The City of Masks Part 31

He stared. "I mean politically. Figure of speech, my dear."

"Oh, I see."

"A little coddling on my part, and that sort of thing. They all want to break into society,--every last one of them. You never can tell. A little soft soap goes a long way sometimes. I could ask him to have luncheon with me at Bombay House. Um-m-m!" He fell into a reflective mood.

Mrs. Smith-Parvis also was thoughtful. An amazing idea had sprouted in her head.

"Has he a wife?" she inquired, after many minutes.

"They always have, those chaps," said he. "And a lot of children."

"I was just wondering if it wouldn't be good policy to have them to dinner some night, Philander," she said.

"Oh, my G.o.d!" he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly and staring at her in astonishment.

"Every little helps," she said argumentatively. "It would be like opening the seventh heaven to her if I were to invite her here to dine.

Just think what it would mean to her. She would meet--"

"They probably eat with their knives and tuck their napkins under their chins."

"I am sure that would be amusing," said she, eagerly. "It is so difficult nowadays to provide amus.e.m.e.nt for one's guests. Really, my dear, I think it is quite an idea. We could explain beforehand to the people we'll have in to meet them,--explain everything, you know. The plan for Stuyvesant, and everything."

He was still staring. "Well, who would you suggest having in with Mr.

and Mrs. Con McFaddan?"

"Oh, the Cricklewicks, and the Blodgetts,--and old Mrs. Millidew,--I've been intending to have her anyway,--and perhaps the Van Ostrons and Cicely Braithmere, and I am sure we could get dear old Percy Tromboy. He would be frightfully amused by the McFinnegans, and--"

"McFaddan," he edged in.

"--and he could get a world of material for those screaming Irish imitations he loves to give. Now, when will you see Mr. McFaddan?"

"You'd have to call on his wife, wouldn't you, before asking her to dinner?"

"She probably never has heard of the custom," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis composedly.

The next day, Mr. Smith-Parvis strolled into the offices of Mr.

Cornelius McFaddan, Contractor, and casually remarked what a wonderful view of the Bay he had from his windows.

"I dropped in, Mr. McFaddan," he explained, "to see if you were really in earnest about wanting to join the Oxford Country Club." He had decided that it was best to go straight to the point.

McFaddan regarded him narrowly. "Did I ever say I wanted to join the Oxford Country Club?" he demanded.

"Didn't you?" asked his visitor, slightly disturbed by this ungracious response.

"I did not," said Mr. McFaddan promptly.

"Dear me, I--I was under the impression--Ahem! I am sure you spoke of wanting to join a golf club."

"That must have been some time ago. I've joined one," said the other, a little more agreeably.

Mr. Smith-Parvis punched nervously with his cane at one of his pearl grey spats. The contractor allowed his gaze to s.h.i.+ft. He didn't wear "spats" himself.

"I am sorry. I daresay I could have rushed you through in the Oxford.

They are mighty rigid and exclusive up there, but--well, you would have gone in with a rush. Men like you are always shoved through ahead of others. It isn't quite--ah--regular, you know, but it's done when a candidate of special prominence comes up. Of course, I need not explain that it's--ah--quite sub rosa?"

"Sure," said Mr. McFaddan promptly; "I know. We do it at the Jolly Dog Club." He was again eyeing his visitor narrowly, speculatively. "It's mighty good of you, Mr. Smith-Parvis. Have a cigar?"

"No, thank you. I seldom-- On second thoughts, I will take one." It occurred to him that it was the diplomatic thing to do, no matter what kind of a cigar it was. Besides, he wouldn't feel called upon to terminate his visit at once if he lighted the man's cigar. He could at least smoke an inch or even an inch and a half of it before announcing that he would have to be going. And a great deal can happen during the consumption of an inch or so of tobacco.

"That's a good cigar," he commented, after a couple of puffs. He took it from his lips and inspected it critically.

Mr. McFaddan was pleased. "It ought to be," he said. "Fifty cents straight."

The visitor looked at it with sudden respect. "A little better than I'm in the habit of smoking," he said ingratiatingly.

"What does it cost to join the Oxford Club?" inquired the contractor.

"Twelve hundred dollars admission, and two hundred a year dues," said Mr. Smith-Parvis, p.r.i.c.king up his ears. "Really quite reasonable."

"My wife don't like the golf club I belong to," said the other, squinting at his own cigar. "Rough-neck crowd, she says."

Mr. Smith-Parvis looked politely concerned.

"That's too bad," he said.

The contractor appeared to be weighing something in his mind.

"How long does it take to get into your club?" he asked.

"Usually about five years," said Mr. Smith-Parvis, blandly. "Long waiting list, you know. Some of the best people in the city are on it, by the way. I daresay it wouldn't be more than two or three months in your case, however," he concluded.

"I'll speak to the wife about it," said Mr. McFaddan. "She may put her foot down hard. Too swell for us, maybe. We're plain people."

"Not a bit of it," said Mr. Smith-Parvis readily. "Extremely democratic club, my dear McFaddan. Exclusive and all that, but quite--ah--unconventional. Ha-ha!"

Finding himself on the high-road to success, he adventured a little farther. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he got to his feet with an exclamation of well-feigned dismay.

"My dear fellow, I had no idea it was so near the luncheon hour. Stupid of me. Why didn't you kick me out? Ha-ha! Let me know what you decide to do, and I will be delighted to--But better still, can't you have lunch with me? I could tell you something about the club and--What do you say to going around to Bombay House with me?"

"I'd like nothing better," said the thoroughly perplexed politician.

"Excuse me while I wash me hands."

And peering earnestly into the mirror above the washstand in the corner of the office, Mr. McFaddan said to himself:

"I must look easier to him than I do to meself. If I'm any kind of a guesser at all he's after one of two things. He either wants his tax a.s.sessment rejuced or wants to run for mayor of the city. The poor b.o.o.b!"

That evening Mr. Smith-Parvis announced, in a bland and casual manner, that things were shaping themselves beautifully.