Part 14 (1/2)
But, ho! Let us smile, instead of crying at their follies. For no nation ever yet raised a monument to men representing such principles.
CHAPTER IX.
A THANKSGIVING PARTY.
In Oakland avenue there stands another mansion. It is a lofty pile of brownish stone, and is luxuriously complete in its every detail.
Standing as it does on a prominent hill, it comes in for a great share of excellent praise for its beauty and magnificence, and is cla.s.sed as a close rival of that other mansion in Highland avenue.
Here lived, when in the effulgence of his power and influence in the complicated machinery of a big city, one Jacob Cobb--a short, squatty, round-faced, blue-eyed, clear-complexioned man of business, so far as anybody knew about his worldly affairs. Here his wife Betty, and daughters, Susanna and Marjorie, entertained the eclat of society according to the a la mode of fas.h.i.+on; and many were the gay parties, b.a.l.l.s and dinners that they gave for the select few const.i.tuting their circle of acquaintances.
Charming, indeed, were these great affairs, unrivaled in all their appointments in the high-toned residential district in this unequaled city of social madness and financial debauchery. Oh, yes; charming they were, indeed, to those select of the very select who pandered to Mammon in the workaday hours and to Bacchus in the time of refreshment.
Aye, aye; here came the proud, the haughty, the vapid, the insipid; the hilarious strumpets of swelldom, the strutting monstrosities of fas.h.i.+on, the pompous parrots of mimicry; the glib scandal-mongers, the gregarious loiterers over afternoon teas; the straight-laced of the kid-gloved gentry, the sn.o.bs, the prudes, the fops; the blase young men, the genteel puppets, the vacuous gentlemen, the bombasts, the old curmudgeons; the doting mothers, the innocent maidens; with now and then a sprinkling of the good, the sage, the savant, as a savory condiment to the mess of social pottage the Cobbs dished out of their pot of ethics.
These events were wonderful achievements in the life of Mrs. Cobb, and Mr. Cobb paid the bills without a murmur or complaint.
Mrs. Cobb was sumptuously independent in the conduct of these affairs.
All the glories of the Queen of Henry of Navarre could not equal her glorious accomplishments in the one great and only ambition of her life--s.h.i.+ning in society. Mr. Cobb was b.u.mptuously indifferent as to how his wife shone, just so she shone, and that in her s.h.i.+ning she did not obfuscate him altogether.
Mrs. Cobb was chunky, like her husband. She was the quintessence of charm. She was the substantive mood of the present tense of the verb to be. She was gay, humorous, and a true leader--in her line of activity.
She was near the middle time of life, but she had lost little of her beauty. Her dark brown eyes snapped like sparks of fire, and her cheeks glowed pink when she was enjoying the company around her; when in a different mood, she ever had the fine quality of knowing how to be pleasant when most bored.
Mrs. Cobb's afternoons were of course mild affairs, but still very grand to all those idle ladies who deemed it a distinctive honor to receive an invitation, and a compliment to their refinement to be there.
Accomplishment and refinement! O, fudge!
Mrs. Cobb must celebrate Thanksgiving day. She and her husband must offer up their oblation, in their own unhampered fas.h.i.+on, to the gracious Lord who had blessed them with so much to be thankful for. And they did celebrate.
It was to be an unsurpa.s.sed dinner at seven, a violation of the rule of etiquette for such state affairs; but as dancing was to follow, the order of formality was modified, so that the exhilarating whirl could thereby be prolonged. She, therefore, sent out the exact number of fifty invitations, equally distributed among ladies and gentlemen. The dinner was served in the great dining room, dazzling with its silver, gold, gla.s.s and polished wood, with carnations and roses burdening the air with their mesmeric fragrance.
Promptly at the hour of seven, Mr. Cobb, with Mrs. Cobb on his arm, struck out through the maze of palms and smilax and other greenery, for the feasting board. Arriving at the table, with her husband, she delivered him at the head, and she took a seat on his right hand (all contrary to form, but she was original, if anything), with her favorite bachelor friend, Miram Monroe, on Mr. Cobb's left, as a cold balancing weight to old man Cobb's ebulliting spirits. Next to Mr. Monroe sat Miss Edith Jarney. Jasper Cobb sat opposite Miss Jarney, and by his side was Miss Star Barton; and so on down the long table sat the other sublunaries of the Cleopatra of fas.h.i.+on, the number not stopping till a second long table was filled with similarly handsomely gowned ladies, and gloomily groomed gentlemen, with the Cobb girls sitting among them in peek-a-boo fluffiness.
”Mr. Monroe,” said Mrs. Cobb, after having made some trifling remarks to some of the other guests, showing her white teeth with the vivaciousness of a young girl, ”you appear not to be enjoying yourself tonight.”
”Oh, yes, Mrs. Cobb,” he replied, with a board-like stiffness, ”I am delighted.”
”Mrs. Cobb,” interjected her husband, beaming one of his sly winks at her, ”you should not tease Mr. Monroe tonight. Just behold the fair young lady he has by his side!”
”Mr. Cobb, you are so jolly tonight,” she answered. ”Mr. Monroe did not salute me when he arrived this evening, so I am in ill-humor with him.”
”Beg your pardon, Mrs. Cobb,” said the ghostly Monroe. ”The fact is I had no opportunity. Sure, madam, I would not slight you for the world, did you give me the opportunity.”
”Mr. Monroe,” said Mrs. Cobb, in her best humor, ”you must get rid of your rigidity of expression, or I will be compelled to get another man, younger than you, to take your place. I am now almost tempted to put my son in your place; Jasper, you know.”
”I will not hear to that, Mrs. Cobb,” interrupted Edith. ”Why, I shall attempt to enliven Mr. Monroe.” Then to that sedate imbecile, she said: ”Mr. Monroe, cheer up. See, every gentleman present but you is in the fullness of his grandiose verboseness tonight. Cheer up, and be alive for once!”
Mr. Monroe turned a lethargic smile upon Edith, and whispered, loud enough for his near auditors to hear: ”Miss Jarney will do me the pleasure, I am sure, of reaching me the salt.”