George Barr McCutcheon

“ She admitted a slender young woman, who said, "Thank you," and "Good evening, Julia," in the softest, loveliest voice imaginable, and hurried up, past the apartment of the Marchioness, to the fourth floor. Julia, in cap and apron, wore a pleased smile as she went in to put the finishing touches on the coiffure of her mistress.
"Pity there isn't more like her," she said, at the end of five minutes' reflection. Patting the silvery crown of the Marchioness, she observed in a less detached manner: "As I always says, the wonderful part is that it's all your own, ma'am." ”

“ I say, Spangler, what's the matter with you? Throw him out! He's—"
"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!"
"I ought to knock your block off," said Mr. McFaddan, without raising his voice. As his face was within six inches of Stuyvesant's nose, the young man had no difficulty whatever in hearing what he said, and yet it should not be considered strange that he failed to understand. In all fairness, it must be said that he was bewildered. Under the circumstances any one would have been bewildered. Being spoken to in that fashion by a man you've never seen before in your life is, to say the least, surprising. ”

“ A warm, soft light filled the room, shed by antique lanthorns and wall-lamps that gave forth no cruel glare. Standing beside the table, the Marchioness was a remarkable picture. The slight, drooping figure of the woman with the dust-cloth and creaking knees had been transformed, like Cinderella, into a fairly regal creature attired in one of the most fetching costumes ever turned out by the rapacious Deborah, of the first floor front!
The foyer curtains parted, revealing the plump, venerable figure of a butler who would have done credit to the lordliest house in all England. ”

“ I think of myself as a princess, and always will, de Bosky. I think of myself,—of my most unlovely, unregal self,—as the superior of every other woman who treads the streets of New York, all of these base born women. I cannot help it. I cannot think of them as equals, not even the richest and the most arrogant of them. You say it is the blood, but you are wrong. Some of these women have a strain of royal blood in them—a far-off, remote strain, of course,—but they do not know it. That's the point, my friend. It is the knowing that makes us what we are. It isn't the blood itself. ”

“ In a far-off corner, remote from the music, you would have discovered the Marchioness and her companions; the bland, perpetually smiling Mr. Hendricks who wrote the book, his wife, and the lovely, blue-eyed Jane.
By a strange order of coincidence, young Mr. Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis, quite mellow and bereft of the power to focus steadily with eye or intellect, occupied a seat,—and frequently a seat and a half,—at a table made up of shrill-voiced young women and bald-headed gentlemen of uncertain age who had a whispering acquaintance with the head waiter and his assistants. ”

“ A hand and arm came into view,—the propelling power.
"Is that you, de Bosky?" called out Trotter, in a penetrating whisper.
Abruptly the trap flew wide open and dropped back on the scantlings with a bang.
The head and shoulders of a man,—a bald-headed man, at that,—rose quickly above the ledge, and an instant later a lighted lantern followed.
"Oh, dear!" murmured Lady Jane, aghast. "It—it isn't Mr. de Bosky, Eric. It's that man."
"I beg your pardon, Lord Temple," said Mr. Alfred Chambers, setting the lantern down in order to brush the dust off of his hands. "Are you there?" ”

“ The Marchioness lowered one eye-lid slowly.
"And, by all reports, the Marquis of Camelford was very well worth watching," said Lady Jane.
"Hear the wind!" cried the Marchioness, with a little shiver. "How it shrieks!"
"We were speaking of the Marquis," said Lady Jane.
"But one may always fall back on the weather," said the Marchioness drily. "Even at its worst it is a pleasanter thing to discuss than Camelford. You can't get anything out of me, my dear. I was his next door neighbour for twenty years, and I don't believe in talking about one's neighbour." ”

“ Thousands of people were scurrying along the pavements in the direction of the brilliantly lighted Fifth Avenue, a few rods away; vague, dusky, unrecognizable forms in the darkness that comes so early and so abruptly to the cross-town streets at the end of a young March day. The middle of the street presented a serried line of snow heaps, piled up by the shovellers the day before,—symmetrical little mountains that formed an impassable range over which no chauffeur had the temerity to bolt in his senseless ambition to pass the car ahead. ”

