To the Editor: Dear Sir:

I am a motorman on the Third Ave. South Ferry local, and the other day one of the passengers left a copy of your magazine on my car and I want to ask you something which maybe you can tell me and anyway it don't do no harm to ask what I want to know is will it be O. K to wear a white vest with a dinner coat this coming winter and what color socks I enclose stamps for reply. Yrs. ED. WALSH.

A Correct Letter to the Lost and Found Department of a Periodical, inquiring for a Missing Relative. This should be referred to the persons mentioned in the letter who will probably take prompt and vigorous action.

Literary Editors: Dear Sirs:

I have been very much interested in the clever work of Nancy and Ernest Boyd which has been appearing in your magazine, and I wonder if you could take the time to give me a little piece of information about them. You see there was a Nancy Boyd (her mother was Nancy Kroomen of Beaver Dam) and her bro. Ernest, who was neighbors to us for several years, and when they moved I sort of lost track of them. You know how those things are. But it's a small world after all, isn't it? and I shouldn't be at all surprised if this was the same party and, if it is, will you say hello to Nancy for me, and tell Ernest that Ed. Gold still comes down from Akron to see E. W. every Saturday. He'll know who I mean. Ever sincerely, MAY WINTERS.

LETTERS TO STRANGERS

In writing to a person with whom you have only a slight acquaintance, it is a sign of proper breeding to attempt to show the stranger that you are interested in the things in which he is interested. Thus, for example, if you were to write a letter to a Frenchman who was visiting your city for the first time, you would endeavor, as in the following example, to speak to him in his own idiom and put him at his ease by referring to the things with which he is undoubtedly familiar. It is only a "boor" who seeks to impose his own hobbies and interests upon a stranger, disregarding entirely the presumable likes and dislikes of the latter.

A CORRECT LETTER TO A FRENCH VISITOR

Monsieur Jules La Chaise, Hotel Enterprise, City.

MONSIEUR:

I hope that you have had a bon voyage on your trip from la belle France, and my wife and I are looking forward to welcoming you to our city. Although I cannot say, as your great king Louis XV. so justly remarked, "L'etat, c'est moi," yet I believe that I can entertain you comme il faut during your stay here. But all bon mots aside, would you care to join us this afternoon in a ride around the city? If you say the word, voila! we shall be at your hotel in our automobile and I think that you will find here much that is interesting to a native of Lafayette's great country and especially to a citizen of Paris. Did you know, for example, that this city manufactures 38% of the toilet soap and perfumery je ne sais quoi which are used in this state? Of course, our sewers are not to be compared to yours, mon Dieu, but we have recently completed a pumping station on the outskirts of the city which I think might almost be denominated an objet d'art.

I am enclosing a visitor's card to the City Club here, which I wish you would use during your stay. I am sure that you will find there several bon vivants who will be glad to join you in a game of vingt et un, and in the large room on the second floor is a victrola with splendid instrumental and vocal records of "La Marseillaise."

Au revoir until I see you this afternoon. Robert C. Crocker.

And above all, in writing to strangers or comparative strangers, seek to avoid the mention of subjects which might be distasteful to the recipient of the letter. Many a friendship has been utterly ruined because one of the parties, in her correspondence or conversation, carelessly referred to some matter—perhaps some physical peculiarity—upon which the other was extremely sensitive. The following letter well illustrates how the use of a little tact may go "a long way."

A CORRECT LETTER TO A BEARDED LADY

My dear Mrs. Lenox:

I wonder if you would care to go with us to the opera Wednesday evening? The Cromwells have offered us their box for that night, which accounts for our selection of that particular evening. "Beggars cannot be choosers," and while personally we would all rather go on some other night, yet it is perhaps best that we do not refuse the Cromwells' generous offer. Then, too, Wednesday is really the only evening that my husband and I are free to go, for the children take so much of our time on other nights. I do hope, therefore, that you can go with us Wednesday to hear "The Barber of Seville." Sincerely, Esther G. (Mrs. Thomas D.) Franklin.

