Only a week from Christmas! Mrs. Bassett’s tea was delightful; that is
to me. Her house was not very big, being semi-detached and the crowding
was certainly dreadful.
I’m sure those present were all such ladies as Uncle would have approved
of, but somehow to me, they seemed much alike, some even shabby, and
their kindness and graciousness I took (Dear me! am I becoming a weak
snob? It looks like it) as an effort to make up for their deficiencies
in plumage.
Shortly after breakfast Mrs. Bassett rang up Mumsie and asked if I would
care to go.
“A waste of good money,” was Uncle’s comment.
“But the woman must do something to return the hospitality shown Ethel,
and it is out of the question for her to afford a dance,” stormed
Mumsie.
“But if she did not allow Ethel to know all and sundry, she need not
feel it incumbent on her to make this sort of return,” retorted Uncle,
nailing his colours to the mast. “Moreover, when I was a boy the full
expenses of a dance was some ten dollars and we enjoyed it. To-day the
pace is tuned so high that a dance at home costs ten times as much; and,
for a flare up at a hotel or public-hall, a thousand dollars is too
little. To so-called leaders of fashion, like Mrs. Lien, or social
climbers like the Mount woman, the advertisement is no doubt worth the
money. But few people in Canada who are truly distinguished can feel it
a satisfactory way of spending money.”
“A woman—” began Mumsie.
“There is an old tradition that if a woman wishes to give her daughter a
run in the matrimonial market, it is necessary to bring her out. But
when I look back on the society belles I have known, the percentage of
them who are now old maids, or have become victims of unfortunate
alliances is enormous.”
“The crooked stick at last,” I suggested.
“Yes, or the bad egg.”
“Ho,” grunted Mumsie.
“A girl or a young man,” continued Uncle, with a grin, “makes a stab at
society for two reasons. One is to have a good time with plenty of
excitement; the other is chase and capture a partner in life. But with
the average mother it’s the chance at a husband first. And this I’m sure
of, that so far as the big game of dances, parties, and so on goes, it
is sheer wasted money and often the ruin of a girl’s health.”
“Bosh!” from Mumsie, whereat I laughed.
“Then, too,” went on Uncle, after a mocking bow to his interrupting
wife, “when the girl has got her husband, he is nearly always a waster.
I am satisfied that the proportion of unfortunate matings made in your
dizzy whirl is fifty per cent higher than in more sober circles. There
now!”
“You seem to have strong ideas on the subject of matrimony,” I ventured.
“He’s got strong ideas on most subjects,” protested Mumsie, “and he’s
poured them into my ears for twenty years. I’m fed up with his nonsense.
Now that you’re here, he’s got a new victim. And, when Jack comes it
will be worse and worse!” Mumsie pretended to be in despair. Who was
“Jack”? At the mention of Jack I saw Uncle fumble in his pocket and
produce a letter.
“Talk of the devil,” he said. “Jack will be here for Christmas.”
“Good! and now you’re in for it, Elsie,” cried Mumsie. “When these men
have talked to you for a week, you may consider yourself master of the
accumulated knowledge of the ages.”
Uncle made no effort to counter this sally, and Mumsie continued as if
she had read the question I had in mind, the most natural question.
“Jack, my dear, Jack Bang, (What a name!) is a railway contractor,
miner, prospector, or what not; as strong as an ox, as cheery as a
sand-boy, as generous as a sailor on leave, and with a jaw like that of
Napoleon.”
“Is he——”
“Yes, very good looking. Jack was the misfit of the family.”
“He is the only one of the six who has any brains,” protested Uncle
stormily.
“He came to visit us once when he was fifteen, and he and my Micawber,
(Mumsie sometimes speaks of Uncle as her Micawber) became great friends.
The result———”
“Leave Jack alone; let the girl form her own opinion of him,” put in
Uncle, and Mumsie complied with his request by being silent.
I wonder if I shall like Mr. Bang. Jack Bang! Such an odd name. Mrs.
Bang! I don’t think I like westerners; not that I have ever seen any.