“ From his earliest days as third groom in the Camelford ménage to the end of his reign as major-domo, he had been in a position to observe and assimilate the manners of the elect. No one knew better than he how to go about being a gentleman. He had had his lessons, not to say examples, from the first gentlemen of England. Having been brought up on dukes and earls,—and all that sort of thing,—to say nothing of quite a majority in the House of Lords, he was in a fair way of knowing "what's what," to use his own far from original expression.
You couldn't fool Cricklewick to save your life. ”

“ The sight of a twenty-dollar bill caused her to regret not having asked for two weeks down instead of one.
"If it does not inconvenience you, madam," said de Bosky, "I should like the change in new bills. You have no idea how it offends my artistic sense to—" He shuddered a little. "I make a point of never having filthy, germ-disseminating bank notes on my person."
"And you are quite right," said she feelingly. "I wish to God I could afford to be as particular. If there's anything I hate it's a dirty old bill. ”

“ The poor chap undoubtedly was sensitive. They always are.
"Good!" said Mr. Bramble eagerly. "And we'll have some tea. Bless my soul, how fortunate! I always have it at five o'clock. Trotter and I were just on the point of—so glad you happened in just at the right moment, Miss Emsdale. Ahem! And you too, de Bosky. Most extraordinary. You may leave your pipe on that shelf, Trotter. It smells dreadfully. No, no,—I wouldn't even put it in my pocket if I were you. Er—ahem! You have met Mr. Trotter, haven't you, Miss Emsdale?" ”

“ Mrs. Sparflight betrayed agitation. A hunted, troubled look came into her eyes.
"I—I don't quite understand," she stammered. "Who—who did you say you were?"
"My name is Chambers, Alfred Chambers, Scotland Yard. In the event that you are ignorant of the character of the place called Scotland Yard, I may explain that—"
"I know what it is," she interrupted hastily. "What is it that you want of me, Mr. Chambers?" She was rapidly gaining control of her wits.
"Very little, madam. I should very much like to know whose car took you away from Sprinkler's last night." ”

“ Smith-Parvis had an idea that a man should work. Especially a young man.
In secret he squirmed over the fact that his son Stuyvesant had never been known to do a day's work in his life. Not that it was actually necessary for the young man to descend to anything so common and inelegant as earning his daily bread, or that there was even a remote prospect of the wolf sniffing around a future doorway. Not at all. He knew that Stuyvie didn't have to work. Still, it grieved him to see so much youthful energy going to waste. ”

“ In this City of Masks there are hundreds of men and women in whose veins the blood of a sound aristocracy flows. By choice or necessity they have donned the mask of obscurity. They tread the paths of oblivion. They toil, beg or steal to keep pace with circumstance. But the blood will not be denied. In the breast of each of these drifters throbs the pride of birth, in the soul of each flickers the unquenchable flame of caste. The mask is for the man outside, not for the man inside. ”

“ The bride-elect was not so proud or so self-absorbed that she could desert the Marchioness in the preparation of what promised to be the largest, the sprightliest and the most imposing salon of the year. She had put on an old gingham gown, had rolled up the sleeves, and had lent a hand with a will and an energy that distressed, yet pleased the older woman. ”

“ In the rear of the floor above the book-shop were the meagrely furnished bedrooms and kitchen shared by J. Bramble and Pierre Mirabeau, clock-maker and repairer. The kitchen was more than a kitchen. It was also a dining-room, a sitting-room and a scullery, and it was as clean and as neat as the proverbial pin. At the front was the work-shop of M. Mirabeau, filled with clocks of all sizes, shapes and ages. ”

“ You couldn't fool Cricklewick to save your life. The instant he looked upon you he could put you where you belonged, and, so far as he was concerned, that was where you would have to stay.
It is doubtful if there was ever a more discerning, more discriminating butler in all England. It was his rather astonishing contention that one could be quite at one's ease with dukes and duchesses and absolutely ill-at-ease with ordinary people. That was his way of making the distinction. It wasn't possible to be on terms of intimacy with the people who didn't belong. ”

