A DAY OF ENTERTAINMENT
Miss Gibbie pressed the bell on her writing-table four times. Four
rings were for the cook. They were rarely sounded, and therefore
caused not only sudden cessation of work in the kitchen, but instant
speculation as to what was wanted and what was wrong. Hearing them
now, Tildy reached hastily for her clean apron and hurried up-stairs.
Ordinarily orders for the kitchen came through Miss Jane, the
housekeeper, whose mother before her had kept the keys of the Gault
house from the day of Mrs. Gault's death to her own. When a direct
order was given, or direct questions were asked, by Miss Gibbie,
there were reasons for it which usually served for conversational
material in the servant's quarters later on.
Tildy stood before her mistress, hands clasped in front under her
full blue-and-white check gingham apron, and feet wide apart.
"How you do this mornin', Miss Gibbie?" she asked, curtseying in a
manner known only to herself. "I ain't seen how you was for mos' a
month, and I certainly is glad to look on you for myself; I certainly
is. That lazy nigger Ceely is gittin' so airy and set up, 'count o'
bein' parlor-maid, that she thinks it's belowerin' of herself to talk
to the kitchen about how things up-stairs is, less'n we have company,
and I don't ax her nothin', that I don't. I hope you's feelin' as
peart as a young duck after a good rain, this mornin'. You look like
it. Ain't never seen anybody wear better than you do, that I ain't!"
And Tildy looked admiringly at the lady before her.
"And there never was anybody who could waste words like you do. If
you don't stop eating all that sweet stuff they tell me you live on
you'll be dead before you're ready for judgment, and too fat to get
through gates of any kind. I want to know about the things for lunch.
Is your part all right?"
"Yes, ma'am! And the only things fittin' to eat, cordin' to my
thinkin', is what's been made right here. All that truck what's come
from Washington is just slops, and, if you mark me, you'll be dead if
it's et. I got too much respect for my insides to put things in me what
looks like them things Miss Jane's been unwrappin' all the mornin'. And
I tell you right now, Miss Gibbie, you better not be puttin' of 'em in
you. They's flauntin' plum in the face of Providence. My stomach--"
"Is not to have a taste. And mine can take care of itself. I sent for
you to tell you I want vegetable soup for dinner to-night, thick and
greasy. The fish must be cold and no sauce, the goose half done,
ham raw, vegetables unseasoned, rice pudding with no sugar, bread
burnt, and coffee weak as water. If you see that this is done I will
give you five dollars to-morrow. If anything is fit to eat you don't
get a cent."
"Jehosaphat hisself!" Tildy's hands went up under the apron and the
latter fell backward over her head. For a moment she rocked, then
threw the apron off her face and dropped in a chair opposite Miss
Gibbie, head protruding terrapin-wise, and eyes bulging.
"Now what in the name of--"
Miss Gibbie nodded toward her. "Did you understand what I said?"
"Yes, ma'am, I understand. That is, I heared it." Tildy's head was
shaken from side to side. "But 'tain't Gault doin's to put
high-falutin', Frenchified, crocheted-rosette food before some folks
what ain't used to it, and field-hand grub before them what's the
airiest in town. Ain't nothin' like that ever been done in this house,
what's been known for its feed for fifty years, and I don't believe
your pa would like it, that I don't. But--"
"A man was once hung for not minding his business, Tildy. Ever hear of
him? Now you go right straight along back to the kitchen and see that
what I want done is done. For the lunch you must do your best. Things
are to be as good at that as they are bad for dinner to-night. Are you
sure you understand?"
"Yes'm. I hear you. And that five dollars--"
Miss Gibbie waved her out. "Depends entirely on yourself. Not a penny
unless I am satisfied. You understand that, too, don't you?"
"I does that." Tildy's chuckle was heard down the hall, and again Miss
Gibbie pressed the bell on the table. Three rings were sounded this
time, and Jackson, hearing his signal, hurried to her sitting-room,
and at the open door stood waiting until she was ready to speak.