INVITATIONS

The form of the invitation depends a great deal upon the character of the function to which one wishes to invite the guests to whom one issues the invitation. Or, to put it more simply, invitations differ according to the nature of the party to which one invites the guests. In other words, when issuing invitations to invited guests one must have due regard for the fact that these invitations vary with the various types of entertainments for which one issues the invitations. That is to say, one would obviously not send out the same form of invitation to a wedding as to a dinner party, and vice versa. This is an iron-clad rule in polite society.

For example, a gentleman and lady named Mr. and Mrs. Weems, respectively, living at 1063 Railroad Ave., wishing to invite a gentleman named Mr. Cleek to dinner, would send him the following engraved invitation:

MR. AND MRS. LIONEL THONG WEEMS

request the pleasure of

MR. WALLACE TILFORD CLEEK'S

company at dinner

on Tuesday January the tenth

at half after seven o'clock

1063 Railroad Avenue.

This invitation would of course be worded differently for different circumstances, such as, for example, if the name of the people giving the party wasn't Weems or if they didn't live at 1063 Railroad Ave., or if they didn't have any intention of giving a dinner party on that particular evening.

Many prospective hostesses prefer to send written notes instead of the engraved invitation, especially if the dinner is to be fairly informal. This sort of invitation should, however, be extremely simple. I think that most well-informed hostesses would agree that the following is too verbose:

DEAR MR. BURPEE.

It would give us great pleasure if you would dine with us on Monday next at seven-thirty. By the way, did you know that Mr. Sheldon died yesterday of pneumonia? Cordially, ESTELLE G. BESSERABO.

For receptions in honor of noted guests, word the invitation in this manner:

MR. AND MRS. CORNELIUS VANDERBILT

request the pleasure of your company

on Friday evening February sixth

from nine to twelve

AT DELMONICO'S

to meet Asst. Fire-Chief CHARLEY SCHMIDT and

Mrs. SCHMIDT

Invitations to graduating exercises are worded thus:

THE SENIOR CLASS

of the

SOUTH ROCHESTER FEMALE DENTAL INSTITUTE

requests the honor of your presence at the

Commencement Exercises

on Tuesday evening, June the fifth

at eight o'clock

MASONIC OPERA HOUSE

"That Six- Orchestra.

ACCEPTANCES AND REGRETS

Responses to invitations usually take the form of "acceptances" or "regrets." It is never correct, for example, to write the following sort of note:

DEAR MRS. CRONICK:

Your invitation for the 12th inst. received and in reply would advise that I am not at the present time in a position to signify whether or not I can accept. Could you at your convenience furnish me with additional particulars re the proposed affair—number of guests, character of refreshments, size of orchestra, etc.? Awaiting an early reply, I am, Yours truly, ALFRED CASS NAPE.

If one wishes to attend the party, one "accepts" on a clean sheet of note-paper with black ink from a "fountain" pen or inkwell. A hostess should not, however, make the mistake of thinking that a large number of "acceptances" implies that anybody really wishes to attend her party.

The following is a standard form of acceptance:

Dr. Tanner accepts with pleasure the kind invitation of Mrs. Frederick Cummings Bussey for Thursday evening, December twelfth, at half after eight.

This note need not be signed. The following "acceptance" is decidedly demode:

DEAR MRS. ASTOR:

Will I be at your ball? Say, can a duck swim? Count on me sure. FRED.

It is also incorrect and somewhat boorish to write "accepted" across the face of the invitation and return it signed to the hostess.

If one does not care to attend the party, one often sends one's "regrets" although one just as often sends one's "acceptances," depending largely upon the social position of one's hostess. The proper form of "regret" is generally as follows:

Alice Ben Bolt regrets that she will be unable to accept the kind invitation of Major General and Mrs. Hannafield for Wednesday evening at half after eight.

