"I expect that my Peter won't say a word the whole evenin' long—he ain't used to such things. He tried to beg off, but I put my foot down and said: 'No, sir; we've made plans to entertain you men-folks, and you've just got to be entertained whether you like it or not!'"
"And what did he say to that?" asked Mrs. Blake, laughingly.
"'Give another show,' says he, 'if you want to please the men.' Did you ever hear or know of anything quite so queer as men? And say, Mis' Blake, what do you s'pose? I got Peter to go in town and get a real full dress suit."
"Really!" exclaimed Mrs. Blake, who could not imagine Peter Stout dressed in anything except a butcher's frock.
"Yes; I was just bound to have him dressed up once 'fore he died, anyway. Goodness! if it ain't six o'clock. I must run home and help Peter get into his clothes, and get dressed myself."
With that Mrs. Stout scurried home, while Mrs. Blake lingered for one more look at the tables and decorations.
Two hours later the officers of the club, who formed the receiving party, were in their places. They stood on a white sleigh-robe, loaned for the occasion by undertaker Blake, and their background was a Japanese screen, which, on every other day in the year, could be found in the parlour of Mrs. Jones. They were flanked on either side by tabourets brought from the homes of Mrs. Tweedie and Miss Sawyer, on which reposed potted palms, the property of Mrs. Thornton, set in jardinières that Mrs. Darling's uncle, who was a sea-captain, had brought her from India, and that she "wouldn't have broken for worlds."
We common folk in common towns! What good times we do have, but how much greater would be our enjoyment did we not ape the apes of wealth.
Mr. So-and-so is always uncomfortable in his younger brother's dress suit. Mrs. What's-her-name feels as though the glittering brooch at her throat is on fire, because the gems are of paste. Mrs. Up-on-the-hill fears that some one will discover that the beautiful opera cloak, which she threw off so proudly, belongs to a friend in the next town; and Mr. Ditto swears that never again will he wear hired clothes, and adds several postscripts.
Soon after eight o'clock, the receiving party were overwhelmed with business, common folk usually coming on time, despite their other faults, and Manville society was no exception to the rule. Some of the presentations were not as dignified as many of the Morning Glories desired, Peter Stout being one of the worst offenders. He began by tripping over the white sleigh-robe, which confused him so that he said everything that his wife had told him not to say, and not a word of the speech that she had informed him was the "perlite and proper thing." When the series of mishaps came to an end, he permitted the lady who had presented him to lead him to a seat, where he sat and glared into space, his face as red as raw beef, until his wife came to pilot him through the remainder of the evening.