Manners for the metropolis

by Frank Crowninshield

My maid is ill and I was forced to hook myself.

The twins put crumbs in my stockings.

I read your invitation upside down and, naturally, mistook the hour of dinner.

I never eat soup, and thought, of course, you wouldn’t wait.

I knew Mrs. V—t would be much later than I—so I took a chance.

I was taking my memory lesson, and it was all so absorbing that I completely forgot the dinner.

I lost your note, and, as everybody dines at 8.30, I thought, of course, that you would.

My chauffeur was so drunk that he took me next door by mistake, and delayed me fearfully.

Every year it is becoming more and more difficult for hostesses to secure a sufficient number of blades for their dinners and evening routs. “Odd men” are always in tremendous demand.