Part 55 (2/2)
OPINIONS.
When the ride was ended, Leonore was sent home in the carriage, Watts saying he would go with Peter to his club. As soon as they were in the cab, he said:
”I wanted to see you about your letter.”
”Well?”
”Everything's going as well as can be expected. Of course the little woman's scandalized over your supposed iniquity, but I'm working the heavy sentimental 'saved-our-little-girl's life' business for all it's worth. I had her crying last night on my shoulder over it, and no woman can do that and be obstinate long. She'll come round before a great while.”
Peter winced. He almost felt like calling Watts off from the endeavor.
But he thought of Leonore. He must see her--just to prove to himself that she was not for him, be it understood--and how could he see enough of her to do that--for Peter recognized that it would take a good deal of that charming face and figure and manner to pall on him--if he was excluded from her home? So he justified the continuance of the attempt by saying to himself: ”She only excludes me because of something of which I am guiltless, and I've saved her from far greater suffering than my presence can ever give her. I have earned the privilege if ever man earned it” Most people can prove to themselves what they wish to prove.
The successful orator is always the man who imposes his frame of mind on his audience. We call it ”saying what the people want said.” But many of the greatest speakers first suggest an idea to their listeners, and when they say it in plain English, a moment later, the audience say, mentally, ”That's just what we thought a moment ago,” and are convinced that the speaker is right.
Peter remained silent, and Watts continued: ”We get into our own house to-morrow, and give Leonore a birthday dinner Tuesday week as a combined house-warming and celebration. Save that day, for I'm determined you shall be asked. Only the invitation may come a little late. You won't mind that?”
”No. But don't send me too many of these formal things. I keep out of them as much as I can. I'm not a society man and probably won't fit in with your friends.”
”I should know you were not _de societe_ by that single speech. If there's one thing easy to talk to, or fit in with, it's a society man or woman. It's their business to be chatty and pleasant, and they would be polite and entertaining to a kangaroo, if they found one next them at dinner. That's what society is for. We are the yolk of the egg, which holds and blends all the discordant, untrained elements. The oil, vinegar, salt, and mustard We don't add much flavor to life, but people wouldn't mix without us.”
”I know,” said Peter, ”if you want to talk petty personalities and trivialities, that it's easy enough to get through endless hours of time. But I have other things to do.”
”Exactly. But we have a purpose, too. You mustn't think society is all frivolity. It's one of the hardest working professions.”
”And the most brainless.”
”No. Don't you see, that society is like any other kind of work, and that the people who will centre their whole life on it must be the leaders of it? To you, the spending hours over a new _entree_, or over a cotillion figure, seems rubbish, but it's the exact equivalent of your spending hours over who shall be nominated for a certain office. Because you are willing to do that, you are one of the 'big four.' Because we are willing to do our task, we differentiate into the 'four hundred.'
You mustn't think society doesn't grind up brain-tissue. But we use so much in running it, that we don't have enough for other subjects, and so you think we are stupid. I remember a woman once saying she didn't like conversazioni, 'because they are really brain-parties, and there is never enough to go round, and give a second help,' Any way, how can you expect society to talk anything but society, when men like yourself stay away from it.”
”I don't ask you to talk anything else. But let me keep out of it.”
”'He's not the man for Galway',” hummed Watts. ”He prefers talking to 'heelers,' and 'b'ys,' and 'toughs,' and other clever, intellectual men.”
”I like to talk to any one who is working with a purpose in life.”
”I say, Peter, what do those fellows really say of us?”
”I can best describe it by something Miss De Voe once said. We were at a dinner together, where there was a Chicago man who became irritated at one or two bits of ignorance displayed by some of the other guests over the size and prominence of his abiding place. Finally he said: 'Why, look here, you people are so ignorant of my city, that you don't even know how to p.r.o.nounce its name.' He turned to Miss De Voe and said, 'We say Chicawgo. Now, how do you p.r.o.nounce it in New York?' Miss De Voe put on that quiet, crus.h.i.+ng manner she has when a man displeases her, and said, 'We never p.r.o.nounce it in New York.'”
”Good for our Dutch-Huguenot stock! I tell you, Peter, blood does tell.”
”It wasn't a speech I should care to make, because it did no good, and could only mortify. But it does describe the position of the lower wards of New York towards society. I've been working in them for nearly sixteen years, and I've never even heard the subject mentioned.”
”But I thought the anarchists and socialists were always taking a whack at us?”
”They cry out against over-rich men--not against society. Don't confuse the const.i.tuents with the compound. Citric acid is a deadly poison, but weakened down with water and sugar, it is only lemonade. They growl at the poison, not at the water and sugar. Before there can be hate, there must be strength.”
<script>