There often comes a time in the life of the members of “society”
when they grow a little weary of the ceaseless round of teas,
balls and dinners, and for such I would not hesitate to recommend
a “picnic.”
A day spent in the “open,” with the blue sky over one’s head, is
indeed a splendid tonic for jaded nerves. But one should not make
the mistake of thinking that because he (or she) is “roughing it”
for a day, he (or she) can therefore leave behind his (or her)
“manners,” for such is not the case. There is a distinct
etiquette for picnics, and any one who disregards this fact is
apt to find to his (or her) sorrow that the “shoe” in this case
is decidedly “on the other foot.”
A young man, for example, is often asked by a young lady to
accompany her on a “family picnic.” To this invitation he should,
after some consideration, reply either “Yes” or “No,” and if the
former, he should present himself at the young lady’s house
promptly on the day set for the affair (usually Sunday).
A “family picnic” generally consists of a Buick, a father, a
mother, a daughter, a small son, beef loaf, lettuce sandwiches, a
young man (you), two blow-outs, one spare tire, and Aunt
Florence.
The father drives with his small boy beside him; in the rear are
the mother, the daughter, Aunt Florence, the thermos bottles, the
lunch baskets and you. As you take your seat you must remember
that it is a distinct evidence of bad breeding to show in any way
that you are conscious of the fact that the car has been standing
for the last hour and forty-four minutes in the hot July sun.
“We’re off!” cries father, pressing his foot on the self-starting
pedal. Thirty minutes later you roll away from the curb and the
picnic has begun. The intervening time has, of course, been
profitably spent by you in walking to the nearest garage for two
new sparkplugs.
It should be your duty, as guest, to see that the conversation in
the rear seat is not allowed to lag. “It’s a great day,” you
remark, as the car speeds along. “I think it’s going to rain,”
replies Aunt Florence. “Not too fast, Will!” says mother.
“Mother!” says the daughter.
Ten minutes later you should again remark, “My, what a wonderful
day!” “Those clouds are gathering in the west,” says Aunt
Florence, “I think we had better put the top up.” “I think this
is the wrong road,” says mother.
“Dear, I know what I’m doing,” replies father.
The secret of good conversation lies in discovering the “hobby”
of the person with whom one is conversing, and a good talker
always throws out several “feelers” in order to find out the
things in which his partner is most interested. You should,
therefore, next say to mother, “Don’t you think this is a
glorious day for a picnic?” to which she will reply, “Well, I’m
sure this is the wrong road. Hadn’t you better ask?” The husband
will answer nothing, but Aunt Florence will murmur, “I think I
felt a drop of rain, Will. If you don’t put the top up now, we’ll
all be drenched.”
The husband will then stop the car, and you and he will proceed
to put up the top. In doing this, it is customary for the guest
to get the second and third fingers of his right hand so severely
pinched that he can not use the hand for several days. As soon as
the top is up and the rain curtains are in place the sun will
come out and you can at once get out and put the top down, taking
care this time to ruin two fingers of the _left_ hand.
No good conversationalist confines himself exclusively to one
subject, and when you are once more “under way” you should remark
to the mother, “I think that motoring is great fun, don’t you,
Mrs. Caldwell?” Her answer will be, “I wish you wouldn’t drive so
fast!” You should then smile and say to Aunt Florence, “Don’t
_you_ think that motoring is great fun, Mrs. Lockwood?” As she is
about to reply, the left rear tire will blow out with a loud
noise and the car will come to a bumping stop.
The etiquette of changing a tire is fairly simple. As soon as the
“puncture” occurs one should at once remark, “Is there anything I
can do?” This request should be repeated from time to time,
always taking care, however, that no one takes it at all
seriously. The real duty of a young man who is a “guest” on a
motor trip on which a “blow-out” occurs is, of course, to keep
the ladies of the party amused during the delay. This can be
accomplished by any of the conventional methods, such as card
tricks, handsprings, and other feats of athletic agility, or
making funny jokes about the host who is at work on the tire.
When the damage has been repaired and the car is once more
speeding along, leaving behind it mile after mile of dusty road
as well as father’s best “jack” and set of tire tools, the small
boy will suddenly remark, “I’m hungry.” His father will then
reply, “We’ll be at a fine place to eat in ten minutes.” Thirty
minutes later mother will remark, “Will, that looks like a good
place for a picnic over there.” The father will reply, “No—we’re
coming to a wonderful place—just trust me, Mary!” Twenty minutes
later Aunt Florence will say, “Will, I think that grove over
there would be fine for our lunch,” to which the husband will
reply, “We’re almost at the place I know about—it’s ideal for a
picnic.” Forty minutes after this, father will stop the car and
point to a clump of trees. “There,” he will say, “what do you
think of that?” “Oh, we can’t eat _there!_” will be the answer of
mother, daughter and Aunt Florence. “Drive on a bit further—I
think I know a place.”
Three hours and thirty minutes later (i. e. four hours past your
normal lunch hour) there will be another puncture and as the car
stops beside a wheat field it will begin to rain, and the
daughter will sigh, “Well, we might as well eat here.” The
“picnic” will then be held in the car, and nothing really quite
carries one back to nature and primeval man as does warm lemonade
and a lettuce sandwich in a Buick with the top up and side
curtains on.
After lunch it will be time to return home, and after you and
father have ruined your clothes in repairing the punctures, the
merry party will proceed on its way. The next morning, if you
have not caught pneumonia, you will be able to go to your work
greatly refreshed by your day’s outing in the lap of old Mother
Nature.
[Illustration]
Correct Negotiations for a Seat in the Subway _Nowhere is the etiquette
of travel more abused than our subways. The gentleman shown above is en
route to his fiancée’s flat in the Bronx. He has neglected to purchase
the customary bouquet for his intended and has offered his seat to the
lady, who is standing, in exchange for her corsage bouquet. Should she
accept the proposition without further ado, or should she request the
guard to introduce the gentleman first?_
[Illustration]
Old Fashioned Letter and Writers vs. Perfect Behavior _The young lady
has received an invitation to a quilting-bee from a Mrs. Steenwyck and,
anxious to make a correct reply, she has bought a Complete Letter
Writer to aid her to this end. To her surprise and dismay, she finds
that it contains three model replies to such an invitation beginning
“Dear Mrs. Peartree,” “Dear Mrs. Rombouts,” and “Dear Mrs. Bevy,” and
one invitation to a christening beginning, “Dear Mrs. Steenwyck,” but
no reply to an invitation to a quilting-bee beginning “Dear Mrs.
Steenwyck.”_ PERFECT BEHAVIOR _settles such perplexities._
[Illustration]
What to Avoid in Crests _Crests or other armorial bearings on notepaper
are no longer considered absolutely necessary to establish one’s social
position. Nevertheless, if one feels that note-paper that does not bear
the family escutcheon is not quite all that note-paper should be, it is
permissible to have it stamped neatly at the top of the first sheet.
Care should be exercised to avoid selecting coats-of-arms that might be
recognized, such as that of the United States or Great Britain. Rather
solicit the taste of a good stationer than commit the blunders depicted
above._