Sometimes it is better to explain in some manner the cause of the "regret," as for example:

Alice Ben Bolt regrets that, owing to an ulcerated tooth in the left side of her mouth, and severe neuralgic pains all up and down her left side, she will be unable to accept the kind invitation of Major General and Mrs. Hannafield for Wednesday evening at half after eight, at "The Bananas."

This is not, however, always necessary.

{illustration caption = This is an admirable picture with which to test the "kiddies'" knowledge of good manners at a dinner table. It will also keep them occupied as a puzzle picture since the "faux pas" illustrated herewith will probably not be apparent to the little ones except after careful examination. If, however, they have been conscientiously trained it will not be long, before the brighter ones discover that the spoon has been incorrectly left standing in the cup, that the coffee is being served from the right instead of the left side, and that the lettering of the motto on the wall too nearly resembles the German style to be quite "au fait" in the home of any red-blooded American citizen.}

{illustration caption = Dessert has been reached and the gentleman in the picture is perspiring freely—in itself a deplorable breach of etiquette. He has been attempting all evening to engage the ladies on either side of him in conversation on babies, Camp's Reducing Exercises, politics, Camp's Developing Exercises, music or Charlie Chaplin, only to be rebuffed by a haughty chin on the one hand and a cold shoulder on the other. If he had taken the precaution to consult Stewart's Lightning Calculator of Dinner Table Conversation (one of the many aids to social success to be found in PERFECT BEHAVIOR) he would have realized the bad taste characterizing his choice of topics and would not have made himself a marked figure at this well-appointed dinner table.}



CHAPTER NINE: THE ETIQUETTE OF DINNERS AND BALLS

FORMAL DINNERS IN AMERICA

Eating is an extremely old custom and has been practiced by the better classes of society almost without interruption from earliest times. And "society," like the potentate of the parable whose touch transformed every object into gold, has embellished and adorned the all-too-common habit of eating, until there has been evolved throughout the ages that most charming and exquisite product of human culture—the formal dinner party. The gentleman of today who delightedly dons his dress suit and escorts into a ten-course dinner some lady mountain climber or other celebrity, is probably little aware of what he owes to his forefathers for having so painstakingly devised for him such a pleasant method of spending his time.

But "before one runs, one must learn to walk"—and the joys of the dinner-party are not to be partaken of without a long preliminary course of training, as many a young man has learned to his sorrow when he discovered that his inelegant use of knife and fork was causing humorous comment up and down the "board" and was drawing upon himself the haughty glances of an outraged hostess. The first requisite of success in dining out is the possession of a complete set of correct table manners—and these, like anything worth while, can be achieved only by patient study and daily practise.

TABLE MANNERS FOR CHILDREN

AS a matter of fact, it is never too early to begin to acquire the technique of correct eating, and the nursery is the best possible place for the first lessons in dining-room behavior. Children should be taught at an early age the fundamentals of "table" manners in such a way that by the time they have reached the years of manhood the correct use of knife, fork, spoon and fingerbowl is to them almost second nature. But the parents should remember, above everything else, to instruct their children in such a way that the pupil takes pleasure in his lessons. This is the method which is employed today in every successful school or "kindergarten"; this is the method which really produces satisfactory results.

Thus, for example, if you are a father and your boy Edward persists in bringing his pet tadpole to the table in a glass jar, you should not punish or scold him; a much more effective and graphic method of correcting this habit would be for you to suddenly pick up the tadpole one day at luncheon and swallow it. No whipping or scolding would so impress upon the growing boy the importance of the fact that the dinner table is not the place for pets.

