CHAPTER XXII.
The Percy-Bartletts were dining with Gertrude Van Vleck and her father. Cornelius Van Vleck was a man sixty years of age, whose life had been spent, for the most part, in maintaining the traditions of his family. As the Van Vlecks had been prominent in the city since the year 1636, the number of these traditions that he had been called upon to cherish rendered his task no sinecure.
Cornelius Van Vleck had good reason to be proud of his ancestors. They had possessed a combination of foresight and conservatism that had conferred on their posterity the blanket-blessing of vast wealth. The man who is a landed proprietor on Manhattan Island need never fear want. Banks may fail, the credit of the country may be threatened, railroads may dodge their dividends, and hard times may cast their shadow over a long-suffering people, but the New York landlord is intrenched behind a financial Gibraltar. How is he to blame if his ancestors were thrifty and far-seeing? Render to Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s, ye grumbling and restless tenants, and accept the world as you find it. Cornelius Van Vleck could no more help being rich than you can avoid being poor. Wherever the blame may lie for the inequalities that exist in the distribution of wealth, surely Cornelius Van Vleck cannot be held responsible. He is as much the victim of a system as you are. But he bears his burden without a protest. Never during his long life as a man of great financial and social importance has Cornelius Van Vleck been heard to reproach his ancestors for the load of responsibility that they placed upon his shoulders. He has lived up to his position in the community with an almost heroic devotion to his lofty duties; and in his old age he is still inspired by that fine old motto of noblesse oblige.
One of the hereditary obligations to which he has always conformed, for the honor of his forefathers and his own satisfaction, consists in dining well. Cornelius Van Vleck has the reputation of giving the most artistic dinners in the city. But he never casts pearls before swine. His guests must be worthy of his chef. The hospitable but somewhat testy old gentleman demands from those who sit at his board an appreciation as keen as his own of the gastronomic excellence of the entertainment provided. It is for this reason that he always enjoys having the Percy-Bartletts at his table. Whether Mrs. Percy-Bartlett fully appreciates the delicate lights and shades of the epicurean masterpieces produced by the Van Vlecks’ chef, the host has never been quite certain. But he has no doubt of Mr. Percy-Bartlett’s ability to understand and rejoice in the fine touches that the artist below stairs so deftly makes.
“I have my doubts, my friend,” he is saying to Percy-Bartlett, as they puff their cigars and sip a liqueur after the ladies have retired to the drawing-room, “I have my doubts that a woman can ever become a thoroughly equipped connoisseuse at the dinner-table. I know that there is no line of endeavor in which the new woman does not feel competent to shine; but,” and here the old gentleman waved his liqueur-glass at Percy-Bartlett with a stately and hospitable gesture, “but they haven’t that delicate sense of taste, that sensitiveness to the most refined and elusive flavors that we men possess. Do you know, there are some dishes that I can’t make Gertrude eat at all! Just imagine, sir, a woman, an intellectual woman, who takes pride in shocking her old father with her advanced ideas and theories, and who has had every advantage of travel and instruction, who absolutely refuses to eat terrapin in any form. How, sir, can woman expect us to acknowledge her equality when she boldly admits that she doesn’t like terrapin?”
Percy-Bartlett smiled; but his eyes were restless, his face pale, and his manner that of a man who is making an effort to be sociable against his inclinations.
“I think, Mr. Van Vleck,” he replied, “that you and I are in close sympathy regarding the absurd pretensions made by women to-day. Do you know, sir, I have grown very weary of the whole thing. There is a restlessness, a pushing, discontented, crude, and unfeminine spirit abroad among the women of our set that has actually had a crushing effect upon me. I think that it is responsible for the constantly recurring fits of the blues that have bothered me so much of late.”
Cornelius Van Vleck, whose heavy but not unsymmetrical features lacked mobility, gazed at his guest with some concern in his bluish-gray eyes.
“You aren’t looking quite fit, young man, that’s a fact. Take some of that brandy. It’s something very fine, I assure you. By the way, why don’t you knock off a bit, and run over to the other side with us? Gertrude and I are going over at once. She needs a change, a great change. There’s something wrong with the girl. She has grown morbid and flighty, sir. I can’t understand it—unless these new ideas that are floating around have struck in. She has been asking me some very embarrassing questions of late, sir, some very embarrassing questions. I even suspect that Gertrude has been visiting some of my tenants on the East Side, and distributing alms. As if organized charities were not sufficient to relieve the distress in the city! I have remonstrated with her, sir; but what can you do with a woman to-day? Whose authority do they respect, sir? A father’s? a husband’s?”
Percy-Bartlett sipped his brandy nervously, while a slight flush arose to his pallid cheeks.
“I thoroughly sympathize with you, Mr. Van Vleck. We are almost powerless to check this rebellious spirit. There is a limit, of course, to protest beyond which a gentleman cannot go. I fully realize that. There have been many things to disturb us of late; we, I mean, who cling to the old ideas and the best traditions of our set. And, do you know, I hold the newspapers responsible for a good deal of the harm that has been done.”
“You are right, Percy-Bartlett! you are right!” cried his host with more animation than he usually displayed. “There have been those among us who seemed to actually crave notoriety. It has been shocking—shocking! I really don’t know what we’re coming to. Do you know, I gave a small dinner-party last night,—twelve at the table, you know,—and, will you believe me, a reporter came to the house and asked for a list of my guests. That’s a straw that shows which way the wind blows. When I was young, sir, a man could dine at home without awakening the curiosity of the public. But, tell me, aren’t you well? You look very pale. I am worried about you, my friend.”
Percy-Bartlett was leaning back in his chair, a gray pallor on his face, and his lips almost colorless. Leaning forward with an effort, he swallowed the remaining drops of brandy in his glass.
“It is nothing, Mr. Van Vleck,” he said, after a moment’s silence; “I have been doing too much work and worrying of late. I really believe I need a vacation.”
“You do indeed, sir,” remarked his host emphatically. “Come, young man, listen to reason. The one great privilege that wealth grants is that it gives us our freedom. Come over to London with us. We sail Wednesday morning. Drop your work right here and take a rest. If you don’t, you’ll break down, Percy-Bartlett, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men won’t be able to pull you together again.”
Percy-Bartlett looked at his elderly companion gratefully. It was a novel and welcome sensation to have some one take an interest in his welfare. There was silence for a time. Then he said, as he arose slowly, as though his head felt giddy,—
“Perhaps you are right, Mr. Van Vleck. Come into the drawing-room with me. I’ll ask Harriet what she thinks of the scheme.”