The Percy-Bartletts were dining with Gertrude Van Vleck and her father.
Cornelius Van Vleck was a man sixty years of age, whose life had been
spent, for the most part, in maintaining the traditions of his family.
As the Van Vlecks had been prominent in the city since the year 1636,
the number of these traditions that he had been called upon to cherish
rendered his task no sinecure.
Cornelius Van Vleck had good reason to be proud of his ancestors. They
had possessed a combination of foresight and conservatism that had
conferred on their posterity the blanket-blessing of vast wealth. The
man who is a landed proprietor on Manhattan Island need never fear
want. Banks may fail, the credit of the country may be threatened,
railroads may dodge their dividends, and hard times may cast their
shadow over a long-suffering people, but the New York landlord is
intrenched behind a financial Gibraltar. How is he to blame if his
ancestors were thrifty and far-seeing? Render to Cæsar the things that
are Cæsar’s, ye grumbling and restless tenants, and accept the world as
you find it. Cornelius Van Vleck could no more help being rich than you
can avoid being poor. Wherever the blame may lie for the inequalities
that exist in the distribution of wealth, surely Cornelius Van Vleck
cannot be held responsible. He is as much the victim of a system as
you are. But he bears his burden without a protest. Never during
his long life as a man of great financial and social importance has
Cornelius Van Vleck been heard to reproach his ancestors for the load
of responsibility that they placed upon his shoulders. He has lived up
to his position in the community with an almost heroic devotion to his
lofty duties; and in his old age he is still inspired by that fine old
motto of _noblesse oblige_.
One of the hereditary obligations to which he has always conformed,
for the honor of his forefathers and his own satisfaction, consists
in dining well. Cornelius Van Vleck has the reputation of giving the
most artistic dinners in the city. But he never casts pearls before
swine. His guests must be worthy of his _chef_. The hospitable but
somewhat testy old gentleman demands from those who sit at his board an
appreciation as keen as his own of the gastronomic excellence of the
entertainment provided. It is for this reason that he always enjoys
having the Percy-Bartletts at his table. Whether Mrs. Percy-Bartlett
fully appreciates the delicate lights and shades of the epicurean
masterpieces produced by the Van Vlecks’ _chef_, the host has never
been quite certain. But he has no doubt of Mr. Percy-Bartlett’s ability
to understand and rejoice in the fine touches that the artist below
stairs so deftly makes.
“I have my doubts, my friend,” he is saying to Percy-Bartlett, as they
puff their cigars and sip a liqueur after the ladies have retired
to the drawing-room, “I have my doubts that a woman can ever become
a thoroughly equipped _connoisseuse_ at the dinner-table. I know
that there is no line of endeavor in which the new woman does not
feel competent to shine; but,” and here the old gentleman waved his
liqueur-glass at Percy-Bartlett with a stately and hospitable gesture,
“but they haven’t that delicate sense of taste, that sensitiveness
to the most refined and elusive flavors that we men possess. Do you
know, there are some dishes that I can’t make Gertrude eat at all!
Just imagine, sir, a woman, an intellectual woman, who takes pride
in shocking her old father with her advanced ideas and theories, and
who has had every advantage of travel and instruction, who absolutely
refuses to eat terrapin in any form. How, sir, can woman expect us to
acknowledge her equality when she boldly admits that she doesn’t like
terrapin?”
Percy-Bartlett smiled; but his eyes were restless, his face pale, and
his manner that of a man who is making an effort to be sociable against
his inclinations.
“I think, Mr. Van Vleck,” he replied, “that you and I are in close
sympathy regarding the absurd pretensions made by women to-day. Do
you know, sir, I have grown very weary of the whole thing. There is a
restlessness, a pushing, discontented, crude, and unfeminine spirit
abroad among the women of our set that has actually had a crushing
effect upon me. I think that it is responsible for the constantly
recurring fits of the blues that have bothered me so much of late.”
Cornelius Van Vleck, whose heavy but not unsymmetrical features lacked
mobility, gazed at his guest with some concern in his bluish-gray eyes.
“You aren’t looking quite fit, young man, that’s a fact. Take some of
that brandy. It’s something very fine, I assure you. By the way, why
don’t you knock off a bit, and run over to the other side with us?
Gertrude and I are going over at once. She needs a change, a great
change. There’s something wrong with the girl. She has grown morbid
and flighty, sir. I can’t understand it--unless these new ideas that
are floating around have struck in. She has been asking me some very
embarrassing questions of late, sir, some very embarrassing questions.
I even suspect that Gertrude has been visiting some of my tenants on
the East Side, and distributing alms. As if organized charities were
not sufficient to relieve the distress in the city! I have remonstrated
with her, sir; but what can you do with a woman to-day? Whose authority
do they respect, sir? A father’s? a husband’s?”
Percy-Bartlett sipped his brandy nervously, while a slight flush arose
to his pallid cheeks.
“I thoroughly sympathize with you, Mr. Van Vleck. We are almost
powerless to check this rebellious spirit. There is a limit, of course,
to protest beyond which a gentleman cannot go. I fully realize that.
There have been many things to disturb us of late; we, I mean, who
cling to the old ideas and the best traditions of our set. And, do you
know, I hold the newspapers responsible for a good deal of the harm
that has been done.”
“You are right, Percy-Bartlett! you are right!” cried his host
with more animation than he usually displayed. “There have been
those among us who seemed to actually crave notoriety. It has been
shocking--shocking! I really don’t know what we’re coming to. Do you
know, I gave a small dinner-party last night,--twelve at the table,
you know,--and, will you believe me, a reporter came to the house and
asked for a list of my guests. That’s a straw that shows which way the
wind blows. When I was young, sir, a man could dine at home without
awakening the curiosity of the public. But, tell me, aren’t you well?
You look very pale. I am worried about you, my friend.”
Percy-Bartlett was leaning back in his chair, a gray pallor on his
face, and his lips almost colorless. Leaning forward with an effort, he
swallowed the remaining drops of brandy in his glass.
“It is nothing, Mr. Van Vleck,” he said, after a moment’s silence; “I
have been doing too much work and worrying of late. I really believe I
need a vacation.”
“You do indeed, sir,” remarked his host emphatically. “Come, young man,
listen to reason. The one great privilege that wealth grants is that
it gives us our freedom. Come over to London with us. We sail Wednesday
morning. Drop your work right here and take a rest. If you don’t,
you’ll break down, Percy-Bartlett, and all the king’s horses and all
the king’s men won’t be able to pull you together again.”
Percy-Bartlett looked at his elderly companion gratefully. It was
a novel and welcome sensation to have some one take an interest in
his welfare. There was silence for a time. Then he said, as he arose
slowly, as though his head felt giddy,--
“Perhaps you are right, Mr. Van Vleck. Come into the drawing-room with
me. I’ll ask Harriet what she thinks of the scheme.”