“And you mean to tell us that a plain man like old John De Boodle, of Nevada, is putting out his hard-earned wealth in that way?” demanded Mr. Brief.
“I didn’t mean to mention any names,” said the Idiot. “But you’ve spotted the victim. Old John De Boodle, who made his sixty million dollars in six months, after having kept a saloon on the frontier for forty years, is the man. His family wants to get in the swim, and Reggie is turning the trick for them; and, after all, what better way is there for De Boodle to get in? He might take sixty villas at Newport and not get even a peep at the divorce colony there, much less a glimpse of the monogamous set acting independently. Not a monkey in the Zoo would dine with the De Boodles, and in his most eccentric moment I doubt if Tommy Dare would take them up, unless there was somebody to stand sponsor for them. A cool million might easily be expended without results by the De Boodles themselves; but hand that money over to Reggie Squandercash, whose blood is as blue as his creditors’ sometimes get, and you can look for results. What the Frohman’s are to the stage, Reggie Squandercash is to society. He’s right in it; popular as all spenders are; lavish as all people spending other people’s money are apt to be. Old De Boodle, egged on by Mrs. De Boodle and Miss Mary Ann De Boodle (now known as Miss Marianne De Boodle), goes to Reggie and says: ‘The old lady and my girl are nutty on society. Can you land ’em?’ ‘Certainly,’ says Reggie, ‘if your pocket is long enough.’ ‘How long is that?’ asks De Boodle, wincing a bit. ‘A hundred thousand a month, and no extras, until you’re in,’ says Reggie. ‘No reduction for families?’ asks De Boodle, anxiously. ‘No,’ says Reggie. ‘Harder job.’ ‘All right,’ says De Boodle, ‘here’s my check for the first month.’ That’s how Reggie gets his Newport villa, his servants, his horses, yacht, automobiles, and coaches. Then he invites the De Boodles up to visit him. They accept, and the fun begins. First it’s a little dinner to meet my friends Mr. and Mrs. De Boodle, of Nevada. Everybody there, hungry, dinner from Sherry’s, best wines in the market. De Boodles covered with diamonds, a great success, especially old John De Boodle, who tells racy stories over the demi-tasse when the ladies have gone into the drawing-room. De Boodle voted a character. Next thing, bridge-whist party. Everybody there. Society a good winner. The De Boodles magnificent losers. Popularity cinched. Next, yachting-party. Everybody on board. De Boodle on deck in fine shape. Champagne flows like Niagara. Poker game in main cabin. Food everywhere. De Boodles much easier. Stiffness wearing off, and so on and so on, until finally Miss De Boodle’s portrait is printed in nineteen Sunday newspapers all over the country. They’re launched, and Reggie comes into his own with a profit for the season in a cash balance of fifty thousand dollars. He’s had a bully time all summer, entertained like a prince, and comes to the rainy season with a tidy little umbrella to keep him out of the wet.”
“And can he count on that as a permanent business?” asked Mr. Whitechoker.
“My dear sir, the rock of Gibraltar is no solider and no more permanent,” said the Idiot. “For as long as there is a Four Hundred in existence, human nature is such that there will also be a million who will want to get into it.”
“At such a cost?” demanded the Bibliomaniac.
“At any cost,” replied the Idiot. “Even people who know they cannot swim want to get in it.”
XII
HE MAKES A SUGGESTION TO THE POET
GOOD-MORNING, Homer, my boy,” said the Idiot, genially, as the Poet entered the breakfast-room. “All hail to thee. Thou art the bright particular bird of plumage I most hoped to see this rare and beauteous summer morning. No sweet-singing robin-redbreast or soft-honking canvasback for yours truly this A.M., when a living, breathing, palpitating son of the Muses lurks near at hand. I fain would make thee a proposition, Shakespeare dear!”