In old-fashioned times people apparently did not mind waiting tranquilly through courses and between courses, even though meat grew cold long before the last of many vegetables was passed, and they waited endlessly while a slow talker and eater finished his topic and his food. But people of to-day do not like to wait an unnecessary second. The moment fish is passed them, they expect the cucumbers or sauce, or whatever should go with the fish, to follow immediately. And when the first servant hands the meat course, they consider that they should not be expected to wait a moment for a second servant to hand the gravy or jelly or whatever goes with the meat. No service is good in this day unless swift—and, of course, soundless.

A late leader of Newport society who had a world-wide reputation for the brilliancy of her entertainments, had an equally well-known reputation for rapidly served dinners. "Twenty minutes is quite long enough to sit at table—ever!" is what she used to say, and what her household had to live up to. She had a footman to about every two guests and any one dining with her had to cling to the edge of his plate or it would be whisked away! One who looked aside or "let go" for a second found his plate gone! That was extreme; but, even so, better than a snail-paced dinner!

THE DINNER HOUR

In America the dinner hour is not a fixture, since it varies in various sections of the country. The ordinary New York hour when "giving a dinner" is eight o'clock, half past eight in Newport. In New York, when dining and going to the opera, one is usually asked for seven-fifteen, and for seven-thirty before going to a play. Otherwise only "quiet" people dine before eight. But invitations should, of course, be issued for whatever hour is customary in the place where the dinner is given.

THE BUTLER IN THE DINING-ROOM

When the dinner guests enter the dining-room, it is customary for the butler to hold out the chair of the mistress of the house. This always seems a discourtesy to the guests. And an occasional hostess insists on having the chair of the guest of honor held by the butler instead of her own. If there are footmen enough, the chair of each lady is held for her; otherwise the gentleman who takes her in to dinner helps her to be seated. Ordinarily where there are two servants, the head one holds the chair of the hostess and the second, the chair on the right of the host. The hostess always seats herself as quickly as possible so that the butler may be free to assist a guest to draw her chair up to the table.

In a big house the butler always stands throughout a meal back of the hostess' chair, except when giving one of the men under him a direction, or when pouring wine. He is not supposed to leave the dining-room himself or ever to handle a dish. In a smaller house where he has no assistant, he naturally does everything himself; when he has a second man or parlor-maid, he passes the principal dishes and the assistant follows with the accompanying dishes or vegetables.

So-called "Russian" service is the only one known in New York which merely means that nothing to eat is ever put on the table except ornamental dishes of fruit and candy. The meat is carved in the kitchen or pantry, vegetables are passed and returned to the side table. Only at breakfast or possibly at supper are dishes of food put on the table.

THE EVER-PRESENT PLATE

From the setting of the table until it is cleared for dessert, a plate must remain at every cover. Under the first two courses there are always two plates. The plate on which oysters or hors d'oeuvres are served is put on top of the place plate. At the end of the course the used plate is removed, leaving the place plate. The soup plate is also put on top of this same plate. But when the soup plate is removed, the underneath plate is removed with it, and a hot plate immediately exchanged for the two taken away. The place plate merely becomes a hot fish plate, but it is there just the same.

The Exchange Plate

If the first course had been a canape or any cold dish that was offered in bulk instead of being brought on separate plates, it would have been eaten on the place plate, and an exchange plate would have been necessary before the soup could be served. That is, a clean plate would have been exchanged for the used one, and the soup plate then put on top of that. The reason for it is that a plate with food on it can never be exchanged for a plate that has had food on it; a clean one must come between.

If an entree served on individual plates follows the fish, clean plates are first exchanged for the used ones until the whole table is set with clean plates. Then the entree is put at each place in exchange for the clean plate. Although dishes are always presented at the left of the person served, plates are removed and replaced at the right. Glasses are poured and additional knives placed at the right, but forks are put on as needed from the left.

May the Plates for Two Persons Be Brought in Together?

The only plates that can possibly be brought into the dining-room one in each hand are for the hors d'oeuvres, soup and dessert. The first two plates are placed on others which have not been removed, and the dessert plates need merely be put down on the tablecloth. But the plates of every other course have to be exchanged and therefore each individual service requires two hands. Soup plates, two at a time, would better not be attempted by any but the expert and sure-handed, as it is in placing one plate, while holding the other aloft that the mishap of "soup poured down some one's back" occurs! If only one plate of soup is brought in at a time, that accident at least cannot happen. In the same way the spoon and fork on the dessert plate can easily fall off, unless it is held level. "Two plates at a time" therefore is not a question of etiquette, but of the servant's skill.

Plate Removed When Fork Is Laid Down

Once upon a time it was actually considered impolite to remove a single plate until the last guest at the table had finished eating! In other days people evidently did not mind looking at their own dirty plates indefinitely, nor could they have minded sitting for hours at table. Good service to-day requires the removal of each plate as soon as the fork is laid upon it; so that by the time the last fork is put down, the entire table is set with clean plates and is ready for the next course.

DOUBLE SERVICE AND THE ORDER OF TABLE PRECEDENCE

At every well-ordered dinner, there should be a double service for ten or twelve persons; that is, no hot dish should, if avoidable, be presented to more than six, or nine at the outside. At a dinner of twelve, for instance, two dishes each holding six portions, are garnished exactly alike and presented at opposite ends of the table. One to the lady on the right of the host, and the other to the lady at the opposite end of the table. The services continue around to the right, but occasional butlers direct that after serving the "lady of honor" on the right of the host, the host is skipped and the dish presented to the lady on his left, after which the dish continues around the table to the left, to ladies and gentlemen as they come. In this event the second service starts opposite the lady of honor and also skips the first gentleman, after which it goes around the table to the left, skips the lady of honor and ends with the host. The first service when it reaches the other end of the table skips the lady who was first served and ends with the gentleman who was skipped.

It is perhaps more polite to the ladies to give them preference, but it is complicated, and leaves another gentleman as well as the host, sitting between two ladies who are eating while he is apparently forgotten. The object (which is to prevent the lady who is second in precedence from being served last) can be accomplished by beginning the first service from the lady on the right of the host and continuing on the right 6 places; the second service begins with the lady on the left of the host and continues on the left five places, and then comes back to the host. The best way of all, perhaps, is to vary the "honor" by serving the entree and salad courses first to the lady on the left instead of to the lady on the right and continue the service of these two courses to the left.

A dinner of eighteen has sometimes two services, but if very perfect, three. Where there are three services they start with the lady of honor and the sixth from her on either side and continue to the right.

FILLING GLASSES

As soon as the guests are seated and the first course put in front of them, the butler goes from guest to guest on the right hand side of each, and asks "Apollinaris or plain water!" and fills the goblet accordingly. In the same way he asks later before pouring wine: "Cider, sir?" "Grape fruit cup, madam?" Or in a house which has the remains of a cellar, "Champagne?" or "Do you care for whiskey and soda, sir?"

But the temperature and service of wines which used to be an essential detail of every dinner have now no place at all. Whether people will offer frapped cider or some other iced drink in the middle of dinner, and a warmed something else to take the place of claret with the fish, remains to be seen. A water glass standing alone at each place makes such a meager and untrimmed looking table that most people put on at least two wine glasses, sherry and champagne, or claret and sherry, and pour something pinkish or yellowish into them. A rather popular drink at present is an equal mixture of white grape-juice and ginger ale with mint leaves and much ice. Those few who still have cellars, serve wines exactly as they used to, white wine, claret, sherry and Burgundy warm, champagne ice cold; and after dinner, green mint poured over crushed ice in little glasses, and other liqueurs of room temperature. Whiskey is always poured at the table over ice in a tall tumbler, each gentleman "saying when" by putting his hand out. The glass is then filled with soda or Apollinaris.

As soon as soup is served the parlor-maid or a footman passes a dish or a basket of dinner rolls. If rolls are not available, bread cut in about two-inch-thick slices, is cut cross-ways again in three. An old-fashioned silver cake basket makes a perfect modern bread-basket. Or a small wicker basket that is shallow and inconspicuous will do. A guest helps himself with his fingers and lays the roll or bread on the tablecloth, always. No bread plates are ever on a table where there is no butter, and no butter is ever served at a dinner. Whenever there is no bread left at any one's place at table, more should be passed. The glasses should also be kept filled.

PRESENTING DISHES

Dishes are presented held flat on the palm of the servant's right hand; every hot one must have a napkin placed as a pad under it. An especially heavy meat platter can be steadied if necessary by holding the edge of the platter with the left hand, the fingers protected from being burned by a second folded napkin.

