Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1904-12-24


patronizing suggestions. which. as we know
full well, right down to the depths of our
cowardly souls. are really only poorly yelled
CRITICISMS of what we were trying to order.
That Subtle Something.
Our wives are redly conscious of the
whole patronzng atmosphere. OF course,
they blame us for it. They would be finely
indignant if we were to explain to them in
clear and simple way that the situation is
due to the subtle something that tells door
boy, walters and guests that we are middle
class-that for us to dine in restaurants is
an occasion; and that we usually dine at
nome, and are served by the same solitary
girl of all work who has previously cooked
the dinner and who will presently wash the
dishes
Middle class?" our wives would say.
we would have you understand that we
ar cas- good as anybody here!' And so we
are. But we are middle class just the same,
ana we can deny our nativity over and over
again, as our wives always would do, and
yet everybody recognizes us at once.
Go to some restaurant not so stylish you
say? Alas! Restaurants, which are all es-
sentially middle class in origin and calling
have, like most of us of the middle class,
become ashamed of it. They all pretend to
something higher There isn't a good
eating place or a good any other place
where the Duke of Oxide of Zinc or the
Baron of Hoof Jelly-the modern upper
go in his hunger for something new" And
after a single specimen of the upper class
has once entered a middle class place he
leaves an enduring blight on it, like the
footsteps of a large, thoughtful COW in a
soft meadow.
Submerged by the Upper Glass.
In vain our wives point to the notorious
fact that the Duke of Oxide of Zinc and
the Baron of .Hoof Jelly were not even
middle class once. but that their family
trees were rooted in mire and gave shade to
novels. They are the nobility now, and
they spend their time submerging us.
They know better than to fiaunt them
selves on the stamping grounds of the
classes from which they Sprang. These
would rise in their mirey independence and
decorate them with their own peculiar Or
ders of class. Whenever they drive auto
mobiles through the streets of their youth.
they emerge with chariotS hung with tin
cans and other rubbish.
So the upper class disports itself among
, US. 1t knows that we are too middle class
to resent with violence the corruption of
our walters, our servants and our trades
men.
We can't escape by running away to a
lower level ourselves. Beyond us is the
jumping-off place. We escape from the
boulevards, where our middle class bearing
marks US as fair victims for the motor car,
to the side streets, where that same bearing
missiles of wit and denser material. There
is no middle street for JUS.
Or go to a hotel-an ordinary hotel OF
the kind that is turned out apparently by
the gross in America-where the carpets
are eloquent histories of the feet of past
generations; where the woodwork is of that
sOmber hue which exists only in hotels;
where the plaster walls are painted, and not
by Michael Angelo, either; where the WIN
dows look forth on square court in which
bloom masses of tin cans, waste paper and
other familiar and favorite examples Of
American hotel Horticulture.
Discovered on the Spot.
As soon as the clerk looks at us, we real
ize that we are discovered. The stern de-
mand that we intend to make for the best
room in the house at the regular rate be-
comes the usual hestating plea for the
best you can do And even as he reaches
for the key we know writhing inwardly,
that we are going to- be sent to the middle
class room.
Our quiet valise, our quiet dress, our
quiet manners, are all against us every
where If we could only swagger to the
the angle of our mouths, and could slap
that clerk on the back and address him
Familiarity as "old man." we would get the
best room at once, even If our coat were
greasy our linen quite beyond the benefit
of reasonable doubt and our hat essentially
insanitary. Or we would get it If We