Another effective way of teaching table manners to children consists in making up attractive games about the various lessons to be learned. Thus, whenever you have guests for dinner, the children can play "Boner" which consists in watching the visitor closely all during the meal in order to catch him in any irregularity in table etiquette. As soon as the guest has committed a mistake, the first Child to discover it points his finger at him and shouts, "Pulled a Boner, Pulled a Boner!" and the boy or girl who discovers the greatest number of "Boners" during the evening is rewarded with a prize, based on the following table of points:

If the guest has dirty hands, 5 points. If the guest uses wrong fork or spoon, 5 points. If the guest chokes on bone, 8 points. If the guest blows on soup, 5 points. If the guest drops fork or spoon, 3 points. If the guest spills soup on table, 10 points. If the guest spills soup on self, 1 point.

Of course it is often well to tell the guests about the game in advance in order that they may not feel embarrassed but will enter thoroughly into the spirit of this helpful sport.

A CHILD'S GARDEN OF ETIQUETTE

Children can also acquire knowledge more easily if it is imparted to them in the form of verse or easy rhymes, and many valuable facts about the dinner table can be embodied in children's verses. A few of these which I can remember from my own happy childhood are as follows:

Oh, wouldn't it be jolly To be a nice hors d'oeuvre And just bring joy to people Whom fondest you were of.

Soup is eaten with a spoon But not to any haunting tune.

Oysters live down in the sea In zones both temp. and torrid, And when they are good they are very good indeed, And when they are bad they are horrid.

My papa makes a lovely Bronx With gin so rare and old, And two of them will set you right But four will knock you cold.

The boys with Polly will not frolic Because she's eaten too much garlic. Mama said the other day, "A little goes a long, long way."

A wind came up out of the sea And said, "Those dams are not for me."

Uncle Frank choked on a bone From eating shad au gratin Aunt Ethel said it served him right And went back to her flat in NEWARK (spoken) Poor Uncle Frank! (chanted)

I love my little finger bowl So full of late filet of sole.

Cousin George at lunch one day Remarked, "That apple looks quite tasty. Now George a dentist's bill must pay Because he was so very hasty. The proverb's teachings we must hold "All that glitters is not gold." And mama said to George, "Oh, shoot, You've gone and ruined my glass fruit."

Jim broke bread into his soup, Jim knocked Mrs. Vanderbilt for a loop. Kate drank from her finger bowl, Kate knocked Mrs. Vanderbilt for a goal. Children who perform such tricks Are socially in Class G-6.

ETIQUETTE IN THE SCHOOL

OF course, as the children become older, the instruction should gradually come to embrace all forms of correct behaviour, and the youthful games and rhymes should give way to the more complex and intricate problems of mature social etiquette. It is suggested that the teachings during this period may be successfully combined with the young gentleman's or lady's other schoolroom studies; in the case of mathematics, for example, the instruction might be handled in somewhat the following manner:

A Problem in Mathematics (7th grade)

A swimmer starts across a stream which is 450 yards wide. He swims for five minutes at the rate of three miles per hour, and for three minutes at the rate of four miles per hour. He then reaches the other bank, where he sees a young lady five feet ten inches tall, walking around a tree, in a circle the circumference of which is forty-two yards.

A. What is the diameter of the circle? B. How fast is the current flowing in the stream? C. At what point would the swimmer land if there were no current in the stream? D. At what point does the swimmer actually land? E. But suppose that he has no bathing suit on?

And so, when the young person has reached the age for his first formal dinner party, he will undoubtedly be able to handle the fundamentals of correct etiquette in a satisfactory manner. But, as in every sport or profession, there are certain refinements—certain niceties which come only after long experience—and it is with a view of helping the ambitious diner-out to master these more complex details, that I suggest that he study carefully the following "unwritten laws" which govern every dinner party.

In the first place, a guest is supposed tacitly to consent to the menu which the hostess has arranged, and the diner-out who makes a habit of saying "Squab, you know, never agrees with me—I wonder if I might have a couple of poached eggs," is apt to find that such squeamishness does not pay in the long run.