Each dish is supplied with whatever implements are needed for helping it; a serving spoon (somewhat larger than an ordinary tablespoon) is put on all dishes and a fork of large size is added for fish, meat, salad and any vegetables or other dishes that are hard to help. String beans, braised celery, spinach en branche, etc., need a fork and spoon. Asparagus has various special lifters and tongs, but most people use the ordinary spoon and fork, putting the spoon underneath and the fork, prongs down, to hold the stalks on the spoon while being removed to the plate. Corn on the cob is taken with the fingers, but is never served at a dinner party. A galantine or mousse, as well as peas, mashed potatoes, rice, etc., are offered with a spoon only.

THE SERVING TABLE

The serving table is an ordinary table placed in the corner of the dining-room near the door to the pantry, and behind a screen, so that it may not be seen by the guests at table. In a small dining-room where space is limited, a set of shelves like a single bookcase is useful.

The serving table is a halfway station between the dinner table and the pantry. It holds stacks of cold plates, extra forks and knives, and the finger bowls and dessert plates. The latter are sometimes put out on the sideboard, if the serving table is small or too crowded.

At little informal dinners all dishes of food after being passed are left on the serving table in case they are called upon for a second helping. But at formal dinners, dishes are never passed twice, and are therefore taken direct to the pantry after being passed.

CLEARING TABLE FOR DESSERT

At dinner always, whether at a formal one, or whether a member of the family is alone, the salad plates, or the plates of whatever course precedes dessert, are removed, leaving the table plateless. The salt cellars and pepper pots are taken off on the serving tray (without being put on any napkin or doily, as used to be the custom), and the crumbs are brushed off each place at table with a folded napkin onto a tray held under the table edge. A silver crumb scraper is still seen occasionally when the tablecloth is plain, but its hard edge is not suitable for embroidery and lace, and ruinous to a bare table, so that a napkin folded to about the size and thickness of an iron-holder is the crumb-scraper of to-day.

DESSERT

The captious say "dessert means the fruit and candy which come after the ices." "Ices" is a misleading word too, because suggestive of the individual "ices" which flourished at private dinners in the Victorian age, and still survive at public dinners, suppers at balls, and at wedding breakfasts, but which are seen at not more than one private dinner in a thousand—if that.

In the present world of fashion the "dessert" is ice-cream, served in one mold; not ices (a lot of little frozen images). And the refusal to call the "sweets" at the end of the dinner, which certainly include ice cream and cake, "dessert," is at least not the interpretation of either good usage or good society. In France, where the word "dessert" originated, "ices" were set apart from dessert merely because French chefs delight in designating each item of a meal as a separate course. But chefs and cook-books notwithstanding, dessert means everything sweet that comes at the end of a meal. And the great American dessert is ice cream—or pie. Pie, however, is not a "company" dessert. Ice cream on the other hand is the inevitable conclusion of a formal dinner. The fact that the spoon which is double the size of a teaspoon is known as nothing but a dessert spoon, is offered in further proof that "dessert" is "spoon" and not "finger" food!

Dessert Service

There are two, almost equally used, methods of serving dessert. The first or "hotel method," also seen in many fashionable private houses, is to put on a china plate for ice cream or a first course, and the finger bowl on a plate by itself, afterwards. In the "private house" service, the entire dessert paraphernalia is put on at once.

In detail: In the two-course, or hotel, service, the "dessert" plate is of china, or if of glass, it must have a china one under it. A china dessert plate is just a fairly deep medium sized plate and it is always put on the table with a "dessert" spoon and fork on it. After the inevitable ice cream has been eaten, a fruit plate with a finger bowl on it, is put on in exchange. A doily goes under the finger bowl, and a fruit knife and fork on either side.

In the single course, or private house, service, the ice cream plate is of glass and belongs under the finger bowl which it matches. The glass plate and finger bowl in turn are put on the fruit plate with a doily between, and the dessert spoon and fork go on either side of the finger bowl (instead of the fruit knife and fork). This arrangement of plates is seen in such houses as the Worldlys' and the Oldnames', and in fact in most very well done houses. The finger bowls and glass plates that match make a prettier service than the finger bowl on a china plate by itself; also it eliminates a change—but not a removal—of plates. In this service, a guest lifts the finger bowl off and eats his ice cream on the glass plate, after which the glass plate is removed and the china one is left for fruit.

Some people think this service confusing because an occasional guest, in lifting off the finger bowl, lifts the glass plate too, and eats his dessert on his china plate. It is merely necessary for the servants to notice at which place the china plate has been used and to bring a clean one; otherwise a "cover" is left with a glass plate or a bare tablecloth for fruit. Also any one taking fruit must have a fruit knife and fork brought to him. Fruit is passed immediately after ice-cream; and chocolates, conserves, or whatever the decorative sweets may be, are passed last.

This single service may sound as though it were more complicated than the two-course service, but actually it is less. Few people use the wrong plate and usually the ice-cream plates having others under them can be taken away two at a time. Furthermore, scarcely any one takes fruit, so that the extra knives and forks are few, if any.

Before finishing dessert, it may be as well to add in detail, that the finger bowl doiley is about five or six inches in diameter; it may be round or square, and of the finest and sheerest needlework that can be found (or afforded). It must always be cream or white. Colored embroideries look well sometimes on a country lunch table but not at dinner. No matter where it is used, the finger bowl is less than half filled with cold water; and at dinner parties, a few violets, sweet peas, or occasionally a gardenia, is put in it. (A slice of lemon is never seen outside of a chop-house where eating with the fingers may necessitate the lemon in removing grease. Pretty thought!)

Black coffee is never served at a fashionable dinner table, but is brought afterwards with cigarettes and liqueurs into the drawing-room for the ladies, and with cigars, cigarettes and liqueurs into the smoking room for the gentlemen.

If there is no smoking-room, coffee and cigars are brought to the table for the gentlemen after the ladies have gone into the drawing-room.

PLACE CARDS

The place cards are usually about an inch and a half high by two inches long, sometimes slightly larger. People of old family have their crest embossed in plain white; occasionally an elderly hostess, following a lifelong custom, has her husband's crest stamped in gold. Nothing other than a crest must ever be engraved on a place card; and usually they are plain, even in the houses of old families.

Years ago "hand-painted" place cards are said to have been in fashion. But excepting on such occasions as a Christmas or a birthday dinner, they are never seen in private houses to-day.

MENU CARDS

Small, standing porcelain slates, on which the menu is written, are seen on occasional dinner tables. Most often there is only one which is placed in front of the host; but sometimes there is one between every two guests.

SEATING THE TABLE

As has already been observed, the most practical way to seat the table is to write the names on individual cards first, and then "place" them as though playing solitaire; the guest of honor on the host's right, the second lady in rank on his left; the most distinguished or oldest gentleman on the right of the hostess, and the other guests filled in between.

WHO IS THE GUEST OF HONOR?

The guest of honor is the oldest lady present, or a stranger whom you wish for some reason to honor. A bride at her first dinner in your house, after her return from her honeymoon, takes, if you choose to have her, precedence over older people. Or if a younger woman has been long away she, in this instance of welcoming her home, takes precedence over her elders. The guest of honor is always led in to dinner by the host and placed on his right, the second in importance sits on his left and is taken in to dinner by the gentleman on whose right she sits. The hostess is always the last to go into the dining-room at a formal dinner.

THE ENVELOPES FOR THE GENTLEMEN

In an envelope addressed to each gentleman is put a card on which is written the name of the lady he is to take down to dinner. This card just fits in the envelope, which is an inch or slightly less high and about two inches long. When the envelopes are addressed and filled, they are arranged in two neat rows on a silver tray and put in the front hall. The tray is presented to each gentleman just before he goes into the drawing-room, on his arrival.

THE TABLE DIAGRAM

A frame made of leather, round or rectangular, with small openings at regular intervals around the edge in which names written on cards can be slipped, shows the seating of the table at a glance. In a frame holding twenty-four cards, twelve guests would be indicated by leaving every other card place blank, or for eight, only one in three is filled. This diagram is shown to each gentleman upon his arrival, so that he can see who is coming for dinner and where he himself is placed. At a dinner of ten or less this diagram is especially convenient as "envelopes" are used only at formal dinners of twelve and over.

