The New Member

The new member usually, but not necessarily, goes for the first time to a club with his proposer or his seconder, or at least an old member; for since in exclusive clubs visitors living in the same city are never given the privilege of the club, none but members can know their way about. Let us say he goes for lunch or dinner, at which he is host, and his friend imparts such unwritten information as: "That chair in the window is where old Gotrox always sits; don't occupy it when you see him coming in or he will be disagreeable to everybody for a week." Or "They always play double stakes at this table, so don't sit at it, unless you mean to." Or "That's Double coming in now, avoid him at bridge as you would the plague." "The roasts are always good and that waiter is the best in the room," etc.

A new member is given—or should ask for—a copy of the Club Book, which contains besides the list of the members, the constitution and the by-laws or "house rules," which he must study carefully and be sure to obey.

Country Clubs

Country clubs are as a rule less exclusive and less expensive than the representative city clubs, but those like the Myopia Hunt, the Tuxedo, the Saddle and Cycle, the Burlingame, and countless others in between, are many of them more expensive to belong to than any clubs in London or New York, and are precisely the same in matters of membership and management. They are also quite as difficult to be elected to as any of the exclusive clubs in the cities—more so if anything, because they are open to the family and friends of every member, whereas in a man's club in a city his membership gives the privilege of the club to no one but himself personally. The test question always put by the governors at elections is: "Are the candidate's friends as well as his family likely to be agreeable to the present members of the Club?" If not, he is not admitted.

Nearly all country clubs have, however, one open door—unknown to city ones. People taking houses in the neighborhood are often granted "season privileges"; meaning that on being proposed by a member and upon paying a season subscription, new householders are accepted as transient guests. In some clubs this season subscription may be indefinitely renewed; in others a man must come up for regular election at the end of three months or six or a year.

Apart from what may be called the few representative and exclusive country clubs, there are hundreds—more likely thousands—which have very simple requirements for membership. The mere form of having one or two members vouch for a candidate's integrity and good behavior is sufficient.

Golf clubs, hunting clubs, political or sports clubs have special membership qualifications; all good golf players are as a rule welcomed at all golf clubs; all huntsmen at hunting clubs, and yet the Myopia would not think of admitting the best rider ever known if he was not unquestionably a gentleman. But this is unusual. As a rule, the great player is welcomed in any club specially devoted to the sport in which he excels.

In many clubs a stranger may be given a three (sometimes it is six) months' transient membership, available in some instances to foreigners only; in others to strangers living beyond a certain distance. A name is proposed and seconded by two members and then voted on by the governors, or the house committee.

The best known and most distinguished club of New England has an "Annex" in which there are dining-rooms to which ladies as well as gentlemen who are not members are admitted, and this annex plan has since been followed by others elsewhere.

All men's clubs have private dining-rooms in which members can give stag dinners, but the representative men's clubs exclude ladies absolutely from ever crossing their thresholds.

Women's Clubs

Excepting that the luxurious women's club has an atmosphere that a man rarely knows how to give to the interior of a house, no matter how architecturally perfect it may be, there is no difference between women's and men's clubs.

In every State of the Union there are women's clubs of every kind and grade; social, political, sports, professional; some housed in enormous and perfect buildings constructed for them, and some perhaps in only a room or two.

When the pioneer women's club of New York was started, a club that aspired to be in the same class as the most important men's club, various governors of the latter were unflatteringly outspoken; women could not possibly run a club as it should be run—it was unthinkable that they should be foolish enough to attempt it! And the husbands and fathers of the founders expected to have to dig down in their pockets to make up the deficit; forgetting entirely that the running of a club is merely the running of a house on a large scale, and that women, not men, are the perfect housekeepers. To-day, no clubs anywhere are more perfect in appointment or better run than the representative women's clubs. In fact, some of the men's clubs have been forced to follow the lead of the foremost of them and to realize that a club in which members merely sit about and look out of the window is a pretty dull place to the type of younger members they most want to attract, and that the combination of the comfort and smartness of a perfectly run private house with every equipment for athletics, is becoming the ideal in club-life and club-building to-day.