Practical jokes are never countenanced at a formal affair of this sort. I do not mean that a certain amount of good-natured fun is out of place, but such "stunts" as pulling the hostess' chair out from under her—or gleefully kicking the shins of your neighbor under the table and shouting "Guess who?"—are decidedly among the "non-ests" of correct modern dinner-table behaviour.

Then, too, it is now distinctly bad form to practise legerdemain or feats of sleight-of-hand at a dinner party. Time was when it was considered correct for a young man who could do card or other tricks to add to the gayety of the party by displaying his skill, but that time is past, and the guest of today, who thinks to make a "hit" by pulling a live rabbit or a potted plant from the back of the mystified hostess or one of the butlers, is in reality only making a "fool" of himself if he only knew it. The same "taboo" also holds good as concerns feats of juggling and no hostess of today will, I am sure, ever issue a second invitation to a young man who has attempted to enliven her evening by balancing, on his nose, a knife, a radish, a plate of soup and a lighted candle. "Cleverness" is a valuable asset but only up to a certain point, and I know of one unfortunately "clever" young chap who almost completely ruined a promising social career by the unexpected failure of one of his pet juggling tricks and the consequent dumping of a large dish of mashed potatoes on the head of a vice-president of the Equitable Trust Company. Besides, people almost always distrust "clever" persons.

It does not "do," either, to "ride your hobby" at a dinner party, and the real truth as to the cause of the sudden social ostracism of young Freddie H——, a New York clubman of some years ago (now happily deceased), is that on one occasion this young fellow, who had developed a craze for marksmanship amounting almost to a mania, very nearly ruined a dinner party given by a prominent Boston society matron by attempting to shoot the whiskers off a certain elderly gentleman, who happened to be a direct descendant of John Smith and Priscilla Alden.

It might also be remarked that the possession of certain physical gifts—such as the ability to wriggle one's ears or do the "splits"—is in itself no "open sesame" to lasting social success. "Slow and sure" is a good rule for the young man to follow, and although he may somewhat enviously watch his more brilliant colleagues as they gain momentary applause by their ability to throw their thumbs out of joint or squirt water through a hole in their front teeth, yet he may console himself with the thought that "the race is not always to the swift" and that "Rome was not built in a day." The gifts of this world have been distributed fairly equally, and you may be sure that the young girl who has been born a ventriloquist very likely is totally unable to spell difficult words correctly or carry even a simple tune. Ventriloquism, by the way, is also passing out as a form of dinner party diversion, and it is no longer considered a priceless accomplishment to be able to make a dog bark or a baby cry under the hostess's chair.

CONVERSATION AT DINNER

Gradually, however, conversation—real conversation—is coming into its own as the favorite pastime of dinner guests, and the young man or lady who can keep the conversational "ball" rolling is coming more and more into demand. Good conversationalists are, I fear, born and not made—but by study and practise any ambitious young man can probably acquire the technique, and, with time, mould himself into the kind of person upon whom hostesses depend for the success of their party. As an aid in this direction I have prepared the following chart which I would advise all my readers to cut out and paste in some convenient place so that at their next dinner party it can be readily consulted.

STEWART'S LIGHTNING CALCULATOR OF DINNER TABLE CONVERSATION

This chart divides the dinner into its various courses, and under each course is given what I call an "opening sentence," together with your partner's probable reply and the topic which is then introduced for discussion. And, most valuable of all, under each such topic I have listed certain helpful facts which will enable you to prolong the conversation along those lines until the arrival of the next course, and the consequent opening of another field for discussion. The chart follows:

I. Cocktails.

You say to the partner on your right: "What terrible gin!" She (he) replies: "Perfectly ghastly." This leads to a discussion of: Some Aspects of Alcohol. Helpful Facts:

1. An oyster soaked in alcohol becomes quite rigid in eleven minutes.

2. Senator Volstead was born Sept. 4, 1869.

3. Alcohol, if taken in too great quantities, often produces internal disorders.

II. Oysters.

You say to the partner on your right: "Think of being an oyster!"

