A LESSON IN TACT
Mr. Brewster's butler was surprised and annoyed. For the first time in
his official career he had unbent so far as to manifest a personal
interest in the welfare of his master. He was on the verge of assuming
a responsibility which makes any servant intolerable. But after his
interview he resolved that he would never again overstep his position.
He made sure that it should be the last offense. The day following the
dinner Rawles appeared before young Mr. Brewster and indicated by his
manner that the call was an important one. Brewster was seated at his
writing-table, deep in thought. The exclamation that followed Rawles's
cough of announcement was so sharp and so unmistakably fierce that all
other evidence paled into insignificance. The butler's interruption
came at a moment when Monty's mental arithmetic was pulling itself out
of a very bad rut, and the cough drove it back into chaos.
"What is it," he demanded, irritably. Rawles had upset his calculations
to the extent of seven or eight hundred dollars.
"I came to report h'an unfortunate condition h'among the servants,
sir," said Rawies, stiffening as his responsibility became more and
more weighty. He had relaxed temporarily upon entering the room.
"What's the trouble?"
"The trouble's h'ended, sir."
"Then why bother me about it?"
"I thought it would be well for you to know, sir. The servants was
going to ask for 'igher wiges to-day, sir."
"You say they were going to ask. Aren't they?" And Monty's eyes lighted
up at the thought of new possibilities.
"I convinced them, sir, as how they were getting good pay as it is,
sir, and that they ought to be satisfied. They'd be a long time finding
a better place and as good wiges. They 'aven't been with you a week,
and here they are strikin' for more pay. Really, sir, these American
servants--"
"Rawles, that'll do!" exploded Monty. The butler's chin went up and his
cheeks grew redder than ever.
"I beg pardon, sir," he gasped, with a respectful but injured air.
"Rawles, you will kindly not interfere in such matters again. It is not
only the privilege, but the duty of every American to strike for higher
pay whenever he feels like it, and I want it distinctly understood that
I am heartily in favor of their attitude. You will kindly go back and
tell them that after a reasonable length of service their wiges--I mean
wages--shall be increased. _And don't meddle again_, Rawles."
Late that afternoon Brewster dropped in at Mrs. DeMille's to talk over
plans for the next dinner. He realized that in no other way could he
squander his money with a better chance of getting its worth than by
throwing himself bodily into society. It went easily, and there could
be only one asset arising from it in the end--his own sense of disgust.
"So glad to see you, Monty," greeted Mrs. Dan, glowingly, coming in
with a rush. "Come upstairs and I'll give you some tea and a cigarette.
I'm not at home to anybody."
"That's very good of you, Mrs. Dan," said he, as they mounted the
stairs. "I don't know what I'd do without your help." He was thinking
how pretty she was.
"You'd be richer, at any rate," turning to smile upon him from the
upper landing. "I was in tears half the night, Monty, over that glass
screen," she said, after finding a comfortable place among the cushions
of a divan. Brewster dropped into a roomy, lazy chair in front of her
and handed her a cigarette, as he responded carelessly:
"It amounted to nothing. Of course, it was very annoying that it should
happen while the guests were still there." Then he added, gravely: "In
strict confidence, I had planned to have it fall just as we were
pushing back our chairs, but the confounded thing disappointed me.
That's the trouble with these automatic climaxes; they usually hang
fire. It was to have been a sort of Fall of Babylon effect, you know."
"Splendid! But like Babylon, it fell at the wrong time."
For a lively quarter of an hour they discussed people about town,
liberally approving the slandered and denouncing the slanderers. A
still busier quarter of an hour ensued when together they made up the
list of dinner guests. He moved a little writing-table up to the divan,
and she looked on eagerly while he wrote down the names she suggested
after many puckerings of her fair, aristocratic brow, and then drew
lines through them when she changed her mind. Mrs. DeMille handled her
people without gloves in making up Monty's lists. The dinners were not
hers, and she could afford to do as she pleased with his; he was broad
and tall and she was not slow to see that he was indifferent. He did
not care who the guests were, or how they came; he merely wished to
make sure of their presence. His only blunder was the rather diffident
recommendation that Barbara Drew be asked again. If he observed that
Mrs. Dan's head sank a little closer to the paper, he attached no
importance to the movement; he could not see that her eyes grew narrow,
and he paid no attention to the little catch in her breath.
"Wouldn't that be a little--just a little pronounced?" she asked,
lightly enough.
"You mean--that people might talk?"
"She might feel conspicuously present."
"Do you think so? We are such good friends, you know."
"Of course, if you'd like to have her," slowly and doubtfully, "why,
put her name down. But you evidently haven't seen that." Mrs. Dan
pointed to a copy of the _Trumpet_ which lay on the table.
When he had handed her the paper she said, "'The Censor' is growing
facetious at your expense."
"I am getting on in society with a vengeance if that ass starts in to
write about me. Listen to this"--she had pointed out to him the
obnoxious paragraph--"If Brewster Drew a diamond flush, do you suppose
he'd catch the queen? And if he caught her, how long do you think she'd
remain Drew? Or, if she Drew Brewster, would she be willing to learn
such a game as Monte?"
The next morning a writer who signed himself "The Censor" got a
thrashing and one Montgomery Brewster had his name in the papers,
surrounded by fulsome words of praise.