H. R. sent word to Fleming, _via_ Caspar Weinpusslacher, that he desired
to meet about fifty members of the society at the Colossal Restaurant
that evening at seven sharp. He then went to Valiquet's. The firm's name
was not visible on the facade; only a beautiful bronze clock. Everybody
was expected to know that this was Valiquet's, and everybody did,
particularly those who could not afford to buy jewels. It had engendered
throughout the entire country that familiar form of American snobbery
which consists not only of having the best that money can buy, but of
telling everybody that the watch or the necklace or the solitaire or the
stick-pin came from Valiquet's.
He entered the most beautiful store in the world as though his feet had
carried him thither automatically, from force of habit. He looked
approvingly, as for the millionth time, at the wide teak boards of the
floor and the ornate but beautiful solid-silver ceiling and the cool
variegated purple-gray marble columns. He paused by the pearl-counter
and stared at the one-hundred-thousand-dollar strings with what you
might call an amiable tolerance; it wasn't their fault, poor things!
He moved on, reluctantly, six feet farther and examined, with a little
more insistence, the emeralds, the fashionable gems of the season.
"Very fair! Very fair, indeed!" he seemed to be saying encouragingly to
the dazzling green things.
The well-trained clerks looked at him, took a respectfully eager step
toward him as if to place themselves unreservedly at his orders, and
then abruptly immobilized themselves in their tracks--their tribute to
expert knowledge!
He did not look up, but, as if he were aware that the world was looking
on, ready to obey, he rested his finger-tip on the showcase immediately
above an eighteen-carat cabochon emerald surrounded by very white
diamonds set in platinum. By instinct he had picked out the best.
A clerk opened the case, took out the emerald, and respectfully laid it
before the connoisseur. H. R. fumbled in his waistcoat pockets, then in
his coat, allowed himself to look annoyed at having forgotten his pocket
magnifying-glass, picked up the jewel, looked at it closely for flaws,
then at arm's-length for general effect.
He laid it on the velvet mat, raised his eyes and met the clerk's.
The clerk smiled uncertainly. H. R. unsmilingly raised his
eyebrows--very slightly.
"Sixty-eight thousand five hundred, Mr.--eh--"
H. R. hesitated. Then he shook his head resolutely. Having mastered the
temptation, he nodded to the clerk, and said, kindly, "Thank you."
"Not at all, sir," gratefully said the clerk.
H. R. walked on, a marked man, high in the estimation of the clerks
because he had _not_ bought a sixty-eight-thousand-dollar emerald.
Don't you wonder how they do it? What is it? Intuition? Genius?
A floor-walker who had taken in H. R.'s introduction of himself to
Valiquet's bowed deferentially to H. R. and blamed his memory for not
remembering the name. He was certain he knew the gentleman well.
H. R. nodded and asked: "I wish to have a bronze statuette designed and
cast for me. Which department, please?"
"Up-stairs, Mr.--er-- Second floor, sir. Mr. Gwathmey is in charge,
and--"
"Oh, Gwathmey!" H. R. was obviously much relieved.
"Yes, sir. He's still with us, sir. Elevator on the left."
"Thank you," said H. R., and the man smiled gratefully.
You don't have to buy to be treated politely in New York. The mere
suspicion of the power of purchase is enough. It is thus that the
principle "Politeness pays" has been established among stock-brokers and
jewelers.
H. R. was directed to the head of the department, to whom he said, with
a sort of boyish eagerness, "Mr. Gwathmey, I'm very much interested in
the Movement, as you probably know, and I wish my little society to have
a _very_ artistic emblem."
He looked expectantly at Mr. Gwathmey, who thereupon bowed at the
implied compliment, but, not knowing what to say, said nothing.
"You read in the papers about the parade my poor fellows had Saturday?"
"Not the--er--sandwich-men's parade?"
"Yes!" H. R. smiled so gratefully and congratulatory that Mr. Gwathmey
felt himself enrolled among the honorary vice-presidents. "That's it.
The society emblem is a skeleton and the sandwich-boards are a
coffin--"
"Yes, I read that," and Mr. Gwathmey smiled at the delightful humor of
the conceit.
H. R. instantly frowned at the levity--all very rich men frown at all
smiles aimed at their pet hobbies.
Mr. Gwathmey, knowing the ways of millionaires, hastened to explain,
gravely, "There is a great deal to that idea!"
"Nobody helped me!" H. R. spoke eagerly, as all youthful aristocrats
speak when they speak of their own ideas. "The Ultimate Sandwich! What
you and I shall be at least once. I am glad you agree with me. Now, I
wish statuettes made in bronze in three sizes, two, four, and six inches
high, so they can be used by my friends as desk ornaments. And can you
put on a nice _patine_?"
"Oh yes! And--er--Mr.--ah--" Gwathmey looked ashamed of himself.
But H. R. smiled pleasantly and said: "It is easy to see you are
not a Rutgers College man. I'm Mr. Rutgers. _My_ father--" He
stopped--naturally.
"I'm sorry to say I'm Harvard, Mr. Rutgers," said Mr. Gwathmey,
contritely. "But don't you think it would be a little gruesome for a
desk ornament?"
"Not at all. The Egyptians used to bring in a skeleton at their feasts
so that the timid guests should cease to fear dyspepsia. And the
_Memento Mori_ of later centuries had its _raison d'etre_. I have a
Byzantine ivory carving of a skull that is a gem. Holbein's 'Dance of
Death' is not inartistic. It is up to you people to keep my skull from
being repulsive. I wish to get something that will drive home the fact
to us careless Americans that the richest is no better than the
poorest. For we are _not_!" H. R. said this decisively. When the
aristocrat tells you that you and he are not a bit better than the
proletariat, what you understand him to say is that you also are an
aristocrat. A democratic aristocracy is invincible.