She (he) replies: "How perfectly ghastly."

This leads to a discussion of: Home Life of Oysters.

Helpful Facts:

1. The average life of an oyster is 38 days, 11 hours.

2. Polygamy is practised among certain classes of oysters.

3. The first oyster was eaten by Ossip Gatch, a Pole (d. 1783).

III. Fish.

You say to the partner at your right: "Do you enjoy fish?"

She (he) replies: "I simply adore fish."

This leads to a discussion of: Fish—Then, and Now.

Helpful Facts:

1. Fish make notoriously bad pets, whereas seals can be taught to do many novel tricks.

2. Gloucester (Mass.) smells badly in summer.

3. Gloucester (Mass.) smells badly in winter.

IV. Meat. You say to the partner at your right: "Have you ever been through the Stock-Yards?"

She (he) replies: "No." ("Yes.")

This leads to a discussion of: "The Meat Industry in America."

Helpful Facts:

1. Every time a street car goes over the Brooklyn Bridge, a steer is killed in Chicago—and oftener.

2. Raw beefsteak in quantities is harmful to children under two years of age.

3. A man died recently in Topeka, Kansas, weighing 312 pounds.

4. Many prominent people live on the North Side of Chicago.

V. Salad.

You say to the partner at your right: "What is your favorite salad?"

She (he) replies: "I don't know, what's yours?"

This leads to a discussion of: Favorite Things.

Helpful Facts:

1. Richard Barthelmess is married.

2. B. V. D. stands for "Best Value Delivered."

3. Amy Lowell is fond of cigars.

VI. Dessert.

You say to the partner at your right: "I love ice cream."

She (he) replies: "So do I."

This leads to a discussion of: Love.

Helpful Facts:

1. New York is the hardest state in which to get a divorce in America.

2. Dr. Sigmund Freud is now living in Vienna, Austria.

3. D. H. Lawrence has a black beard.

BALLS AND DANCES

In order to succeed in the modern ballroom, and especially in the ballrooms of our exclusive country clubs, a young gentleman or lady of fashion must today be possessed of the following two requisites: i. A "Line." 2. A closed car. The latter of these "sine qua nons" is now owned as a matter of course by most families and is no longer regarded as a mark of distinction. The former requisite, however, is not so common, but it is nevertheless true that any young person with ambition and a good memory can eventually acquire a quite effective "Line." It is a great aid in this direction if one happens to have spent a year or more at one of our leading eastern universities or "finishing schools." These vary, of course, in degree of excellence, but it does not pay to be dogmatic on this subject, and to those who would insist that the Princeton "Line" is more effective than the Harvard ditto, or that the Westover "Line" flows more smoothly than that of Farmington or Spence, one can only say "De gustibus non disputandum est." "Lines" vary also in accordance with the different types of girls who happen to be using them, and (to misquote a rather vulgar proverb) "What is one girl's food may be another girl's poison." Thus it happens that the "Line" which is most universally and interminably employed by the "beautiful" type of girl (consisting, in its entirety, of the three words "How perfectly priceless") would never in the world do for the young miss whose chief asset is a kind heart or a love for really good books.

{illustration caption = The above diagram (one of man), filling the instructive and refined pages of PERFECT BEHAVIOR, will serve as a model to any debutante or dancing man who seriously sets out to achieve social eminence. It is only fair to warn aspirants that rigid adherence to the formula is essential and that any slight slackening of the pace is likely to prove fatal. On the other hand, we confidently guarantee complete success to those who, in reverence and faith, keep the final goal always in sight. His (or hers) be it to keep the sacred flame burning and to pass the torch along from father to son, from mother to daughter till the end of time, or so long as they do not make any mesalliances, which is just as important in America, whatever may be said to the contrary, as among our "English cousins."}



MIXED DANCING

Another quality which is often helpful on the dance floor, especially to girls, is the ability to dance. This seems to have become largely a trick of keeping abreast of the latest "mode" and while, personally, I greatly regret the passing of the stately lancers and other dignified "round dances," yet, if "mixed dancing" has come to stay, it is the duty of every young person to learn to dance as well as possible in the generally accepted manner, even though this often involves some compromising of one's amour propre.