WHEN THE HOSTESS SITS AT THE SIDE

When the number of guests is a multiple of four, the host and hostess never sit opposite each other. It would bring two ladies and two gentlemen together if they did. At a table which seats two together at each end, the fact that the host is opposite a gentleman and the hostess opposite a lady is not noticeable; nor is it ever noticeable at a round table. But at a narrow table which has room for only one at the end, the hostess invariably sits in the seat next to that which is properly her own, putting in her place a gentleman at the end. The host usually keeps his seat rather than the hostess because the seat of honor is on his right; and in the etiquette governing dinners, the host and not the hostess is the more important personage!

When there are only four, they keep their own places, otherwise the host and hostess would sit next to each other. At a dinner of eight, twelve, sixteen, twenty, etc., the host keeps his place, but at supper for eight or twelve, the hostess keeps her place and the host moves a place to the right or left because the hostess at supper pours coffee or chocolate. And although the host keeps his seat at a formal dinner in honor of the lady he takes in, at a little dinner of eight, where there is no guest of honor, the host does not necessarily keep his seat at the expense of his wife unless he carves, in which case he must have the end place; just as at supper she has the end place in order to pour.

SIDEWALK, HALL, AND DRESSING ROOMS

One can be pretty sure on seeing a red velvet carpet spread down the steps of a house (or up! since there are so many sunken American basement entrances) that there are people for dinner. The carpet is kept rolled, or turned under near the foot (or top) of the steps until a few minutes before the dinner hour when it is spread across the width of the pavement by the chauffeur or whoever is on duty on the sidewalk. Very big or formal dinners often have an awning, especially at a house where there is much entertaining and which has an awning of its own; but at an ordinary house, for a dinner of twelve or so, the man on the pavement must, if it is raining, shelter each arriving guest under his coachman's umbrella from carriage to door. If it does not rain, he merely opens the doors of vehicles. Checks are never given at dinners, no matter how big; every motor is called by address at the end of the evening. The Worldly car is not shouted for as "Worldly!" but "xox Fifth Avenue!" The typical coachman of another day used to tell you "carriages are ordered for ten-fifteen." Carriages were nearly always ordered for that hour, though with slow and long dinners no one ever actually left until the horses had exercised for at least an hour! But the chauffeur of to-day opens the door in silence—unless there is to be a concert or amateur theatricals, when he, like the coachman says, "Motors are ordered for twelve o'clock," or whatever hour he is told to say.

In this day of telephone and indefinite bridge games, many people prefer to have their cars telephoned for, when they are ready to go home. Those who do not play bridge leave an eight o'clock dinner about half past ten, or at least order their cars for that hour.

In all modern houses of size there are two rooms on the entrance floor, built sometimes as dressing-rooms and nothing else, but more often they are small reception rooms, each with a lavatory off of it. In the one given to the ladies, there is always a dressing-table with toilet appointments on it, and the lady's maid should be on duty to give whatever service may be required; when there is no dressing-room on the ground floor, the back of the hall is arranged with coat-hangers and an improvised dressing-table for the ladies, since modern people—in New York at least—never go up-stairs to a bedroom if they can help it. In fact, nine ladies out of ten drop their evening cloaks at the front door, handing them to the servant on duty, and go at once without more ado to the drawing-room. A lady arriving in her own closed car can't be very much blown about, in a completely air tight compartment and in two or three minutes of time!

Gentlemen also leave their hats and coats in the front part of the hail. A servant presents to each a tray of envelopes, and if there is one, the table diagram. Envelopes are not really necessary when there is a table diagram, since every gentleman knows that he "takes in" the lady placed on his right! But at very big dinners in New York or Washington, where many people are sure to be strangers to one another, an absent-minded gentleman might better, perhaps, have his partner's name safely in his pocket.

ANNOUNCING GUESTS

A gentleman always falls behind his wife in entering the drawing-room. If the butler knows the guests, he merely announces the wife's name first and then the husband's. If he does not know them by sight he asks whichever is nearest to him, "What name, please?" And whichever one is asked, answers: "Mr. and Mrs. Lake."

The butler then precedes the guests a few steps into the room where the hostess is stationed, and standing aside says in a low tone but very distinctly: "Mrs. Lake," a pause and then, "Mr. Lake." Married people are usually announced separately as above, but occasionally people have their guests announced "Mr. and Mrs. ——."

ANNOUNCING PERSONS OF RANK

All men of high executive rank are not alone announced first, but take precedence of their wives in entering the room. The President of the United States is announced simply, "The President and Mrs. Harding." His title needs no qualifying appendage, since he and he solely, is the President. He enters first, and alone, of course; and then Mrs. Harding follows. The same form precisely is used for "The Vice-President and Mrs. Coolidge." A governor is sometimes in courtesy called "Excellency" but the correct announcement would be "the Governor of New Jersey and Mrs. Edwards." He enters the room and Mrs. Edwards follows. "The Mayor and Mrs. Thompson" observe the same etiquette; or in a city other than his own he would be announced "The Mayor of Chicago and Mrs. Thompson."

Other announcements are "The Chief Justice and Mrs. Taft," "The Secretary of State and Mrs. Hughes." "Senator and Mrs. Washington," but in this case the latter enters the room first, because his office is not executive.

According to diplomatic etiquette an Ambassador and his wife should be announced, "Their Excellencies the Ambassador and Ambassadress of Great Britain." The Ambassador enters the room first. A Minister Plenipotentiary is announced "The Minister of Sweden." He enters a moment later and "Mrs. Ogren" follows. But a First Secretary and his wife are announced, if they have a title of their own, "Count and Countess European," or "Mr. and Mrs. American."

The President, the Vice-President, the Governor of a State, the Mayor of a city, the Ambassador of a foreign Power—in other words, all executives—take precedence over their wives and enter rooms and vehicles first. But Senators, Representatives, Secretaries of legations and all other officials who are not executive, allow their wives to precede them, just as they would if they were private individuals.

Foreigners who have hereditary titles are announced by them: "The Duke and Duchess of Overthere." "The Marquis and Marchioness of Landsend," or "Sir Edward and Lady Blank," etc. Titles are invariably translated into English, "Count and Countess Lorraine," not "M. le Comte et Mme. la Comtesse Lorraine."

HOW A HOSTESS RECEIVES AT A FORMAL DINNER

On all occasions of formality, at a dinner as well as at a ball, the hostess stands near the door of her drawing-room, and as guests are announced, she greets them with a smile and a handshake and says something pleasant to each. What she says is nothing very important, charm of expression and of manner can often wordlessly express a far more gracious welcome than the most elaborate phrases (which as a matter of fact should be studiously avoided). Unless a woman's loveliness springs from generosity of heart and sympathy, her manners, no matter how perfectly practised, are nothing but cosmetics applied to hide a want of inner beauty; precisely as rouge and powder are applied in the hope of hiding the lack of a beautiful skin. One device is about as successful as the other; quite pleasing unless brought into comparison with the real.

Mrs. Oldname, for instance, usually welcomes you with some such sentences as, "I am very glad to see you" or "I am so glad you could come!" Or if it is raining, she very likely tells you that you were very unselfish to come out in the storm. But no matter what she says or whether anything at all, she takes your hand with a firm pressure and her smile is really a smile of welcome, not a mechanical exercise of the facial muscles. She gives you always—even if only for the moment—her complete attention; and you go into her drawing-room with a distinct feeling that you are under the roof, not of a mere acquaintance, but of a friend. Mr. Oldname who stands never very far from his wife, always comes forward and, grasping your hand, accentuates his wife's more subtle but no less vivid welcome. And either you join a friend standing near, or he presents you, if you are a man, to a lady; or if you are a lady, he presents a man to you.

Some hostesses, especially those of the Lion-Hunting and the New-to-Best-Society variety are much given to explanations, and love to say "Mrs. Jones, I want you to meet Mrs. Smith. Mrs. Smith is the author of 'Dragged from the Depths,' a most enlightening work of psychic insight." Or to a good-looking woman, "I am putting you next to the Assyrian Ambassador—I want him to carry back a flattering impression of American women!"

But people of good breeding do not over-exploit their distinguished guests with embarrassing hyperbole, or make personal remarks. Both are in worst possible taste. Do not understand by this that explanations can not be made; it is only that they must not be embarrassingly made to their faces. Nor must a "specialist's" subject be forced upon him, like a pair of manacles, by any exploiting hostess who has captured him. Mrs. Oldname might perhaps, in order to assist conversation for an interesting but reticent person, tell a lady just before going in to dinner, "Mr. Traveler who is sitting next to you at the table, has just come back from two years alone with the cannibals." This is not to exploit her "Traveled Lion" but to give his neighbor a starting point for conversation at table. And although personal remarks are never good form, it would be permissible for an older lady in welcoming a very young one, especially a debutante or a bride, to say, "How lovely you look, Mary dear, and what an adorable dress you have on!"