Good Manners In Clubs

Good manners in clubs are the same as good manners elsewhere—only a little more so. A club is for the pleasure and convenience of many; it is never intended as a stage-setting for a "star" or "clown" or "monologist." There is no place where a person has greater need of restraint and consideration for the reserves of others than in a club. In every club there is a reading-room or library where conversation is not allowed; there are books and easy chairs and good light for reading both by day and night; and it is one of the unbreakable rules not to speak to anybody who is reading—or writing.

When two people are sitting by themselves and talking, another should on no account join them unless he is an intimate friend of both. To be a mere acquaintance, or, still less, to have been introduced to one of them, gives no privilege whatever.

The fact of being a club member does not (except in a certain few especially informal clubs) grant any one the right to speak to strangers. If a new member happens to find no one in the club whom he knows, he goes about his own affairs. He either sits down and reads or writes, or "looks out of the window," or plays solitaire, or occupies himself as he would if he were alone in a hotel.

It is courteous of a governor or habitual member, on noticing a new member or a visitor, especially one who seems to be rather at a loss—to go up and speak to him, but the latter must on no account be the one to speak first. Certain New York and Boston clubs, as well as those of London, have earned a reputation for snobbishness because the members never speak to those they do not know. Through no intent to be disagreeable, but just because it is not customary, New York people do not speak to those they do not know, and it does not occur to them that strangers feel slighted until they themselves are given the same medicine in London; or going elsewhere in America, they appreciate the courtesy and kindness of the South and West.

The fundamental rule for behavior in a club is the same as in the drawing-room of a private house. In other words, heels have no place on furniture, ashes belong in ash-receivers, books should not be abused, and all evidence of exercising should be confined to the courts or courses and the locker room. Many people who wouldn't think of lolling around the house in unfit attire, come trooping into country clubs with their steaming faces, clammy shirts, and rumpled hair, giving too awful evidence of recent exertion, and present fitness for the bathtub.

The Perfect Clubman

The perfect clubman is another word for the perfect gentleman. He never allows himself to show irritability to any one, he makes it a point to be courteous to a new member or an old member's guest. He scrupulously observes the rules of the club, he discharges his card debts at the table, he pays his share always, with an instinctive horror of sponging, and lastly, he treats everyone with the same consideration which he expects—and demands—from them.

The Informal Club

The informal club is often more suggestive of a fraternity than a club, in that every member speaks to every other—always. In one of the best known of this type, the members are artists, authors, scientists, sportsmen and other thinkers and doers. There is a long table set every day for lunch at which the members gather and talk, every one to every one else. There is another dining-room where solitary members may sit by themselves or bring in outsiders if they care to. None but members sit at the "round" table which isn't "round" in the least!

The informal club is always a comparatively small one, but the method of electing members varies. In some, it is customary to take the vote of the whole club, in others members are elected by the governors first, and then asked to join. In this case no man may ask to have his name put up. In others the conventional methods are followed.

The Visitors In A Club

In every club in the United States a member is allowed to "introduce" a stranger (living at least fifty miles away) for a length of time varying with the by-laws of the club. In some clubs guests may be put up for a day only, in others the privilege extends for two weeks or more.

Many clubs allow each member a certain number of visitors a year; in others visitors are unlimited. But in all city clubs the same guest can not be introduced twice within the year. In country clubs visitors may always be brought in by members in unlimited numbers.

As a rule when a member introduces a stranger, he takes him to the club personally, writes his name in the visitors' book, and introduces him to those who may be in the room at the time—very possibly asking another member whom he knows particularly well to "look out" for his guest. If for some reason it is not possible for the stranger's host to take him to the club, he writes to the secretary of the club for a card of introduction.