"At lunch to-day," she said, not looking up from the desk at which
she was writing, "you had better have both dry and sweet wine.
Sherry, too, if any one wishes it. I don't think the ladies take
wine for lunch, and I don't know the kind they care for. But have
it out and begin with Sauterne."
Jackson bowed. "Yes'm," he said, and waited. Miss Gibbie's writing
continued, and after a moment Jackson put his hand to his mouth
and coughed.
"To-night," he said, "just champagne or--"
"Just nothing. Not a drop of anything. If anybody wants water
they can have it, but not even water out of a bottle."
"Nothin' in the gent'men's room up-stairs?" Jackson stopped and
stepped backward into the hall Miss Gibbie was looking at him.
"You can go, Jackson. Nothing to drink anywhere, and no cigars.
Wait a minute! For every mistake you make to-night there is fifty
cents, but there mustn't be more than ten. No discourtesy of course
--just blunders. Am I understood?"
Jackson bowed again. "Yes'm, you is understood." And as he went
softly down the steps he wiped his forehead and twisted his
handkerchief into double and single knots in an effort to
unravel a puzzle whose purpose was beyond guessing.
Out on the lawn as he cut and trimmed bush after bush of
old-fashioned flowers, wheeling his barrow from place to place,
and gathering up the clipped twigs and branches, he talked slowly
to himself, and presently his brow cleared and the weight of
responsibility lifted.
"'Tain't my doin's," he said presently. "And 'tain't my business
to tell other people how cracky some of their doin's look to onlookers.
But it beat me that this heah kind o' dinner is a goin' to be give
white folks in Mars Judge Gault's house. Ain't never seen such eatin's
anywhere as ladies and gent'men have sot down to in his day, and to
think what Miss Gibbie is agoin' to do to-night is enough to make him
grunt in glory. That 'tis. I often wonder how he gits along, anyhow,
without his juleps.
"But there's a reason for what she's a doin'." He looked critically at
the branch of pomegranates in his hand, then let it fly back to its
place near the top of the bush. "You can bet your best shoe-strings
there's a reason, but in all Gord's world there ain't nobody but her
would act on it. I wonder if Miss Mary Cary knows about it? She ain't
agoin' to be here, and I bet Miss Gibbie ain't told her what's in her
mind. She sho' do love her, though, Miss Gibbie do. But Miss Gibbie's
bound to let out every now and then and be Miss Gibbie-ish, and you
mark me if this heah doin's to-day ain't a-lettin' out."
Through the open window he heard two rings of a bell--the
housekeeper's signal--and, with a glance upward and a soft chuckle,
he carted his wheelbarrow behind the stables, then went into the
house to make ready for lunch.
In her room Miss Gibbie pushed pen and paper aside. "Well, Jane,"
she said, "is everything ready?"
"Everything. You are coming down to see the table before the
ladies come, aren't you? I never saw anything so beau-ti-ful in all
my life!"
"Oh yes you have. What did I send you to New York for, make you go
to the best hotels and have you look into table arrangements and
menus and things of that kind if you are to come back here and
think a Yorkburg table is the most /beau-ti-ful/ you ever saw?"
She mimicked Jane's emphasis of beautiful, then got up and stretched
out her arms. "I'm getting as stiff as a stick. Well, come on. Let's
go down and see this French feast. Yorkburg hasn't had anything new
to talk about since the council meeting. Some unknown dishes will
help them out for a day or two. If anybody stays later than three
o'clock set the house on fire--do anything to make them go home.
There must be time to rest before the next invasion. You see that
I get it!"
She walked slowly down the steps into the dining-room, and as she
entered it she stopped in surprise, then went closer to the table.
For a moment she stood with her hands upon it, then walked around,
viewing it from one side and then the other, and as she finished
her survey she looked up.
"Mary Cary did this, I suppose?"
"Yes'm, she did. She wouldn't let me tell you she was down here.
