XVIII
I heard Maw catch her breath, and I heard Maw's husband give a
grunt. Then I rose. "How are you, Billy?" gurgled a voice--one of
those voices made especially for social occasions. "Wretched boy,
why do you never come to see us?"
"I was coming to-morrow," I said--for who could prove otherwise?
"Mrs. Stebbins, permit me to introduce Mrs. Tszchniczklefritszch."
"Charmed to meet you, I'm sure," said Mrs. Stebbins. "I've heard my
husband speak of your husband so often. How well you are looking,
Mrs.--"
She stopped; and Maw, knowing the terrors of her name, made haste to
say something agreeable. "Yes, ma'am; dis country agrees vit me
fine. Since I come here, I've rode and et, shoost rode and et."
"And Mr. T-S," said I.
"Howdydo, Mr. T-S?"
"Pretty good, ma'am," said T-S. He had been caught with his mouth
full, and was making desperate efforts to swallow.
A singular thing is the power of class prestige! Here was Maw, a
good woman, according to her lights, who had worked hard all her
life, and had achieved a colossal and astounding success. She had
everything in the world that money could buy; her hair was done by
the best hair-dresser, her gown had been designed by the best
costumer, her rings and bracelets selected by the best jeweller; and
yet nothing was right, no power on earth could make it right, and
Maw knew it, and writhed the consciousness of it. And here was Mrs.
Parmelee Stebbins, who had never done a useful thing in all her
days--except you count the picking out of a rich husband; yet Mrs.
Stebbins was "right," and Maw knew it, and in the presence of the
other woman she was in an utter panic, literally quivering in every
nerve. And here was old T-S, who, left to himself, might have really
meant what he said, that Mrs. Stebbins could go to hell; but because
he was married, and loved his wife, he too trembled, and gulped down
his food!
Mrs. Stebbins is one of those American matrons who do not allow
marriage and motherhood to make vulgar physical impressions upon
them. Her pale blue gown might have been worn by her daughter; her
cool grey eyes looked out through a face without a wrinkle from a
soul without a care. She was a patroness of art and intellect; but
never did she forget her fundamental duty, the enhancing of the
prestige of a family name. When she was introduced to a
screen-actress, she was gracious, but did not forget the difference
between an actress and a lady. When she was introduced to a strange
man who did not wear trousers, she took it quite as an everyday
matter, revealing no trace of vulgar human curiosity.
There came Bertie, full grown, but not yet out of the pimply stage,
and still conscious of the clothes which he had taken such pains to
get right. Bertie's sister remained in her seat, refusing naughtily
to be compromised by her mother's vagaries; but Bertie had a
purpose, and after I had introduced him round, I saw what he
wanted--Mary Magna! Bertie had a vision of himself as a sort of
sporting prince in this movie world. His social position would make
conquests easy; it was a sort of Christmas-tree, all a-glitter with
prizes.
I was standing near, and heard the beginning of their conversation.
"Oh, Miss Magna, I'm so pleased to meet you. I've heard so much
about you from Miss Dulles."
"Miss Dulles?"
"Yes; Dorothy Dulles."
"I'm sorry. I don't think I ever heard of her."
"What? Dorothy Dulles, the screen actress?"
"No, I can't place her."
"But--but she's a star!"
"Well, but you know, Mr. Stebbins--there are so many stars in the
heavens, and not all of them visible to the eye."
I turned to Bertie's mamma. She had discovered that Carpenter looked
even more thrilling on a close view; he was not a stage figure, but
a really grave and impressive personality, exactly the thing to
thrill the ladies of the Higher Arts Club at their monthly luncheon,
and to reflect prestige upon his discoverer. So here she was,
inviting the party to share her box at the theatre; and here was T-S
explaining that it couldn't be done, he had got to see his French
revolution pictures took, dey had five tousand men hired to make a
mob. I noted that Mrs. Stebbins received the "advertising" figures
on the production!
The upshot of it was that the great lady consented to forget her box
at the theatre, and run out to the studios to see the mob scenes for
the "The Tale of Two Cities." T-S hadn't quite finished his dinner,
but he waved his hand and said it was nuttin', he vouldn't keep Mrs.
Stebbins vaitin'. He beckoned the waiter, and signed his magic name
on the check, with a five-dollar bill on top for a tip. Mrs.
Stebbins collected her family and floated to the door, and our party
followed.
I expected another scene with the mob; but I found that the street
had been swept clear of everything but policemen and chauffeurs. I
knew that this must have meant rough work on the part of the
authorities, but I said nothing, and hoped that Carpenter would not
think of it. The Stebbins car drew up by the porte-cochere; and
suddenly I discovered why the wife of the street-car magnate was
known as a "social leader." "Billy," she said, "you come in our car,
and bring Mr. Carpenter; I have something to talk to you about."
Just that easily, you see! She wanted something, so she asked for
it!
I took Carpenter by the arm and put him in. Bertie drove, the
chauffeur sitting in the seat beside him. "Beat you to it!" called
Bertie, with his invincible arrogance, and waved his hand to the
picture magnate as we rolled away.