Example:

The secretary then sends a card to Mr. Strangleigh:

Mr. Strangleigh goes to the club by himself. A visitor who has been given the privileges of the club has, during the time of his visit, all the rights of a member excepting that he is not allowed to introduce others to the club, and he can not give a dinner in the private dining-room. Strict etiquette also demands, if he wishes to ask several members to dine with him, that he take them to a restaurant rather than into the club dining-room, since the club is their home and he is a stranger in it. He may ask a member whom he knows well to lunch with him in the club rooms, but he must not ask one whom he knows only slightly. As accounts are sent to the member who put him up—unless the guest arranges at the club's office to have his charges rendered to himself, he must be punctilious to ask for his bill upon leaving, and pay it without question.

Putting a man up at a club never means that the member is "host." The visitor's status throughout his stay is founded on the courtesy of the member who introduced him, and he should try to show an equal courtesy to every one about him. He should remember not to obtrude on the privacy of the members he does not know. He has no right to criticise the management, the rules or the organization of the club. He has, in short, no actual rights at all, and he must not forget that he hasn't!

Club Etiquette In London, Paris And New York

"In a very smart London club" (the words quoted are Clubwin Doe's) "you keep your hat on and glare about! In Paris you take your hat off and behave with such courtesy and politeness as seems to you an affectation. In New York you take your hat off and behave as though the rooms were empty; but as though you were being observed through loop-holes in the walls."

In New York you are introduced occasionally, but you may never ask to be introduced, and you speak only to those you have been introduced to. In London, you are never introduced to any one, but if the member who has taken you with him joins a group and you all sit down together, you talk as you would after dinner in a gentleman's house. But if you are made a temporary member and meet those you have been talking to when you are alone the next day, you do not speak unless spoken to. In Paris, your host punctiliously introduces you to various members and you must just as punctiliously go the next day to their houses and leave your card upon each one! This is customary in the strictly French clubs only. In any one which has members of other nationalities—especially with Americans predominating, or seeming to, American customs obtain. In French clubs a visitor can not go to the club unless he is with a member, but there are no restrictions on the number of times he may be taken by the same member or another one.

Unbreakable Rules

Failure to pay one's debts, or behavior unbefitting a gentleman, is cause for expulsion from every club; which is looked upon in much the same light as expulsion from the Army. In certain cases expulsion for debt may seem unfair, since one may find himself in unexpectedly straitened circumstances, and the greatest fault or crime could not be more severely dealt with than being expelled from his club; but "club honor"—except under very temporary and mitigating conditions—takes no account of any reason for being "unable" to meet his obligations. He must—or he is not considered honorable.

If a man can not afford to belong to a club he must resign while he is still "in good standing." If later on he is able to rejoin, his name is put at the head of the waiting list, and if he was considered a desirable member, he is re-elected at the next meeting of the governors. But a man who has been expelled (unless he can show cause why his expulsion was unjust and be re-instated) can never again belong to that, or be elected to any other, club.

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CHAPTER XXXI

GAMES AND SPORTS

The popularity of bridge whist began a quarter of a century ago with the older people and has increased slowly but steadily until it is scarcely an exaggeration to say that those who do not play bridge, which means "auction," are seldom asked out. And the epidemic is just as widespread among girls and boys as among older people. Bridge is always taken seriously; a bumble puppy game won't do at all, even among the youngest players, and other qualifications of character and of etiquette must be observed by every one who would be sought after to "make up a four."

People Charming To Play Bridge With

That no one likes a poor partner—or even a poor opponent—goes without saying.

The ideal partner is one who never criticises or even seems to be aware of your mistakes, but on the contrary recognizes a good maneuver on your part, and gives you credit for it whether you win the hand or lose; whereas the inferior player is apt to judge you merely by what you win, and blame your "make" if you "go down," though your play may have been exceptionally good and the loss even occasioned by wrong information which he himself gave you. Also, to be continually found fault with makes you play your worst; whereas appreciation of good judgment on your part acts as a tonic and you play seemingly "better than you know how."

People Disliked At The Bridge Table

There is nothing which more quickly reveals the veneered gentleman than the card table, and his veneer melts equally with success or failure. Being carried away by the game, he forgets to keep on his company polish, and if he wins, he becomes grasping or overbearing, because of his "skill"; if he loses he sneers at the "luck" of others and seeks to justify himself for the same fault that he criticised a moment before in another.