But in addition to all these necessary qualifications the really great person—the true super man or woman of the ballroom—must be possessed of that certain divine something, that je ne sais quoi ability to rise superior to all occasions, to overcome the most difficult situations, which has distinguished the great men and women of all ages. Joan of Arc had it, George Washington had it, Napoleon had it—and I venture to say that any of these three, had they lived today, Would have been a social success. But perhaps this fact can best be illustrated by taking a typical instance in the ballroom in which "When duty whispered low 'Thou must,' the youth replied 'I can.'"

HINTS FOR STAGS

Let us suppose, for example, that you are a young man who has been invited to a dance to be given at the East Shore Country Club. It is your original intention, let us say, to attend as a "stag," but on the afternoon of the party you receive a note from a young lady of your acquaintance asking if you would be so kind as to accompany to the ball a guest of hers, a "sweet girl from South Orange" who was in her class at college.

The correct costume for a dance of this sort is usually a dinner coat with a black or white vest, and when you have robed yourself correctly, you should drive in your car to the young lady's home. There you are presented to the sweet girl from South Orange, who is six feet tall and has protruding teeth. After the customary words of greeting and a few brief bits of pleasantry, you set off with your partner for the dance.

Arrived at the East Shore Club, you find the party in "full swing," and after shaking hands with your host and hostess, you should ask your partner if she would care to dance.

The first three times that she steps on your left foot, you should politely murmur, "My fault." But when she begins to sing in your ear it is proper to steer her over toward the "stag line" in order to petition for an injunction or a temporary restraining order.

The "stag line" consists of a group of the wisest, shrewdest and most hard-hearted young men ever gathered together under one roof. The original purpose of a "stag line" was to provide a place where unattached young men might stand while searching for a partner, but the institution has now come to be a form of Supreme Court, passing life or death sentence upon the various debutantes who pass before it.

After you have piloted your partner five times along the length of this line you have a pretty fair idea as to her merits or demerits, and, in this particular case, you have a pretty fair idea as to just what the evening holds out for you. When the music stops you should therefore lead the girl over to a chair and ask to be allowed to bring her a glass of punch.

Instead of going directly to the punch bowl, you should turn your steps toward the "stag line." There you will find several young men whom only as late as that afternoon you counted among your very best friends, but who do not, at the present, seem to remember ever having met you before. Seizing the arm of one of these you say, "Tom, I want you to meet——" That is as far as you will get, for Tom will suddenly interrupt you by remarking, "Excuse me a minute, Ed—, I see a girl over there I've simply got to speak to. I'll come right back."

He will not come right back. He will not come back at all. And after you have met with the same response from four other so-called friends, you should return to the South Orange visitor and "carry on."

At the end of the second hour, however, your mind should begin to clear, and if you are at all possessed of the qualifications for future ballroom leadership, you should gradually throw off the slough of despond and determine to make a fight for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And when the music has once more ceased, you should ask your partner if she would not care to take a jaunt in the open air.

"I know a lovely walk," you should say, "across a quaint old bridge."

The rest is, of course, easy. Arrived in the middle of the quaint old bridge, which leads across a cavern some three hundred feet deep, you should quickly seize the tall college graduate, and push her, not too roughly or ungentlemanly, off the bridge.

And, if you are really a genius, and not merely "one of the crowd" you will return to the ballroom and, going up to the young lady who was responsible for your having met the sweet girl from South Orange, you will offer her your arm, and smile invitingly.

"I know a lovely walk," you will say, "across a quaint old bridge."

THE END