But to say to an older lady, "That is a very handsome string of pearls you are wearing," would be objectionable.

THE DUTY OF THE HOST

The host stands fairly near his wife so that if any guest seems to be unknown to all of the others, he can present him to some one. At formal dinners introductions are never general and people do not as a rule speak to strangers, except those next to them at table or in the drawing-room after dinner. The host therefore makes a few introductions if necessary. Before dinner, since the hostess is standing (and no gentleman may therefore sit down) and as it is awkward for a lady who is sitting, to talk with a gentleman who is standing, the ladies usually also stand until dinner is announced.

WHEN DINNER IS ANNOUNCED

It is the duty of the butler to "count heads" so that he may know when the company has arrived. As soon as he has announced the last person, he notifies the cook. The cook being ready, the butler, having glanced into the dining-room to see that windows have been closed and the candles on the table lighted, enters the drawing-room, approaches the hostess, bows, and says quietly, "Dinner is served."

The host offers his arm to the lady of honor and leads the way to the dining-room. All the other gentlemen offer their arms to the ladies appointed to them, and follow the host, in an orderly procession, two and two; the only order of precedence is that the host and his partner lead, while the hostess and her partner come last. At all formal dinners, place cards being on the table, the hostess does not direct people where to sit. If there was no table diagram in the hall, the butler, standing just within the dining-room door, tells each gentleman as he approaches "Right" or "Left."

"R" or "L" is occasionally written on the lady's name card in the envelopes given to the gentlemen, or if it is such a big dinner that there are many separate tables, the tables are numbered with standing placards (as at a public dinner) and the table number written on each lady's name card.

THE MANNERS OF A HOSTESS

First of all, a hostess must show each of her guests equal and impartial attention. Also, although engrossed in the person she is talking to, she must be able to notice anything amiss that may occur. The more competent her servants, the less she need be aware of details herself, but the hostess giving a formal dinner with uncertain dining-room efficiency has a far from smooth path before her. No matter what happens, if all the china in the pantry falls with a crash, she must not appear to have heard it. No matter what goes wrong she must cover it as best she may, and at the same time cover the fact that she is covering it. To give hectic directions, merely accentuates the awkwardness. If a dish appears that is unpresentable, she as quietly as possible orders the next one to be brought in. If a guest knocks over a glass and breaks it, even though the glass be a piece of genuine Steigel, her only concern must seemingly be that her guest's place has been made uncomfortable. She says, "I am so sorry, but I will have it fixed at once!" The broken glass is nothing! And she has a fresh glass brought (even though it doesn't match) and dismisses all thought of the matter.

Both the host and hostess must keep the conversation going, if it lags, but this is not as definitely their duty at a formal, as at an informal dinner It is at the small dinner that the skilful hostess has need of what Thackeray calls the "showman" quality. She brings each guest forward in turn to the center of the stage. In a lull in the conversation she says beguilingly to a clever but shy man, "John, what was that story you told me——" and then she repeats briefly an introduction to a topic in which "John" particularly shines. Or later on, she begins a narrative and breaks off suddenly, turning to some one else, "You tell them!"

These examples are rather bald, and overemphasize the method in order to make it clear. Practise and the knowledge of human nature, or of the particular temperament with which she is trying to deal, can alone tell her when she may lead or provoke this or that one to being at his best, to his own satisfaction as well as that of the others who may be present. Her own character and sympathy are the only real "showman" assets, since no one "shows" to advantage except in a congenial environment.

THE LATE GUEST

A polite hostess waits twenty minutes after the dinner hour, and then orders dinner served. To wait more than twenty minutes, or actually fifteen after those who took the allowable five minutes grace, would be showing lack of consideration to many for the sake of one. When the late guest finally enters the dining-room, the hostess rises, shakes hands with her, but does not leave her place at table. She doesn't rise for a gentleman. It is the guest who must go up to the hostess and apologize for being late. The hostess must never take the guest to task, but should say something polite and conciliatory such as, "I was sure you would not want us to wait dinner!" The newcomer is usually served with dinner from the beginning unless she is considerate enough to say to the butler, "Just let me begin with this course."

Old Mrs. Toplofty's manners to late guests are an exception: on the last stroke of eight o'clock in winter and half after eight in Newport, dinner is announced. She waits for no one! Furthermore, a guest arriving after a course has been served, does not have to protest against disarranging the order of dinner since the rule of the house is that a course which has passed a chair is not to be returned. A guest missing his "turn" misses that course. The result is that everyone dining with Mrs. Toplofty arrives on the stroke of the dinner hour; which is also rather necessary, as she is one of those who like the service to be rushed through at top speed, and anyone arriving half an hour late would find dinner over.

It would be excellent discipline if there were more hostesses like her, but no young woman could be so autocratic and few older ones care (or dare) to be. Nothing shows selfish want of consideration more than being habitually late for dinner. Not only are others, who were themselves considerate, kept waiting, but dinner is dried and ruined for everyone else through the fault of the tardy one. And though expert cooks know how to keep food from becoming uneatable, no food can be so good as at the moment for which it is prepared, and the habitually late guest should be made to realize how unfairly she is meeting her hostess' generosity by destroying for every one the hospitality which she was invited to share.

On the other hand, before a formal dinner, it is the duty of the hostess to be dressed and in her drawing-room fifteen, or ten minutes at least, before the hour set for dinner. For a very informal dinner it is not important to be ready ahead of time, but even then a late hostess is an inconsiderate one.

ETIQUETTE OF GLOVES AND NAPKIN

Ladies always wear gloves to formal dinners and take them off at table. Entirely off. It is hideous to leave them on the arm, merely turning back the hands. Both gloves and fan are supposed to be laid across the lap, and one is supposed to lay the napkin folded once in half across the lap too, on top of the gloves and fan, and all three are supposed to stay in place on a slippery satin skirt on a little lap, that more often than not slants downward.

It is all very well for etiquette to say "They stay there," but every woman knows they don't! And this is quite a nice question: If you obey etiquette and lay the napkin on top of the fan and gloves loosely across your satin-covered knees, it will depend merely upon the heaviness and position of the fan's handle whether the avalanche starts right, left or forward, onto the floor. There is just one way to keep these four articles (including the lap as one) from disintegrating, which is to put the napkin cornerwise across your knees and tuck the two side corners under like a lap robe, with the gloves and the fan tied in place as it were. This ought not to be put in a book of etiquette, which should say you must do nothing of the kind, but it is either do that or have the gentleman next you groping under the table at the end of the meal; and it is impossible to imagine that etiquette should wish to conserve the picture of "gentlemen on all fours" as the concluding ceremonial at dinners.

THE TURNING OF THE TABLE

The turning of the table is accomplished by the hostess, who merely turns from the gentleman (on her left probably) with whom she has been talking through the soup and the fish course, to the one on her right. As she turns, the lady to whom the "right" gentleman has been talking, turns to the gentleman further on, and in a moment everyone at table is talking to a new neighbor. Sometimes a single couple who have become very much engrossed, refuse to change partners and the whole table is blocked; leaving one lady and one gentleman on either side of the block, staring alone at their plates. At this point the hostess has to come to the rescue by attracting the blocking lady's attention and saying, "Sally, you cannot talk to Professor Bugge any longer! Mr. Smith has been trying his best to attract your attention."

"Sally" being in this way brought awake, is obliged to pay attention to Mr. Smith, and Professor Bugge, little as he may feel inclined, must turn his attention to the other side. To persist in carrying on their own conversation at the expense of others, would be inexcusably rude, not only to their hostess but to every one present.

At a dinner not long ago, Mr. Kindhart sitting next to Mrs. Wellborn and left to himself because of the assiduity of the lady's farther partner, slid his own name-card across and in front of her, to bring her attention to the fact that it was "his turn."

ENEMIES MUST BURY HATCHETS

One inexorable rule of etiquette is that you must talk to your next door neighbor at a dinner table. You must, that is all there is about it!

Even if you are placed next to some one with whom you have had a bitter quarrel, consideration for your hostess, who would be distressed if she knew you had been put in a disagreeable place, and further consideration for the rest of the table which is otherwise "blocked," exacts that you give no outward sign of your repugnance and that you make a pretence at least for a little while, of talking together.