A trick that is annoying to moderately skilled players, is to have an over-confident opponent throw down his hand saying: "The rest of the tricks are mine!" and often succeed in "putting it over," when it is quite possible that they might not be his if the hand were played out. Knowing themselves to be poorer players, the others are apt not to question it, but they feel none the less that their "rights" have been taken from them.

A rather trying partner is the nervous player, who has no confidence in his own judgment and will invariably pass a good hand in favor of his partner's bid. If, for instance, he has six perfectly good diamonds, he doesn't mention them because, his partner having declared a heart, he thinks to himself "Her hearts must be better than my diamonds." But a much more serious failing—and one that is far more universal—is the habit of overbidding.

Overbidding

In poker you play alone and can therefore play as carefully or as foolishly as you please, but in bridge your partner has to suffer with you, and you therefore are in honor bound to play the best you know how—and the best you know how is as far as can possibly be from overbidding.

Remember that your partner, if he is a good player, counts on you for certain definite cards that you announce by your bid to be in your hand, and raises you accordingly. If you have not these cards you not only lose that particular hand, but destroy his confidence in you, and the next time when he has a legitimate raise for you, he will fail to give it. He disregards you entirely because he is afraid of you! You must study the rules for makes and never under any circumstances give your partner misinformation; this is the most vital rule there is, and any one who disregards it is detested at the bridge table. No matter how great the temptation to make a gambler's bid, you are in honor bound to refrain.

The next essential, if you would be thought "charming," is never to take your partner to task no matter how stupidly he may have "thrown the hand."

Don'ts For Those Who Would Be Sought After

Don't hold a "post-mortem" on anybody's delinquencies (unless you are actually teaching).

If luck is against you, it will avail nothing to sulk or complain about the "awful" cards you are holding. Your partner is suffering just as much in finding you a "poison vine" as you are in being one—and you can scarcely expect your opponents to be sympathetic. You must learn to look perfectly tranquil and cheerful even though you hold nothing but yarboroughs for days on end, and you must on no account try to defend your own bad play—ever. When you have made a play of poor judgment, the best thing you can say is, "I'm very sorry, partner," and let it go at that.

Always pay close attention to the game. When you are dummy you have certain duties to your partner, and so do not wander around the room until the hand is over. If you don't know what your duties are, read the rules until you know them by heart and then—begin all over again! It is impossible to play any game without a thorough knowledge of the laws that govern it, and you are at fault in making the attempt.

Don't be offended if your partner takes you out of a bid, and don't take him out for the glory of playing the hand. He is quite as anxious to win the rubber as you are. It is unbelievable how many people regard their partner as a third opponent.

Mannerisms At The Card Table

Mannerisms must be avoided like the plague. If there is one thing worse than the horrible "post-mortem," it is the incessant repetition of some jarring habit by one particular player. The most usual and most offensive is that of snapping down a card as played, or bending a "trick" one has taken into a letter "U," or picking it up and trotting it up and down on the table.

Other pet offenses are drumming on the table with one's fingers, making various clicking, whistling, or humming sounds, massaging one's face, scratching one's chin with the cards, or waving the card one is going to play aloft in the air in Smart Alec fashion as though shouting, "I know what you are going to lead! And my card is ready!" All mannerisms that attract attention are in the long run equally unpleasant—even unendurable to one's companions.

Many people whose game is otherwise admirable are rarely asked to play because they have allowed some such silly and annoying habit to take its hold upon them.

The Good Loser

The good loser makes it an invariable rule never to play for stakes that it will be inconvenient to lose. The neglect of this rule has been responsible for more "bad losers" than anything else, and needless to say a bad loser is about as welcome at a card table as rain at a picnic.

Of course there are people who can take losses beyond their means with perfect cheerfulness and composure. Some few are so imbued with the gambler's instinct that a heavy turn of luck, in either direction, is the salt of life. But the average person is equally embarrassed in winning or losing a stake "that matters" and the only answer is to play for one that doesn't.