Said she knew I had so much to do, she just ran in to help fix
the table. Did you ever see anything as lovely as that basket of
lilies of the valley and mignonette? They look like they're nodding
and peeping at you, and these little vases of them in between the
candlesticks are just to fill in, she says. She brought her
candle-shades because she didn't think you had any to go with lilies
of the valley and mignonette. These came from Paris and were very
cheap, she says; but ain't they the prettiest things! These mats are
the finest Cluny she's ever seen, she told me. I don't see how she can
remember so many different kinds of lace. I hope I won't forget to
close the shutters and light the candles. She didn't want to put the
candlesticks on the table; said they were for to-night, and she thought
it was nicer to have daylight and air than lighted candles and dimness.
But I read in a fashion magazine that candles were always used in high
society these days, though not of course where people do natural things,
and I begged her to let them stay on. She did, but she said you must
decide."
"Shut up, Jane! You're such a fool! Your tongue and Mrs. McDougal's,
as she says, are two of a pair, and, once started, never stop. I'll
do some things for some people, but I perspire for nobody. This is
the latest spring and the hottest May I've ever known, and if those
shutters were closed there'd be trouble. The second generation uses
candles in the daytime at a sitting-down lunch. This house is over
a hundred years old. Take them off!"
She waved her hand toward the table, then looked around the large
high-ceilinged room, with its wainscoting of mahogany, its massive
old-fashioned furniture, its portraits of her great and great-great-
grand-parents on the walls, the mirror over the mantel, the heavy
red velvet hangings over the curtains at the long windows, the
old-patterned silver on the sideboard, the glass and china in the
presses, and again she waved her hand. This time with a wide,
inclusive sweep.
"Next week this room must be put in its summer clothes. Red in
warm weather has an enraging quality that is unendurable." She
turned toward the door. "You've done very well, Jane. I want
lunch promptly, and, remember, things to-night must be as plain
as they are pretty this morning. Did everything come all right?"
"Everything. Mickleton always sends beautiful things. I know
the ladies never ate anything like them."
But Miss Gibbie did not hear. Again in her room she rang once
more. This time but once the bell was pressed, and almost
instantly her maid was at her side.
At her dressing-table Miss Gibbie turned. "Get out that light-gray
satin gown with the rose-point lace in the sleeves," she said,
"and the stockings and slippers to match it. To-night I want that
old black silk, the oldest one. When the ladies come tell Celia to
show them up-stairs in the front room if they wish to come up. You
will be up there. And keep my door closed. To-night do the same thing,
only see that my door is locked to-night. If it isn't, Puss Jenkins
will lose her way in there trying to find it. What time is it?"
"Quarter to twelve."
"I'll be down-stairs at one-twenty. Lunch is at one-thirty. Some
will get here by one o'clock. Show them the drawing-room if there
are signs of wandering round the house. You can go!"
Emmeline closed the door noiselessly, and Miss Gibbie, left alone,
put down the pearl breast-pin she had been holding and took her
seat in the chintz-covered chair, with its gay peacocks and poppies,
and put her feet on the footstool in front. In the mirror over the
mantel she nodded at herself.
"I wonder what makes you such a contrarious person, Gibbie Gault?
Wonder why you will do things that make people say mean things
about you? But that's giving people pleasure. Some people would
rather hear something mean about other people, especially if they're
prosperous, than listen to the greatest opera ever sung. Not all
people, but even good people, slow at everything else, are quick to
believe ugly things of others. Isn't it a pity there can't be a
little more love and charity in this world, a little more confidence
and trust?"
She unfastened the belt at her waist and threw it on the table. "Mary
says there's more of it than I know, and maybe there is--maybe there
is! But won't Benny Brickhouse be raging when he leaves here to-night!
He's been smacking his lips and patting his stomach all day over the
thought of a Gault dinner. I know he has. Terrapin and canvas-backs,
champagne, and Nesselrode pudding are all a jumble in his mind this
minute. And to give him vegetable soup and ham and cabbage and
half-cooked goose!" She beat the arm of her chair and screwed her
eyes tight in anticipation of his disappointment, then again
nodded to the face in the mirror.
