The Tailor-Made Girl/The Coming Generation
THE COMING GENERATION.
Come to me, O ye children, and whisper in my ear
What the birds and winds are singing in your sunny atmosphere.—Longfellow.
Isabel (aged ten).—Oh, wait, Edith; we're going to the park, too!
Edith (aged the same).—Hurry, then! Marie is so nasty. She keeps saying: "Dépêchez-vous, dépêchez-vous!"
Isabel.—Oh, never mind her. I don't bother with Mathilde. Mama says I needn't, if I only speak French with her.
Edith.—Yes, I know. Mama says it is so necessary to get the accent. I wonder why?
Isabel.—Oh, because we'll grow up by and by, and come out, you know, and then we are in society.
Edith.—Sister May is out now, and goes to parties every night, and gets bouquets.
Isabel.—So does my Cousin Eleanor, and lots of men come to see her; and I heard Aunt Kate say they were "detrimentals," too, every one of them.
Edith.—Well, mama told papa at breakfast this morning that at the ball last night Sister May had plenty of partners, and there wasn't an "eligible" among them. Mustn't that be nice?
Isabel.—What?
Edith.—To have all the "eligibles" out of the way. I suppose they are not at all nice.
Isabel.—Yes; like that Harry Graham at dancing school, that mama says I mustn't dance with, for his family doesn't belong to our set.
Edith.—Well, I don't care; he dances better than Jack Smith.
Isabel.—Oh, but you know, Edith, Jack's papa has got lots and lots of money—trillions, I guess; and they live in a lovely house on Madison Avenue.
Edith.—Well, Jack can't dance as well as Harry.
Isabel.—But it really isn't proper to dance with Harry; mama says so. Don't you want to be proper?
Edith.—I don't know.
Isabel.—Besides they don't keep a carriage—and perhaps his mama isn't a lady, you know.
Edith.—I know how we can tell.
Isabel.—How?
Edith.—We'll ask Harry if she's got a camel's-hair shawl; because mama says that no real lady can be without one.
Isabel.—My mama has two.
Edith.—So has mine; so they are surely real ladies, aren't they?
Isabel.—Oh, my, yes, you know; because we have a box at the opera, too.
Edith.—So have we; and, Isabel, they're not real boxes with covers, you know, but nice little places where the best people sit; mama says so.
Isabel.—Yes, and they're up high; and I asked mama if that was to see better, and papa said, "No, to be seen better;" and mama laughed and said something in French, and I can't understand mama's French. It isn't at all like Mathilde's.
Edith.—Why, of course not. Mathilde is only a servant, you know. Your mama wouldn't talk like a servant.
Isabel.—Oh, no, indeed; for the other day she and Aunt Kate were laughing about a Mrs. Brown, and mama said: "She talks like a servant, with her ma'ams and sirs;" and then they both laughed, and Aunt Kate said she was awfully common.
Edith.—There's Gracie Wilmot. Let's go play with her.
Isabel.—Oh, no, I wouldn't. Her bonne isn't French.
Edith.—Well, she goes to our church.
Isabel.—Yes; but they don't sit in the middle aisle.
Edith.—That's so, for mama told Sister May the Wilmots would never get into society through coming into our church, for they were out of the middle aisle.
Isabel.—I don't suppose the other people will go to heaven at all, do you?
Edith.—I don't know—but the minister only preaches to us in the middle aisle, for I've watched him lots of times. Isn't our rector just lovely?
Isabel.—Yes; he eats dinner with us nearly every Sunday.
Edith.—Well, he comes to our house for five o'clock tea, lots of Sundays, too.
Isabel.—Brother Tom says he's "an awful cad." What do you suppose that means?
Edith.—I don't know.
Isabel.—I asked Mathilde, and she didn't know.
Edith.—Perhaps it means he has to eat a great deal, because he does, you know.
Isabel.—Yes; I heard papa say he "hankered after the flesh-pots;" and I asked him what that meant, and he said that Mr. Ritual liked salad and terrapin.
Edith.—Oh, Marie is calling me! I've got to go.
Isabel.—Good-bye; come out to-morrow.
Edith.—Yes; mama says she likes me to play with you, and that Marie and Mathilde look so nice together.
Isabel.—I suppose because they are both French.
Edith.—Oh, no; because they both wear real lace on their caps. She told Sister May so. Good-bye.
