fauna of the south, and to be conversant with all financial and social matters appertaining to the old-timer. They have also found that a frank exposition of their own philosophical meditations on men and things will sometimes arouse the interest and stimulate the generosity of their charges. “What sort of ducks are those, George?” usually brings the intelligent answer: “Those ain’t no sort, suh. Those is just ducks.” A query as to whether a wheel-chair is harder to push with one or two people in it brought the reply that there “wasn’t no difference.” But to push an empty one is the hardest. Yes, suh! Must be because no money is being made. Yes, suh!
CHAPTER V
OF THE TELEGRAM-EXPECTERS—OF THE DATE-GUESSERS—AND OF THE STATISTIC-WEEVILS
There are many lonely men and women at Palm Beach who almost cry with gratitude when somebody speaks to them. They are like many Congressmen, who are big people at home, but of less account in Washington than a head porter. Out of all the people who flock to Palm Beach to spend large amounts of money and bask in the soothing rays that emanate from the socially prominent, ninety per cent. might be compared to very small potatoes in a two hundred-acre lot. Even the majority of the people whose names are names to conjure with in Palm Beach society can’t be found in the pages of Who’s Who.
The majority of men who pay the bills at the big hotels are forced to struggle hard to kill time when they have finished their golf-playing for the day. Enormous numbers of them seem to spend most of their spare time sitting dolefully around hotel lobbies and expecting telegrams that never come. If you fall into conversation with any man in any Palm Beach hotel lobby, he invariably explains his inactivity by saying that he is expecting a telegram.
Next to expecting telegrams, the most popular Palm Beach time-killer seems to consist of wondering what day of the week it is. Sneak up behind any two important-looking men who seem to be discussing affairs of moment, and the chances are ten to one that you will hear the following weighty conversation:
“Is to-day Tuesday or Wednesday? I sort of lose track down here.”
“To-day? Why to-day’s Wednesday. No; hold on! It’s Thursday, isn’t it?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s either Tuesday or Wednesday. Still, I don’t know: it might be Thursday.”
“No, I don’t believe it’s Thursday. I was expecting a telegram on Tuesday, and it would have had to come before Thursday. I guess it’s Wednesday.”