marian Holworthy’s right-hand dinner neighbor is the guest of honor and

a tremendous genius of some sort, but, for the life of her, Marian

cannot think what his specialty is. She has tried him on Art, Music, and

Literature without eliciting more than a grunt and is wondering whether

she ought to ask him, right out, whether he works for a living.

POVERTY AND RICHES

Poor penniless Dick Wadleigh is in a dreadful fix. He has promised that

he will tender his heart and hand to Loretta Lorillard, the rich sister

of his over-seas American chum. And now he is gazing upon the lady for

the first time and finding that she is, socially and physically

speaking, a dud. Just to make things pleasanter, brother Lorillard is

hoarsely whispering: “Do it now, old boy, do it now.”

[Illustration]

ENTER THE HERO

Having tried everything else at least once, our hero feels that it is

only fair to see if there’s anything in matrimony, so he has set forth

in quest of something really good in the way of a wife. He is here shown

at the conclusion of his affair with Mirabel, a debutante with every

qualification of the Perfect Helpmate. But just as everything was

getting pleasantly arranged he discovered her secret vice--she is a

slave to free verse. She pours out her soul in unfettered rhythms for a

whole evening and, really, he never could have anything like _that_ in

the house.

[Illustration]

On the Trail of a Wife

_Détours on the Road to Matrimony_

[Illustration]

THE SECOND ENTRY

The next event in the series is Phyllis, who specializes in Early

Victorian work--blushes, swoons, down-cast eyes, dropped handkerchiefs,

and all the rest. Our hero was just about to fall a prey to her

appealing femininity and beg her to name the bridesmaids. And then they

chanced to drop in at an informal little sparring match, and he caught a

glimpse of Phyllis’ inner nature (Phyllis is here pictured in action).

Our hero is painfully realizing that this effectually shatters his dream

of a sunny married life.

EXHIBIT C

Reader, let us present Chloe, Exhibit C in our hero’s collection of

possibilities. From the moment he met Chloe he was intrigued; he

followed her about doggedly, always pining to see more of her. Alas, he

got his wish when he invited her to the opera, and she appeared in her

new Paris gown. Although he feels that, after seeing her in the dress,

the ethical thing to do would be to marry her, he cannot help insisting

on having a little illusion left--so he regretfully passes out of her

life.

[Illustration]

THE ORDEAL BY AIR