"Next time, Mr. Benjamin Brickhouse, you will probably be more
careful how you talk of ladies. Miss Gibbie Gault is a stingy
old cat, is she? She's too free in her speech for you, talks too
plainly, is a dangerous old woman with advanced views, is she? And
she oughtn't to have let a young girl like Mary Cary go before a
lot of men and talk as she talked last Monday night in the council
chamber, ought she? But she knows how to give a good dinner all
right. You'll give her credit for that. The trouble with people
who make remarks about cats is they forget cats have claws, and
the trouble with Mr. Benjamin Brickhouse is he made his remarks to
Puss Jenkins. Percolator Puss can't keep from telling her own age,
and a woman who does that who's still hoping isn't responsible for
the words of her mouth.
"And Snobby Deford will be here, too. She has heard I entertained
lords and ladies in London and is anxious to see how I do it.
I'll show her how I don't. I'm an old crank who tries to ride
rough-shod over everybody, she says, and I spend much too much
money on my table; but if I do it she don't mind eating my good
things. Don't she? Well, she'll get a chance to-night. In Miss
Patty Moore's millinery store she strew these posies at me, and
Annie Steele caught them. Assenting Annie didn't throw any back,
as Annie is merely as assenter, but neither of the honorable
ladies who were coming to break my bread knew that Susie McDougal's
ears were hearing ears. Susie says pompous-class people often act
as if plainer-class ones weren't made of flesh and blood.
"And Mrs. Deford thinks, with Mr. Brickhouse, that there's to be
champagne to-night. She is fond of cocktails and champagne--things
I prefer women not to care for--but she will get neither here. A
mistake never escapes her eagle eye, and the use of the wrong knife
or fork is a shuddering crime. If Jackson would drop one or the other
down the back of that very low-neck dress she wears so much I'd give
him an extra dollar. I don't suppose I ought to mention it but"--she
took up a piece of paper on the table at her side and examined it
carefully--"if it could be arranged--" She waved the paper in the
air. "Now that is as good and wholesome a bunch of women as are on
earth! And they aren't stupid, either. Pity so many good people are
dull!"
Again she examined the paper, reading the names aloud: "Mrs. Corbin,
Mrs. Moon, Mrs. Tate--Buzzie isn't the brainiest person in the world,
but one of the funniest--Mrs. Tazewell, Mrs. Burnham--I like that
young woman, she's got sense--Miss Matoaca Brockenborough, Miss Mittie
Muncaster, and Miss Amelia Taylor. I'm the fourth spinster. For a
place the size of Yorkburg that's an excellent group of women, though
they don't speak French or wear Parisian clothes. Mittie Muncaster
says she makes all of hers without a pattern, and they look it, but,
as women go, they're above the average."
She took up another slip of paper and glanced over it: "Mr. and Mrs.
Porter, Mr. and Mrs. Steele, Mr. James and Miss Puss Jenkins, Mr.
Brickhouse and Mrs. Deford, Judge Lynn and myself. They haven't left
a leg for Mary Cary to stand on since her talk before the council,
and yet, on the whole, I haven't heard as much about it as I
expected. That little piece of information concerning her English
grand-father was efficacious. That her father was an unknown actor
has long been a source of satisfaction to certain Yorkburgers, and
to learn that his blood was not only Bohemian but blue, and worse
still, distinguished, was hard on them.
"Yes"--she tapped the table with the tips of her fingers--"I was
sorry it was best to mention Mary's English relations, but it was.
As long as people are weighed and measured according to what they
come from rather than what they are it is at times necessary to
state a few facts of family history. Stock rises or falls according
to reports. Some mouths have to be treated and the sort of salve one
uses depends upon the sores. Not yet can a person be taken at face value.
Ancestor-worship isn't all Chinese. An ill-bred gentleman-born is still
welcomed where an ill-born well-bred man is not invited. Queer place,
this little planet in which we swing through space, Gibbie Gault, and
nothing in it queerer than you. A million or two years from now we may
see clearly, approach sense and civilization, and in the mean time you
get up and dress yourself so as to be ready for your guests!"