“ Its men and women hide behind a million masks; no man looks beneath the mask his neighbour wears, for he is interested only in that which he sees with the least possible effort: the surface. He sees his neighbour but he knows him not. He keeps his own mask in place and wanders among the millions, secure in the thought that all other men are as casual as he,—and as charitable.
From time to time the newspapers come forward with stories that amaze and interest those of us who remain, and always will remain, romantic and impressionable. ”

“ Both Jane and the Marchioness were equal to the occasion. Although filled with consternation, they succeeded admirably in concealing their dismay behind a mask of smiles and a gay sort of chatter. De Bosky beamed and smirked and gesticulated. One would have thought he was regaling them with an amusing story.
"He is capable of making a horrid scene," lamented Jane, through smiling lips. "He may come over to this table and—"
"Compose yourself," broke in de Bosky, a smile on his lips but not in his eyes. "If he should attempt to annoy you here, I—I myself will take him in hand. Have no fear. ”

“ And when the aggressor, after a moment or two of suspense, opened his eyes and lowered his arm, expecting to find his adversary's fist on its irresistible approach toward his nose, there was no Mr. McFaddan in sight;—at least, he was not where he had been the moment before.
Mr. McFaddan lay in a crumpled heap against a chair, ten feet away.
Stuyvie was suddenly aware that some one was assisting him into his coat, and that several men were hustling him toward the door.
"Get out,—quick!" said one, who turned out to be the agitated Mr. Spangler. "Before he gets up. He is a terrible man." ”

“ I am gentleman enough to overlook all that has transpired between you and that loafer, and I am gentleman enough to keep my mouth shut at home, where a word from me would pack you off in two seconds. And I'd like to see you get another fat job in New York after that. You ought to be jolly grateful to me."
"If I am the sort of person you say I am," she had replied, trembling with fury, "how can you justify your conscience in letting me remain for a second longer in charge of your little sisters?" ”

“ From all quarters of the globe the drift comes to our shores. New York swallows the good with the bad, and thrives, like the cannibal, on the man-food it gulps down with ravenous disregard for consequences or effect. It rarely disgorges.
It eats all flesh, foul or fair, and it drinks good red blood out of the same cup that offers a black and nauseous bile. It conceals its inward revulsion behind a bland, disdainful smile, and holds out its hands for more of the meat and poison that comes up from the sea in ships. ”

“ The more he tried to remember J. Bramble's address, the less he thought of the overcoat with the fur collar and the soft leather lining. He couldn't eat that, you know.
In his bleak little room in the hall of the whistling winds, he took from its case with cold-benumbed fingers the cherished violin. Presently, as he played, the shivering flesh of him grew warm with the heat of an inward fire; the stiff, red fingers became limp and pliable; the misty eyes grew bright and feverish. Fire,—the fires of love and genius and hope combined,—burnt away the chill of despair ”

“ Miss Emsdale suppressed a desire to giggle. Moody, a footman without the normal supply of aitches; Juneo, a nobleman with countless generations of nobility behind him!
The car drew up to the curb on the side street paralleling Pickett's. Another limousine had the place of vantage ahead of them.
"Blow your horn, Galpin," ordered Mrs. Smith-Parvis. "They have no right to stand there, blocking the way."
"It's Mrs. Millidew's car, madam," said the footman up beside Galpin.
"Never mind, Galpin," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis hastily. "We will get out here. It's only a step." ”

“ We are told what they eat for breakfast, luncheon and dinner; what they wear and what they do not wear; where they are entertained and by whom; who they are and why; what they think of New York and—but why go on? We deny them privacy, and they think we are a wonderful, considerate and hospitable people. They go back to their homes in far-off lands,—and that is the end of them so far as we are concerned.
They merely pause on the lip of the melting pot, briefly peer into its simmering depths, and then,—pass on. ”