At dinner once, Mrs. Toplofty, finding herself next to a man she quite openly despised, said to him with apparent placidity, "I shall not talk to you—because I don't care to. But for the sake of my hostess I shall say my multiplication tables. Twice one are two, twice two are four ——" and she continued on through the tables, making him alternate them with her. As soon as she politely could she turned again to her other companion.

MANNERS AT TABLE

It used to be an offense, and it still is considered impolite, to refuse dishes at the table, because your refusal implies that you do not like what is offered you. If this is true, you should be doubly careful to take at least a little on your plate and make a pretence of eating some of it, since to refuse course after course can not fail to distress your hostess. If you are "on a diet" and accepted the invitation with that stipulation, your not eating is excusable; but even then to sit with an empty plate in front of you throughout a meal makes you a seemingly reproachful table companion for those of good appetite sitting next to you.

ATTACKING A COMPLICATED DISH

When a dinner has been prepared by a chef who prides himself on being a decorative artist, the guest of honor and whoever else may be the first to be served have quite a problem to know which part of an intricate structure is to be eaten, and which part is scenic effect!

The main portion is generally clear enough; the uncertainty is in whether the flowers are eatable vegetables and whether the things that look like ducks are potatoes, or trimming. If there are six or more, the chances are they are edible, and that one or two of a kind are embellishments only. Rings around food are nearly always to be eaten; platforms under food seldom, if ever, are. Anything that looks like pastry is to be eaten; and anything divided into separate units should be taken on your plate complete. You should not try to cut a section from anything that has already been divided into portions in the kitchen. Aspics and desserts are, it must be said, occasionally Chinese puzzles, but if you do help yourself to part of the decoration, no great harm is done.

Dishes are never passed from hand to hand at a dinner, not even at the smallest and most informal one. Sometimes people pass salted nuts to each other, or an extra sweet from a dish near by, but not circling the table.

LEAVING THE TABLE

At the end of dinner, when the last dish of chocolates has been passed and the hostess sees that no one is any longer eating, she looks across the table, and catching the eye of one of the ladies, slowly stands up. The one who happens to be observing also stands up, and in a moment everyone is standing. The gentlemen offer their arms to their partners and conduct them back to the drawing-room or the library or wherever they are to sit during the rest of the evening.

Each gentleman then slightly bows, takes leave of his partner, and adjourns with the other gentlemen to the smoking-room, where after-dinner coffee, liqueurs, cigars and cigarettes are passed, and they all sit where they like and with whom they like, and talk.

It is perfectly correct for a gentleman to talk to any other who happens to be sitting near him, whether he knows him or not. The host on occasions—but it is rarely necessary—starts the conversation if most of the guests are inclined to keep silent, by drawing this one or that into discussion of a general topic that everyone is likely to take part in. At the end of twenty minutes or so, he must take the opportunity of the first lull in the conversation to suggest that they join the ladies in the drawing-room.

In a house where there is no smoking-room, the gentlemen do not conduct the ladies to the drawing-room, but stay where they are (the ladies leaving alone) and have their coffee, cigars, liqueurs and conversation sitting around the table.

In the drawing-room, meanwhile, the ladies are having coffee, cigarettes, and liqueurs passed to them. There is not a modern New York hostess, scarcely even an old-fashioned one, who does not have cigarettes passed after dinner.

At a dinner of ten or twelve, the five or six ladies are apt to sit in one group, or possibly two sit by themselves, and three of four together, but at a very large dinner they inevitably fall into groups of four or five or so each. In any case, the hostess must see that no one is left to sit alone. If one of her guests is a stranger to the others, the hostess draws a chair near one of the groups and offering it to her single guest sits beside her. After a while when this particular guest has at least joined the outskirts of the conversation of the group, the hostess leaves her and joins another group where perhaps she sits beside some one else who has been somewhat left out. When there is no one who needs any especial attention, the hostess nevertheless sits for a time with each of the different groups in order to spend at least a part of the evening with all of her guests.

WHEN THE GENTLEMEN RETURN TO THE DRAWING-ROOM

When the gentlemen return to the drawing-room, if there is a particular lady that one of them wants to talk to, he naturally goes directly to where she is, and sits down beside her. If, however, she is securely wedged in between two other ladies, he must ask her to join him elsewhere. Supposing Mr. Jones, for instance, wants to talk to Mrs. Bobo Gilding, who is sitting between Mrs. Stranger and Miss Stiffleigh: Mr. Jones saunters up to Mrs. Gilding—he must not look too eager or seem too directly to prefer her to the two who are flanking her position, so he says rather casually, "Will you come and talk to me?" Whereupon she leaves her sandwiched position and goes over to another part of the room, and sits down where there is a vacant seat beside her. Usually, however, the ladies on the ends, being accessible, are more apt to be joined by the first gentleman entering than is the one in the center, whom it is impossible to reach. Etiquette has always decreed that gentlemen should not continue to talk together after leaving the smoking-room, as it is not courteous to those of the ladies who are necessarily left without partners.

At informal dinners, and even at many formal ones, bridge tables are set up in an adjoining room, if not in the drawing-room. Those few who do not play bridge spend a half hour (or less) in conversation and then go home, unless there is some special diversion.

MUSIC OR OTHER ENTERTAINMENT AFTER DINNER

Very large dinners of fifty or over are almost invariably followed by some sort of entertainment. Either the dinner is given before a ball or a musicale or amateur theatricals, or professionals are brought in to dance or sing.

In this day when conversation is not so much a "lost" as a "wilfully abandoned" art, people in numbers can not be left to spend an evening on nothing but conversation. Grouped together by the hundred and with bridge tables absent, the modern fashionables in America, and in England, too, are as helpless as children at a party without something for them to do, listen to, or look at!

VERY BIG DINNERS

A dinner of sixty, for instance, is always served at separate tables; a center one of twenty people, and four corner tables of ten each. Or if less, a center table of twelve and four smaller tables of eight. A dinner of thirty-six or less is seated at a single table.

But whether there are eighteen, eighty, or one or two hundred, the setting of each individual table and the service is precisely the same. Each one is set with centerpiece, candles, compotiers, and evenly spaced plates, with the addition of a number by which to identify it; or else each table is decorated with different colored flowers, pink, yellow, orchid, white. Whatever the manner of identification, the number or the color is written in the corner of the ladies' name cards that go in the envelopes handed to each arriving gentleman at the door: "pink," "yellow," "orchid," "white," or "center table."

In arranging for the service of dinner the butler details three footmen, usually, to each table of ten, and six footmen to the center table of twenty. There are several houses (palaces really) in New York that have dining-rooms big enough to seat a hundred or more easily. But sixty is a very big dinner, and even thirty does not "go" well without an entertainment following it.

Otherwise the details are the same in every particular as well as in table setting: the hostess receives at the door; guests stand until dinner is announced; the host leads the way with the guest of honor. The hostess goes to table last. The host and hostess always sit at the big center table and the others at that table are invariably the oldest present. No one resents being grouped according to "age," but many do resent a segregation of ultra fashionables. You must never put all the prominent ones at one table, unless you want forever to lose the acquaintance of those at every other.

After dinner, the gentlemen go to the smoking-room and the ladies sit in the ballroom, where, if there is to be a theatrical performance, the stage is probably arranged. The gentlemen return, the guests take their places, and the performance begins. After the performance the leave-taking is the same as at all dinners or parties.

TAKING LEAVE

That the guest of honor must be first to take leave was in former times so fixed a rule that everyone used to sit on and on, no matter how late it became, waiting for her whose duty it was, to go! More often than not, the guest of honor was an absent-minded old lady, or celebrity, who very likely was vaguely saying to herself, "Oh, my! are these people never going home?" until by and by it dawned upon her that the obligation was her own!

But to-day, although it is still the obligation of the guest who sat on the host's right to make the move to go, it is not considered ill-mannered, if the hour is growing late, for another lady to rise first. In fact, unless the guest of honor is one really, meaning a stranger or an elderly lady of distinction, there is no actual precedence in being the one first to go. If the hour is very early when the first lady rises, the hostess, who always rises too, very likely says: "I hope you are not thinking of going!"

The guest answers, "We don't want to in the least, but Dick has to be at the office so early!" or "I'm sorry, but I must. Thank you so much for asking us."

Usually, however, each one merely says, "Good night, thank you so much." The hostess answers, "I am so glad you could come!" and she then presses a bell (not one that any guest can hear!) for the servants to be in the dressing-rooms and hall. When one guest leaves, they all leave—except those at the bridge tables. They all say, "Good night" to whomever they were talking with and shake hands, and then going up to their hostess, they shake hands and say, "Thank you for asking us," or "Thank you so much."

