Upton Sinclair - The Metropolis

Here, again, the problem would have been simple, if it had been another person than Robbie; Montague would have concluded that his brother was a "hanger-on." There were many great families whose establishments were infested with such parasites. Siegfried Harvey, for instance, was a man who had always half a dozen young chaps hanging about him; good-looking and lively fellows, who hunted and played bridge, and amused the married women while their husbands were at work, and who, if ever they dropped a hint that they were hard up, might be reasonably certain of being offered a check. But if the Robbie Wallings were to write checks, it must be for value received. And what could the value be ?

"OlHe" was rather a little god among the ultra-swagger; his taste was a kind of inspiration. And yet his brother noticed that in such questions he always deferred instantly to the Wallings; and surely the Wallings were not people to be persuaded that they needed anyone to guide them in matters, of taste. Again, Ollie was the very devil of a wit, and people were heartily afraid of him; and Montague had

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noticed that he never by any chance made fun of Robbie — that the fetiches of the house of Walhng were always treated with respect. So he had wondered if by any chance Robbie was maintaining his brother in princely state for the sake of his ability to make other people uncomfortable. But he realised that the Robbies, in their own view of it, could have no more need of wit than a battle-ship has need of popguns. Oliver's position, when they were about, was rather that of the man who hardly ever dared to be as clever as he might, because of the restless jealousy of his friend.

It was a mystery; and it made the elder brother very uncomfortable. Alice was young and guileless, and a pleasant person to patronise; but he was a man of the world, and it was his business to protect her. He had always paid his own way through life, and he was very loath to put himself under obligations to people like the Wallings, whom he did not like, and who, he felt instinctively, could not like him.

But of course there was nothing he could do about it. The date for the great festivity was set; and the Wallings were affable and friendly, and Alice all a-tremble with excitement. The evening arrived, and with it came the enemies of the Wallings, dressed in their jewels and fine raiment. They had been asked because they were too important to be skipped, and they had come because the Wallings were too powerful to be ignored. They revenged themselves by consuming many courses of elaborate and costly viands; and they shook hands with Alice and

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beamed upon her, and then discussed her behind her back as if she were a French doll in a show-case. They decided unanimously that her elder cousin was a "stick," and that the whole family were interlopers and shameless adventurers; but it was understood that since the Robbie Wallings had seen fit to take them up, it would be necessary to invite them about.

At any rate, that was the way it all seemed to Montague, who had been brooding. To Alice it was a splendid festivity, to which exquisite people came to take delight in each other's society. There were gorgeous costumes and sparkling gems; there was a symphony of perfumes, intoxicating the senses, and a golden flood of music streaming by; there were laughing voices and admiring glances, and handsome partners with whom one might dance through the portals of fairyland. — And then, next morning, there were accounts in all the newspapers, with descriptions of one's costume and the names of those present, and even the complete menus of the supper, to assist in preserving the memories of the wonderful occasion.

Now they were really in Society. A reporter called to get Alice's photo for the Sunday supplement ; and floods of invitations came — and with them all the cares and perplexities about which Mrs. Robbie had told. Some of these invitations had to be declined, and one must know whom it was safe to offend. Also, there was a long letter from a destitute widow, and a proposal from a foreign count. Mrs. Robbie's

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secretary had a list of many hundreds of these professional beggars and blackmailers.

Conspicuous at the dance was Mrs. Winnie, in a glorious electric blue silk gown. And she shook her fan at Montague, exclaiming, "You wretched man — you promised to come and see

me

" I've been out of town," Montague protested.

" Well, come to dinner to-morrow night," said Mrs. Winnie. " There'll be some bridge fiends."

"You forget I haven't learned to play," he objected.

"Well, come anyhow," she replied. "We'll teach you. I'm no player myself, and my husband will be there, and he's good-natured; and my brother Dan — he'll have to be whether he likes it or not."

So Montague visited the Snow Palace again, and met Winton Duval, the banker, — a tall, military-looking man of about fifty, with a big

frey mustache, and bushy eyebrows, and the eaui of a lion. His was one of the city's biggest banking-houses, and in alliance with powerful interests in the Street. At present he was going in for mines in Mexico and South America, and so he was very seldom at home. He was a man of most rigid habits — he would come back unexpectedly after a month's trip, and expect to find everything ready for him, both at home and in his oflSce, as if he had just stepped round the corner. Montague observed that he took his menu-card and jotted down his comments upon each dish, and then sent it down to the chef.

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Other people's dinners he very seldom attended, and when his wife gave her entertainments, he invariably dined at the club.

He pleaded a business engagement for the evening; and as brother Dan did not appear, Montague did not learn any bridge. The other four guests settled down to the game, and Montague and Mrs. Winnie sat and chatted, basking before the fireplace in the great entrance-hall.

" Have you seen Charlie Carter ? " was the first question she asked him.

"Not lately," he answered; "I met him at Harvey's."

"I know that," said she. "They tell me he got drunk."

"I'm afraid he did," said Montague.

"Poor boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Winnie. "And Alice saw him ! He must be heartbroken!"

Montague said nothing. "You know," she went on, "Charlie reallv means well. He has honestly an affectionate nature."

She paused; and Montague said, vaguely, "I suppose so."

'You don't like him," said the other. "I can see that. And I suppose now Alice will have no use for him, either. And I had it all fixed up for her to reform him !"

Montague smiled in spite of himself.

"Oh, I know," said she. "It wouldn't have been easy. But you've no idea what a beautiful boy Charlie used to be, until all the women set to work to ruin him."

"I can imagine it," said Montague; but he did not warm to the subject.

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"You're just like my husband," said Mrs. Winnie, sadly. "You have no use at all for anything that's weak' or unfortunate."

There was a pause. "And I suppose," she said finally, "you'll be turning into a business man also — with no time for anybody or anything. Have you begun yet.!*"

"Not yet," he answered. "I'm still looking round."

"I haven't the least idea about business," she confessed. "How does one begin at it.?"

"I can't say I know that myself as yet," said Montague, laughing.

"Would you like to be a protege of my husband's.?" she asked.

The proposition was rather sudden, but he answered, with a smile, "I should have no objections. What would he do with me.?"

'I don't know that. But he can do whatever he wants down town. And he'd show you how to make a lot of money if I asked him to." Then Mrs. Winnie added, quickly, "I mean it — he could do it, really."