"No," agreed Mr. Gwathmey, proudly, "we are not!"
"Let me have a sketch as soon as possible. It is to raise funds for our
superannuated sandwiches."
Mr. Gwathmey saw no humor in either the intention or the phrase. As an
alert business man who studied the psychology of customers, he knew that
society leaders had advocated the cause of the shirtwaist workers and of
certain educational movies--especially society leaders who had reached
the age when their looks and their pearls no longer entitled them to the
pictorial supplements. How else could they stay in the newspapers except
by indignation over the wrongs of social inferiors? By espousing the
cause of the lower classes, the latter also remained lower.
Mr. Gwathmey smiled tolerantly and nodded. Then he looked dreamy and
murmured: "I see! I see _exactly_ what you want: a skeleton carrying a
coffin as sandwich-boards. The Ultimate Sandwich."
He saw it in the air, two feet from the tip of his nose; he was a
creative artist. Then he became a salesman.
"We can submit designs to you, Mr. Rutgers--"
"To-day?"
"Oh, gracious, no! We couldn't--"
"To-morrow, then. You have grasped the idea completely. No, Mr.
Gwathmey; no!" And H. R. held up a hand--the hand of Fate. "To-morrow,
at the latest! Must have it! I hate waiting. That's why I came to
Valiquet's instead of Shoreham's. And now," he went on before Mr.
Gwathmey could protest, "I wish also a series of designs for
sandwich-boards--heraldic shields, scutcheons and bucklers,
spade-shapes, rectangular boards of the right proportion, circles, and a
keystone for use by the Pennsylvania Railroad. I propose to raise the
sandwich to the highest form of art. I shall experiment with various
materials--wood, metal, and composition, with raised as well as with
sunken letters, in divers colors, vert antique and beautiful soft grays,
and iridescent-glass mosaic. Can't you imagine a sandwich being made
artistic, if I get competent experts to design them?" H. R. looked
anxiously at the competent expert.
"Indeed I can," replied Mr. Gwathmey, with conviction. "Indeed I can,
Mr. Rutgers. It is an excellent idea!"
"Thank you. Do you know, I thought so, too!"
Mr. Gwathmey, being a kindly man, was so pleased at having suggested,
evolved, and improved a great idea that he filled with enthusiasm.
Enthusiasm always made him take out his pencil and reach for a pad. He
did so now.
"For instance--" he said, and he began to design.
"Exactly! Exactly!" said H. R., with such eager admiration that Mr.
Gwathmey was inspired by love of the young man. "I'd give everything I
own, Mr. Gwathmey, to have your gift!"
Mr. Gwathmey modestly felt his talents overcapitalized. Everything this
eccentric but clever scion of the Knickerbockers owned? Mr. Gwathmey
almost saw the old Rutgers farm! It must have had at least one hundred
and fifty acres bounded by Broadway, Wall, Fulton, and the East River. A
very nice young man, with agricultural ancestors in New Amsterdam.
"Won't you give me these, Mr. Gwathmey?" pleaded H. R.
"We never send out such rough--"
"These are not the firm's, but Gwathmey's. Just sign your name and let
me keep these as souvenirs. Please!" And H. R. smiled with boyish
eagerness.
Mr. Gwathmey signed his initials, and reluctantly gave the drawings to
H. R., shaking his modest head deprecatingly.
H. R. reverently put the precious sheets in his pocket and said: "Thank
you very much. Now you get your best sculptor to model my Ultimate
Sandwich by to-morrow, won't you?" Then he proceeded to contradict in
advance--a purely feminine habit, sometimes used with great effect by
masculine leaders--"Oh yes, he can. I'm sure _you_ can make him do it if
you wish to be nice!"
What reply could Mr. Gwathmey possibly make? He made it. "I'll do my
best, Mr. Rutgers; but--"
"Then it's done," said H. R., with such conviction that Mr. Gwathmey
filled his own lungs with oxygen. "And the designs for the various kinds
of sandwich-boards, in color, with the different materials indicated.
Send them to me, Allied Arts Building, won't you?"
H. R. forgot to say anything about costs. Only the nobility forget such
things, for the nobility know that Valiquet's work is perfect. Mr.
Gwathmey therefore forgot to be cautious. He said, "Very well, Mr.
Rutgers."
"Thank you so much!" That little phrase of gratitude in that same tone
of voice has often made plebeians feel like dying to prove _their_
gratitude. Then H. R. hesitated, looked at Mr. Gwathmey, and,
recklessly vaulting over all caste-barriers, said, "I wish to shake
hands with the man who designed my sandwiches!"
Mr. Gwathmey actually blushed as he shook hands warmly. The moment H. R.
left, Mr. Gwathmey rushed to his office to take steps to please young
Mr. Rutgers.
Rutgers College--culture; Hendrik--Knickerbocker; no question about
price--inherited wealth; newspaper front page--somebody!
A nice boy, bless him!
Mr. Gwathmey at that moment was the only man who really knew H. R. Like
a book!
Thus are historic characters analyzed by intimate friends. Invaluable
testimony! Interesting side-lights!
H. R. went back to his office and began to copy Mr. Gwathmey's designs.
He had barely finished when Andrew Barrett entered. He looked humorous.
Young men always do when they are angry at having failed but do not wish
to call it failure, and therefore must not look angry. Defeat is never a
joke. Therefore a joke can never be an acknowledgment of defeat. Very
easy! Origin: U. S. A. Reason: national juvenility.