"Thank you so much; good night," is the usual expression. And the hostess answers, "It was so nice to see you again," or "I'm glad you could come." But most usually of all she says merely, "Good night!" and suggests friendliness by the tone in which she says it—an accent slightly more on the "good" perhaps than on the "night."

In the dressing-room, or in the hall, the maid is waiting to help the ladies on with their wraps, and the butler is at the door. When Mr. and Mrs. Jones are ready to leave, he goes out on the front steps and calls, "Mr. Jones' car!" The Jones' chauffeur answers, "Here," the butler says to either Mr. or Mrs. Jones, "Your car is at the door!" and they go out.

The bridge people leave as they finish their games; sometimes a table at a time or most likely two together. (Husbands and wives are never, if it can be avoided, put at the same table.) Young people in saying good night say, "Good night, it has been too wonderful!" or "Good night, and thank you so much." And the hostess smiles and says, "So glad you could come!" or just "Good night!"

THE LITTLE DINNER

The little dinner is thought by most people to be the very pleasantest social function there is. It is always informal, of course, and intimate conversation is possible, since strangers are seldom, or at least very carefully, included. For younger people, or others who do not find great satisfaction in conversation, the dinner of eight and two tables of bridge afterwards has no rival in popularity. The formal dinner is liked by most people now and then (and for those who don't especially like it, it is at least salutary as a spine stiffening exercise), but for night after night, season after season, the little dinner is to social activity what the roast course is to the meal.

The service of a "little" dinner is the same as that of a big one. As has been said, proper service in properly run houses is never relaxed, whether dinner is for eighteen or for two alone. The table appointments are equally fine and beautiful, though possibly not quite so rare. Really priceless old glass and china can't be replaced because duplicates do not exist and to use it three times a day would be to court destruction; replicas, however, are scarcely less beautiful and can be replaced if chipped. The silver is identical; the food is equally well prepared, though a course or two is eliminated; the service is precisely the same. The clothes that fashionable people wear every evening they are home alone, are, if not the same, at least as beautiful of their kind. Young Gilding's lounge suit is quite as "handsome" as his dinner clothes, and he tubs and shaves and changes his linen when he puts it on. His wife wears a tea gown, which is classified as a neglige rather in irony, since it is apt to be more elaborate and gorgeous (to say nothing of dignified) than half of the garments that masquerade these days as evening dresses! They wear these informal clothes only if very intimate friends are coming to dinner alone. "Alone" may include as many as eight!—but never includes a stranger.

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Otherwise, at informal dinners, the host wears a dinner coat and the hostess a simple evening dress, or perhaps an elaborate one that has been seen by everyone and which goes on at little dinners for the sake of getting some "wear out of it." She never, however, receives formally standing, though she rises when a guest comes into the room, shakes hands and sits down again. When dinner is announced, gentlemen do not offer their arms to the ladies. The hostess and the other ladies go into the dining-room together, not in a procession, but just as they happen to come. If one of them is much older than the others, the younger ones wait for her to go ahead of them, or one who is much younger goes last. The men stroll in the rear. The hostess on reaching the dining-room goes to her own place where she stands and tells everyone where she or he is to sit. "Mary, will you sit next to Jim, and Lucy on his other side; Kate, over there, Bobo, next to me," etc.

CARVING ON THE TABLE

Carving is sometimes seen at "home" dinner tables. A certain type of man always likes to carve, and such a one does. But in forty-nine houses out of fifty, in New York at least, the carving is done by the cook in the kitchen—a roast while it is still in the roasting pan, and close to the range at that, so that nothing can possibly get cooled off in the carving. After which the pieces are carefully put together again, and transferred to an intensely hot platter. This method has two advantages over table carving; quicker service, and hotter food. Unless a change takes place in the present fashion, none except cooks will know anything about carving, which was once considered an art necessary to every gentleman. The boast of the high-born Southerner, that he could carve a canvas-back holding it on his fork, will be as unknown as the driving of a four-in-hand.

Old-fashioned butlers sometimes carve in the pantry, but in the most modern service all carving is done by the cook. Cold meats are, in the English service, put whole on the sideboard and the family and guests cut off what they choose themselves. In America cold meat is more often sliced and laid on a platter garnished with finely chopped meat jelly and water cress or parsley.

THE "STAG" OR "BACHELOR" DINNER

A man's dinner is sometimes called a "stag" or a "bachelor" dinner; and as its name implies, is a dinner given by a man and for men only. A man's dinner is usually given to celebrate an occasion of welcome or farewell. The best-known bachelor dinner is the one given by the groom just before his wedding. Other dinners are more apt to be given by one man (or a group of men) in honor of a noted citizen who has returned from a long absence, or who is about to embark on an expedition or a foreign mission. Or a young man may give a dinner in honor of a friend's twenty-first birthday; or an older man may give a dinner merely because he has a quantity of game which he has shot and wants to share with his especial friends.

Nearly always a man's dinner is given at the host's club or his bachelor quarters or in a private room in a hotel. But if a man chooses to give a stag dinner in his own house, his wife (or his mother) should not appear. For a wife to come downstairs and receive the guests for him, can not be too strongly condemned as out of place. Such a maneuver on her part, instead of impressing his guests with her own grace and beauty, is far more likely to make them think what a "poor worm" her husband must be, to allow himself to be hen-pecked. And for a mother to appear at a son's dinner is, if anything, worse. An essential piece of advice to every woman is: No matter how much you may want to say "How do you do" to your husband's or your son's friends—don't!



CHAPTER XV

DINNER GIVING WITH LIMITED EQUIPMENT

THE SERVICE PROBLEM

People who live all the year in the country are not troubled with formal dinner giving, because (excepting on great estates) formality and the country do not go together.

For the one or two formal dinners which the average city dweller feels obliged to give every season, nothing is easier than to hire professionals; it is also economical, since nothing is wasted in experiment. A cook equal to the Gildings' chef can be had to come in and cook your dinner at about the price of two charwomen; skilled butlers or waitresses are to be had in all cities of any size at comparatively reasonable fees.

The real problem is in giving the innumerable casual and informal dinners for which professionals are not only expensive, but inappropriate. The problem of limited equipment would not present great difficulty if the tendency of the age were toward a slower pace, but the opposite is the case; no one wants to be kept waiting a second at table, and the world of fashion is growing more impatient and critical instead of less.

The service of a dinner can however be much simplified and shortened by choosing dishes that do not require accessories.

DISHES THAT HAVE ACCOMPANYING CONDIMENTS

Nothing so delays the service of a dinner as dishes that must immediately be followed by necessary accessories. If there is no one to help the butler or waitress, no dish must be included on the menu—unless you are only one or two at table, or unless your guests are neither critical nor "modern"—that is not complete in itself.

For instance, fish has nearly always an accompanying dish. Broiled fish, or fish meuniere, has ice-cold cucumbers sliced as thin as Saratoga chips, with a very highly seasoned French dressing, or a mixture of cucumbers and tomatoes. Boiled fish always has mousseline, Hollandaise, mushroom or egg sauce, and round scooped boiled potatoes sprinkled with parsley. Fried fish must always be accompanied by tartar sauce and pieces of lemon, and a boiled fish even if covered with sauce when served, is usually followed by additional sauce.

Many meats have condiments. Roast beef is never served at a dinner party—it is a family dish and generally has Yorkshire pudding or roast potatoes on the platter with the roast itself, and is followed by pickles or spiced fruit.

Turkey likewise, with its chestnut stuffing and accompanying cranberry sauce, is not a "company" dish, though excellent for an informal dinner. Saddle of mutton is a typical company dish—all mutton has currant jelly. Lamb has mint sauce—or mint jelly.

Partridge or guinea hen must have two sauce boats—presented on one tray—browned bread-crumbs in one, and cream sauce in the other.

Apple sauce goes with barnyard duck.

The best accompaniment to wild duck is the precisely timed 18 minutes in a quick oven! And celery salad, which goes with all game, need not be especially hurried.

Salad is always the accompaniment of "tame game," aspics, cold meat dishes of all sorts, and is itself "accompanied by" crackers and cheese or cheese souffle or cheese straws.

SPECIAL MENUS OF UNACCOMPANIED DISHES

One person can wait on eight people if dishes are chosen which need no supplements. The fewer the dishes to be passed, the fewer the hands needed to pass them. And yet many housekeepers thoughtlessly order dishes within the list above, and then wonder why the dinner is so hopelessly slow, when their waitress is usually so good!

