“Since I came home I’ve been trying to find out what’s going on in America, so I read everything,” Miss Reynolds explained. “The general opinion seems to be that things are going to pot. Right under your hand there’s a book called ‘Clues to a New Social Order,’ written by a woman named Trenton. I understand she’s a respectable person and not a short-haired lunatic; but she throws everything overboard!”
“I’ve read it,” said Grace. “It’s certainly revolutionary.”
“All of that!” Miss Reynolds retorted. “But it does make you think! Everybody’s restless and crazy for excitement. My young married neighbors all belong to families I know or know about; live in very charming houses and have money to spend—too much most of them—and they don’t seem able to stand an evening at home by themselves. But maybe the new way’s better. Maybe their chances of happiness are greater where they mix around more. I’m curious about the whole business. These young folks don’t go to church. Why don’t they, when their fathers and grandfathers always did? Their parents stayed at home in the evening. My father used to grumble horribly when my mother tried to get him into a dress suit. But there was wickedness then too, only people just whispered about it and tried to keep it from the young folks. There were men right here in this town who sat up very proper in the churches on Sunday who didn’t hesitate to break all the commandments during the week. But now you might think people were sending up fireworks to call attention to their sins! I remember the first time I went to a dinner—that was thirty years ago—where cocktails were passed around. It seemed awful—the very end of the world. When I told my mother about it she was horrified; said what she thought of the hostess who had exposed her daughter to temptation! But now prohibition’s driven everybody to drink. I asked my chauffeur yesterday how long it would take him to get me a quart of whiskey and he said about half an hour if I’d let him use the car. I told him to go ahead and sure enough he was back with it in twenty minutes. It was pretty fair whiskey, too,” Miss Reynolds concluded. “I was curious to see just how it felt to break the law and I confess to you, my dear, that I experienced a feeling of exultation!”
She reached for a fresh cigarette and lighted it tranquilly.
“Everybody’s down on the young people,” said Grace, confident that she had a sympathetic listener. “They tell us all the time that we’re of no account.”
“There are pages of that on that table,” Miss Reynolds replied. “Well, I’m for the young people; particularly you girls who have to rustle for yourselves. If I stood up in a store all day or hammered a typewriter I’m sure I’d feel that I was entitled to some pleasure when I got through. Just what do girls do—I don’t mean girls of your upbringing exactly and your schooling,—but less lucky girls who manage their own affairs and are not responsible to any one.”
“I haven’t been at work long enough to know much about that,” said Grace; “but—nearly every girl who’s at all attractive has a beau!”
“Certainly!” Miss Reynolds affirmed promptly. “It’s always been so. There’s nothing new in that.”
“And they go to dances. Every girl likes to dance. And sometimes they’re taken out to dinner or to a show if the young man can afford it. Girls don’t have parties at home very much; I mean even where they live at home. There’s not room to dance usually; the houses are too small and it isn’t much fun. And if the beau has a car he takes the girl driving.”
“And these girls marry and have homes of their own? That still happens, doesn’t it?”