PREPARING FOR THE PLUNGE
John Merrick lived with the Doyles at their Willing Square apartments.
There were but two of the Doyles--Patricia and her father, Major Doyle,
a tall, handsome, soldierly man with white moustache and hair. The Major
was noted as a "character," a keen wit and a most agreeable type of the
"old Irish gentleman." He fairly worshipped his daughter, and no one
blamed him for it. His business, as special agent and manager for his
brother-in-law's millions, kept the Major closely occupied and afforded
John Merrick opportunity to spend his days as be pleased. The rich man
was supposed to be "retired," yet the care of his investments and income
was no light task, as the Major found.
We are accustomed to regard extreme wealth as the result of hard-headed
shrewdness, not wholly divorced from unscrupulous methods, yet no one
could accuse John Merrick or his representative with being other than
kindly, simple-hearted and honest. Uncle John says that he never
intended to "get rich"; it was all the result of carelessness. He had
been so immersed in business that he failed to notice how fast his
fortune was growing. When he awoke to a realization of his immense
accumulation he promptly retired, appointing Major Doyle to look after
his investments and seeking personal leisure after many years of hard
work. He instructed his agent to keep his income from growing into more
capital by rendering wise assistance to all worthy charities and
individuals, and this, as you may suppose, the Major found a herculean
task. Often he denounced Uncle John for refusing to advise him, claiming
that the millionaire had selfishly thrust the burden of his wealth on
the Major's broad shoulders. While there was an element of truth in this
the burden it was not so heavy as to make the old soldier unhappy, and
the two men loved and respected one another with manly cordiality.
Patricia was recognized as Uncle John's favorite niece and it was
understood she was to inherit the bulk of his property, although some
millions might be divided between Beth and Louise "if they married
wisely." Neither Uncle John nor the Major ever seemed to consider
Patsy's marrying; she was such a child that wedlock for her seemed a
remote possibility.
The Sunday afternoon following Diana Von Taer's visit to the three
nieces found the girls all congregated in Patsy's own room, where an
earnest discussion was being conducted. That left Uncle John to take his
after-dinner nap in the big Morris chair in the living room, where Major
Doyle sat smoking-sulkily while he gazed from the window and begrudged
the moments Patsy was being kept from him.
Finally the door opened and the three girls trooped out.
"Huh! Is the conspiracy all cut-an'-dried?" growled the Major.
Uncle John woke up with a final snort, removed the newspaper from his
face and sat up. He smiled benignantly upon his nieces.
"It's all your fault, sor!" declared Major Doyle, selecting the little
millionaire as the safest recipient of his displeasure. "Your
foolishness has involved us all in this dreadful complication. Why on
earth couldn't you leave well-enough alone?"
Uncle John received the broadside with tolerant equanimity.
"What's wrong; my dears?" he enquired, directing his mild glance toward
the bevy of young girls.
"I am unaware that anything is wrong, Uncle," replied Louise gravely.
"But since we are about to make our debut in society it is natural we
should have many things to discuss that would prove quite uninteresting
to men. Really, Uncle John, this is a great event--perhaps the most
important event of our lives."
"Shucks an' shoestrings!" grunted the Major. "What's in this
paper-shelled, painted, hollow thing ye call 'society' to interest three
healthy, wide-awake girls? Tell me that!"
"You don't understand, dear," said Patsy, soothing him with a kiss.
"I think he does," remarked Beth, with meditative brows. "Modern society
is a man-made--or woman-made--condition, to a large extent artificial,
selfish and unwholesome."
"Oh, Beth!" protested Louise. "You're talking like a rank socialist. I
can understand common people sneering at society, which is so far out of
their reach; but a girl about to be accepted in the best circles has no
right to rail at her own caste."
"There can be no caste in America," declared Beth, stubbornly.
"But there _is_ caste in America, and will be so long as the
exclusiveness of society is recognized by the people at large,"
continued Louise. "If it is a 'man-made condition' isn't it the most
respected, most refined, most desirable condition that one may attain
to?"
"There are plenty of honest and happy people in the world who ignore
society altogether," answered Beth. "It strikes me that your social
stars are mighty few in the broad firmament of humanity."
"But they're stars, for all that, dear," said Uncle John, smiling at her
with a hint of approval in his glance, yet picking up the argument; "and
they look mighty big and bright to the crowd below. It's quite natural.
You can't keep individuals from gaining distinction, even in America.
There are few generals in an army, for instance; and they're 'man-made';
but that's no reason the generals ain't entitled to our admiration."
"Let's admire 'em, then--from a distance," retorted the Major, realizing
the military simile was employed to win his sympathy.
"Certain things, my dear Major, are naturally dear to a girl's heart,"
continued Uncle John, musingly; "and we who are not girls have no right
to condemn their natural longings. Girls love dancing, pink teas and
fudge-parties, and where can they find 'em in all their perfection but
in high society? Girls love admiration and flirtations--you do, my
dears; you can't deny it--and the male society swells have the most time
to devote to such things. Girls love pretty dresses--"
"Oh, Uncle! you've hit the nail on the head now," exclaimed Patsy,
laughing. "We must all have new gowns for this reception, and as we're
to assist Miss Von Taer the dresses must harmonize, so to speak,
and--and--" "And be quite suited to the occasion," broke in Louise;
"and--"
"And wear our lives out with innumerable fittings," concluded Beth,
gloomily.
"But why new dresses?" demanded the Major. "You've plenty of old ones
that are clean and pretty, I'm sure; and our Patsy had one from the
dressmaker only last week that's fit for a queen."
"Oh, Daddy! you don't understand," laughed Patsy.
"This time, Major, I fear you don't," agreed Beth. "Your convictions
regarding society may be admirable, but you're weak on the gown
question."
"If the women would only listen to me," began the Major, dictatorially;
but Uncle John cut him short.
"They won't, sir; they'll listen to no man when it comes to
dressmaking."
"Don't they dress to captivate the men, then?" asked the Major, with
fine sarcasm.
"Not at all," answered Louise, loftily. "Men seldom know what a woman
has on, if she looks nice; but women take in every detail of dress and
criticise it severely if anything happens to be out of date, ill
fitting or in bad taste."
"Then they're in bad taste themselves!" retorted the Major, hotly.
"Tut-tut, sir; who are you to criticise woman's ways?" asked Uncle John,
much amused. The Major was silenced, but he glared as if unconvinced.
"Dressmaking is a nuisance," remarked Beth, placidly; "but it's the
penalty we pay for being women."
"You're nothing but slips o' girls, not out of your teens," grumbled the
Major. And no one paid any attention to him.
"We want to do you credit, Uncle John," said Patsy, brightly. "Perhaps
our names will be in the papers."
"They're there already," announced Mr. Merrick, picking up the Sunday
paper that lay beside him.
A chorus of exclamations was followed by a dive for the paper, and even
the Major smiled grimly as he observed the three girlish heads close
together and three pair of eager eyes scanning swiftly the society
columns.
"Here it is!" cried Patsy, dancing up and down like a school-girl; and
Louise read in a dignified voice--which trembled slightly with
excitement and pleasure--the following item:
"Miss Von Taer will receive next Thursday evening at the family mansion
in honor of Miss Merrick, Miss Doyle and Miss De Graf. These three
charming _debutantes_ are nieces of John Merrick, the famous tin-plate
magnate."
"Phoo!" growled the Major, during the impressive hush that followed;
"that's it, exactly. Your names are printed because you're John
Merrick's nieces. If it hadn't been for tin-plate, my dears, society
never would 'a' known ye at all, at all!"