The following suggestions are merely offered in illustration; each housekeeper can easily devise further for herself. It is not necessary to pass anything whatever with melon or grapefruit, or a macedoine of fruit, or a canape. Oysters, on the other hand, have to be followed by tabasco and buttered brown bread. Soup needs nothing with it (if you do not choose split pea which needs croutons, or petite marmite which needs grated cheese). Fish dishes which are "made" with sauce in the dish, such as sole au vin blanc, lobster Newburg, crab ravigote, fish mousse, especially if in a ring filled with plenty of sauce, do not need anything more. Tartar sauce for fried fish can be put in baskets made of hollowed-out lemon rind—a basket for each person—and used as a garnishing around the dish.

Filet mignon, or fillet of beef, both of them surrounded by little clumps of vegetables share with chicken casserole in being the life-savers of the hostess who has one waitress in her dining-room. Another dish, but more appropriate to lunch than to dinner, is of French chops banked against mashed potatoes, or puree of chestnuts, and surrounded by string beans or peas. None of these dishes requires any following dish whatever, not even a vegetable.

Fried chicken with corn fritters on the platter is almost as good as the two beef dishes, since the one green vegetable which should go with it, can be served leisurely, because fried chicken is not quickly eaten. And a ring of aspic with salad in the center does not require accompanying crackers as immediately as plain lettuce.

Steak and broiled chicken are fairly practical since neither needs gravy, condiment, or sauce—especially if you have a divided vegetable dish so that two vegetables can be passed at the same time.

If a hostess chooses not necessarily the above dishes but others which approximately take their places, she need have no fear of a slow dinner, if her one butler or waitress is at all competent.

THE POSSIBILITIES OF THE PLAIN COOK

In giving informal or little dinners, you need never worry because you cannot set the dishes of a "professional" dinner-party cook before your friends or even strangers; so long as the food that you are offering is good of its kind.

It is by no means necessary that your cook should be able to make the "clear" soup that is one of the tests of the perfect cook (and practically never produced by any other); nor is it necessary that she be able to construct comestible mosaics and sculptures. The essential thing is to prevent her from attempting anything she can't do well. If she can make certain dishes that are pretty as well as good to taste, so much the better. But remember, the more pretentious a dish is, the more it challenges criticism.

If your cook can make neither clear nor cream soup, but can make a delicious clam chowder, better far to have a clam chowder! On no account let her attempt clear green turtle, which has about as good a chance to be perfect as a supreme of boned capon—in other words, none whatsoever! And the same way throughout dinner. Whichever dishes your own particular Nora or Selma or Marie can do best, those are the ones you must have for your dinners. Another thing: it is not important to have variety. Because you gave the Normans chicken casserole the last time they dined with you is no reason why you should not give it to them again—if that is the "specialty of the house" as the French say. A late, and greatly loved, hostess whose Sunday luncheons at a huge country house just outside of Washington were for years one of the outstanding features of Washington's smartest society, had the same lunch exactly, week after week, year after year. Those who went to her house knew just as well what the dishes would be as they did where the dining-room was situated. At her few enormous and formal dinners in town, her cook was allowed to be magnificently architectural, but if you dined with her alone, the chances were ten to one that the Sunday chicken and pancakes would appear before you.

DO NOT EXPERIMENT FOR STRANGERS

Typical dinner-party dishes are invariably the temptation no less than the downfall of ambitious ignorance. Never let an inexperienced cook attempt a new dish for company, no matter how attractive her description of it may sound. Try it yourself, or when you are having family or most intimate friends who will understand if it turns out all wrong that it is a "trial" dish. In fact, it is a very good idea to share the testing of it with some one who can help you in suggestions, if they are needed for its improvement. Or supposing you have a cook who is rather poor on all dinner dishes, but makes delicious bread and cake and waffles and oyster stew and creamed chicken, or even hash! You can make a specialty of asking people to "supper." Suppers are necessarily informal, but there is no objection in that. Formal parties play a very small role anyway compared to informal ones. There are no end of people, and the smartest ones at that, who entertain only in the most informal possible way. Mrs. Oldname gives at most two formal dinners a year; her typical dinners and suppers are for eight.

PROPER DISHING

The "dishing" is quite as important as the cooking; a smear or thumb-mark on the edge of a dish is like a spot on the front of a dress!

Water must not be allowed to collect at the bottom of a dish (that is why a folded napkin is always put under boiled fish and sometimes under asparagus). And dishes must be hot; they cannot be too hot! Meat juice that has started to crust is nauseating. Far better have food too hot to eat and let people take their time eating it than that others should suffer the disgust of cold victuals! Sending in cold food is one of the worst faults (next to not knowing how to cook) that a cook can have.

PROFESSIONAL OR HOME DINING ROOM SERVICE

Just as it is better to hire a professional dinner-party cook than to run the risk of attempting a formal dinner with your own Nora or Selma unless you are very sure she is adequate, in the same way it is better to have a professional waitress as captain over your own, or a professional butler over your own inexperienced one, than to have your meal served in spasms and long pauses. But if your waitress, assisted by the chambermaid, perfectly waits on six, you will find that they can very nicely manage ten, even with accompanied dishes.

BLUNDERS IN SERVICE

If an inexperienced servant blunders, you should pretend, if you can, not to know it. Never attract anyone's attention to anything by apologizing or explaining, unless the accident happens to a guest. Under ordinary circumstances "least said, soonest mended" is the best policy. If a servant blunders, it makes the situation much worse to take her to task, the cause being usually that she is nervous or ignorant. Speak, if it is necessary to direct her, very gently and as kindly as possible; your object being to restore confidence, not to increase the disorder. Beckon her to you and tell her as you might tell a child you were teaching: "Give Mrs. Smith a tablespoon, not a teaspoon." Or, "You have forgotten the fork on that dish." Never let her feel that you think her stupid, but encourage her as much as possible and when she does anything especially well, tell her so.

THE ENCOURAGEMENT OF PRAISE

Nearly all people are quick to censure but rather chary of praise. Admonish of course where you must, but censure only with justice, and don't forget that whether of high estate or humble, we all of us like praise—sometimes. When a guest tells you your dinner is the best he has ever eaten, remember that the cook cooked it, and tell her it was praised. Or if the dining-room service was silent and quick and perfect, then tell those who served it how well it was done. If you are entertaining all the time, you need not commend your household after every dinner you give, but if any especial willingness, attentiveness, or tact is shown, don't forget that a little praise is not only merest justice but is beyond the purse of no one.



CHAPTER XVI

LUNCHEONS, BREAKFASTS AND SUPPERS

THE INVITATIONS

Although the engraved card is occasionally used for an elaborate luncheon, especially for one given in honor of a noted person, formal invitations to lunch in very fashionable houses are nearly always written in the first person, and rarely sent out more than a week in advance. For instance:

Dear Mrs. Kindhart (or Martha):

Will you lunch with me on Monday the tenth at half after one o'clock?

Hoping so much to see you,

Sincerely (or affectionately), Jane Toplofty.

If the above lunch were given in honor of somebody—Mrs. Eminent, for instance—the phrase "to meet Mrs. Eminent" would have been added immediately after the word "o'clock." At a very large luncheon for which the engraved card might be used, "To meet Mrs. Eminent" would be written across the top of the card of invitation.

Informal invitations are telephoned nearly always.

Invitation to a stand-up luncheon (or breakfast; it is breakfast if the hour is twelve or half after, and lunch if at one, or one-thirty), is either telephoned or written on an ordinary visiting card:

[HW: Sat. Oct. 2. Luncheon at 1 o'clock]

Mr. and Mrs. Gilding

GOLDEN HALL

If R.s.v.p. is added in the lower corner, the invitation should be answered, otherwise the hostess is obliged to guess how many to provide for.

Or, if the hostess prefers, a personal note is always courteous:

Dear Mrs. Neighbor:

We are having a stand-up luncheon on Saturday, October Second, at one o'clock, and hope that you and your husband and any guests who may be staying with you will come,

Very sincerely yours,

Alice Toplofty Gilding. Golden Hall Sept. 27.

A personal note always exacts a reply—which may however be telephoned, unless the invitation was worded in the formal third person. A written answer is more polite, if the hostess is somewhat of a stranger to you.

THE FORMAL LUNCHEON OF TO-DAY

Luncheon, being a daylight function, is never so formidable as a dinner, even though it may be every bit as formal and differ from the latter in minor details only. Luncheons are generally given by, and for, ladies, but it is not unusual, especially in summer places or in town on Saturday or Sunday, to include an equal number of gentlemen.

But no matter how large or formal a luncheon may be, there is rarely a chauffeur on the sidewalk, or a carpet or an awning. The hostess, instead of receiving at the door, sits usually in the center of the room in some place that has an unobstructed approach from the door. Each guest coming into the room is preceded by the butler to within a short speaking distance of the hostess, where he announces the new arrival's name, and then stands aside. Where there is a waitress instead of a butler, guests greet the hostess unannounced. The hostess rises, or if standing takes a step forward, shakes hands, says "I'm so glad to see you," or "I am delighted to see you," or "How do you do!" She then waits for a second or two to see if the guest who has just come in speaks to anyone; if not, she makes the necessary introduction.

When the butler or waitress has "counted heads" and knows the guests have arrived, he or she enters the room, bows to the hostess and says, "Luncheon is served."

If there is a guest of honor, the hostess leads the way to the dining-room, walking beside her. Otherwise, the guests go in twos or threes, or even singly, just as they happen to come, except that the very young make way for their elders, and gentlemen stroll in with those they happen to be talking to, or, if alone, fill in the rear. The gentlemen never offer their arms to ladies in going in to a luncheon—unless there should be an elderly guest of honor, who might be taken in by the host, as at a dinner. But the others follow informally.

THE TABLE

Candles have no place on a lunch or breakfast table; and are used only where a dining-room is unfortunately without daylight. Also a plain damask tablecloth (which must always be put on top of a thick table felt) is correct for dinner but not for luncheon. The traditional lunch table is "bare"—which does not mean actually bare at all, but that it has a centerpiece, either round or rectangular or square, with place mats to match, made in literally unrestricted varieties of linen, needlework and lace. The centerpiece is anywhere from 30 inches to a yard and a half square, on a square or round table, and from half a yard to a yard wide by length in proportion to the length of a rectangular table. The place mats are round or square or rectangular to match, and are put at the places.

Or if the table is a refectory one, instead of centerpiece and doilies, the table is set with a runner not reaching to the edge at the side, but falling over both ends. Or there may be a tablecloth made to fit the top of the table to within an inch or two of its edge. Occasionally there is a real cloth that hangs over like a dinner cloth, but it always has lace or open-work and is made of fine linen so that the table shows through.

The decorations of the table are practically the same as for dinner: flowers, or a silver ornament or epergne in the center, and flower dishes or compotiers or patens filled with ornamental fruit or candy at the corners. If the table is very large and rather bare without candles, four vases or silver bowls of flowers, or ornamental figures are added.

If the center ornament is of porcelain, four porcelain figures to match have at least a logical reason for their presence, or a bisque "garden" set of vases and balustrades, with small flowers and vines put in the vases to look as though they were growing, follows out the decoration. Most people, however, like a sparsely ornamented table.

The places are set as for dinner, with a place plate, three forks, two knives and a small spoon. The lunch napkin, which should match the table linen, is much smaller than the dinner napkin, and is not folded quite the same: it is folded like a handkerchief, in only four folds (four thicknesses). The square is laid on the place plate diagonally, with the monogrammed (or embroidered) corner pointing down toward the edge of the table. The upper corner is then turned sharply under in a flat crease for about a quarter of its diagonal length; then the two sides are rolled loosely under, making a sort of pillow effect laid sideways; with a straight top edge and a pointed lower edge, and the monogram displayed in the center.

Another feature of luncheon service, which is always omitted at dinner, is the bread and butter plate.

The Bread and Butter Plate

The butter plate has been entirely dispossessed by the bread and butter plate, which is part of the luncheon service always—as well as of breakfast and supper. It is a very small plate about five and a half to six and a half inches in diameter, and is put at the left side of each place just beyond the forks. Butter is sometimes put on the plate by the servant (as in a restaurant) but usually it is passed. Hot breads are an important feature of every luncheon; hot crescents, soda biscuits, bread biscuits, dinner rolls, or corn bread, the latter baked in small pans like pie plates four inches in diameter. Very thin bread that is roasted in the oven until it is curled and light brown (exactly like a large Saratoga chip), is often made for those who don't eat butter, and is also suitable for dinner. This "double-baked" bread, toast, and one or two of the above varieties, are all put in an old-fashioned silver cake-basket, or actual basket of wicker, and passed as often as necessary. Butter is also passed (or helped) throughout the meal until the table is cleared for dessert. Bread and butter plates are always removed with the salt and pepper pots.

THE SERVICE OF LUNCHEON

The service is identical with that of dinner. Carving is done in the kitchen and no food set on the table except ornamental dishes of fruit, candy and nuts. The plate service is also the same as at dinner. The places are never left plateless, excepting after salad, when the table is cleared and crumbed for dessert. The dessert plates and finger bowls are arranged as for dinner. Flowers are usually put in the finger bowls, a little spray of any sweet-scented flower, but "corsage bouquets" laid at the places with flower pins complete are in very bad taste.

THE LUNCHEON MENU

Five courses at most (not counting the passing of a dish of candy or after-dinner coffee as a course), or more usually four actual courses, are thought sufficient in the smartest houses. Not even at the Worldlys' or the Gildings' will you ever see a longer menu than:

1. Fruit, or soup in cups 2. Eggs 3. Meat and vegetables 4. Salad 5. Dessert

or

1. Fruit 2. Soup 3. Meat and vegetables 4. Salad 5. Dessert

or

1. Fruit 2. Soup 3. Eggs 4. Fowl or "tame" game with salad 5. Dessert

An informal lunch menu is seldom more than four courses and would eliminate either No. 1 or No. 2 or No. 5.

The most popular fruit course is a macedoine or mixture of fresh orange, grape fruit, malaga grapes, banana, and perhaps a peach or a little pineapple; in fact, any sort of fruit cut into very small pieces, with sugar and maraschino, or rum, for flavor—or nothing but sugar—served in special bowl-shaped glasses that fit into long-stemmed and much larger ones, with a space for crushed ice between; or it can just as well be put in champagne or any bowl-shaped glasses, after being kept as cold as possible in the ice-box until sent to the table.

If the first course is grape fruit, it is cut across in half, the sections cut free and all dividing skin and seeds taken out with a sharp vegetable knife, and sugar put in it and left standing for an hour or so. A slice of melon is served plain.

Soup at luncheon, or at a wedding breakfast or a ball supper, is never served in soup plates, but in two-handled cups, and is eaten with a teaspoon or a bouillon spoon. It is limited to a few varieties: either chicken, or clam broth, with a spoonful of whipped cream on top; or bouillon, or green turtle, or strained chicken, or tomato broth; or in summer, cold bouillon or broth.

Lunch party egg dishes must number a hundred varieties. (See any cook book!) Eggs that are substantial and "rich," such as eggs Benedict, or stuffed with pate de foie gras and a mushroom sauce, should then be "balanced" by a simple meat, such as broiled chicken and salad, combining meat and salad courses in one. On the other hand, should you have a light egg course, like "eggs surprise," you could have meat and vegetables, and plain salad; or an elaborate salad and no dessert. Or with fruit and soup, omit eggs, especially if there is to be an aspic with salad.

The menu of an informal luncheon, if it does not leave out a course, at least chooses simpler dishes. A bouillon or broth, shirred eggs or an omelette; or scrambled eggs on toast which has first been spread with a pate or meat puree; then chicken or a chop with vegetables, a salad of plain lettuce with crackers and cheese, and a pudding or pie or any other "family" dessert. Or broiled chicken, chicken croquettes, or an aspic, is served with the salad in very hot weather. While cold food is both appropriate and palatable, no meal should ever be chosen without at least one course of hot food. Many people dislike cold food, and it disagrees with others, but if you offer your guests soup, or even tea or chocolate, it would then do to have the rest of the meal cold.

LUNCHEON BEVERAGES

It is an American custom—especially in communities where the five o'clock tea habit is neither so strong nor so universal as in New York, for the lady of a house to have the tea set put before her at the table, not only when alone, but when having friends lunching informally with her, and to pour tea, coffee, or chocolate. And there is certainly not the slightest reason why, if she is used to these beverages and would feel their omission, she should not "pour out" what she chooses. In fact, although tea is never served hot at formal New York luncheons, iced tea is customary in all country houses in summer; and chocolate, not poured by the hostess, but brought in from the pantry and put down at the right of each plate, is by no means unusual at informal lunch parties.