Golf

Golf is a particularly severe strain upon the amiability of the average person's temper, and in no other game, except bridge, is serenity of disposition so essential. No one easily "ruffled" can keep a clear eye on the ball, and exasperation at "lost balls" seemingly bewitches successive ones into disappearing with the completeness and finality of puffs of smoke. In a race or other test of endurance a flare of anger might even help, but in golf it is safe to say that he who loses his temper is pretty sure to lose the game.

Golf players of course know the rules and observe them, but it quite often happens that idlers, having nothing better to do, walk out over a course and "watch the players." If they know the players well, that is one thing, but they have no right to follow strangers. A player who is nervous is easily put off his game, especially if those watching him are so ill-bred as to make audible remarks. Those playing matches of course expect an audience, and erratic and nervous players ought not to go into tournaments—or at least not in two-ball foursomes where they are likely to handicap a partner.

In following a match, onlookers must be careful to stand well within bounds and neither talk nor laugh nor do anything that can possibly distract the attention of the players.

The rule that you should not appoint yourself mentor holds good in golf as well as in bridge and every other game. Unless your advice is asked for, you should not instruct others how to hold their clubs or which ones to use, or how they ought to make the shot.

A young woman must on no account expect the man she happens to be playing with to make her presents of golf-balls, or to caddy for her, nor must she allow him to provide her with a caddy. If she can't afford to hire one of her own, she must either carry her own clubs or not play golf.

Other Games And Sports

There are fixed rules for the playing of every game—and for proper conduct in every sport. The details of these rules must be studied in the "books of the game," learned from instructors, or acquired by experience. A small boy perhaps learns to fish or swim by himself, but he is taught by his father or a guide—at all events, some one—how and how not to hold a gun, cast a fly, or ride a horse. But apart from the technique of each sport, or the rules of each game, the etiquette—or more correctly, the basic principles of good sportsmanship, are the same.

In no sport or game can any favoritism or evasion of rules be allowed. Sport is based upon impersonal and indiscriminating fairness to every one alike, or it is not "sport."

And to be a good sportsman, one must be a stoic and never show rancor in defeat, or triumph in victory, or irritation, no matter what annoyance is encountered. One who can not help sulking, or explaining, or protesting when the loser, or exulting when the winner, has no right to take part in games and contests.

"Playing The Game"

If you would be thought to play the game, meaning if you aspire to be a true sportsman, you must follow the rules of sportsmanship the world over:

Never lose your temper.

Play for the sake of playing rather than to win.

Never stop in the middle of a tennis or golf match and complain of a lame ankle, especially if you are losing. Unless it is literally impossible for you to go on, you must stick it out.

If you are a novice, don't ask an expert to play with you, especially as your partner. If he should ask you in spite of your shortcomings, maintain the humility proper to a beginner.

If you are a woman, don't ape the ways and clothing of men. If you are a man, don't take advantage of your superior strength to set a pace beyond the endurance of a woman opponent.

And always give the opponent the benefit of the doubt! Nothing is more important to your standing as a sportsman, though it costs you the particular point in question.

A true sportsman is always a cheerful loser, a quiet winner, with a very frank appreciation of the admirable traits in others, which he seeks to emulate, and his own shortcomings, which he tries to improve.

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CHAPTER XXXII

ETIQUETTE IN BUSINESS AND POLITICS

A certain rich man whose appointment to a foreign post of importance was about to be ratified, came into the corridor of a Washington hotel and stopped to speak with a lady for a few moments. During the whole conversation he kept his hat on his head and a cigar in the corner of his mouth. It happened that the lady was the wife of a prominent senator, and she lost no time in reporting the incident to her husband, who in turn brought the matter to the attention of certain of his colleagues with the result that the appointment did not go through.

It is not unlikely that this man thinks "politics played against him," whereas the only factor against him was his exhibition of ill-breeding which proved him unsuitable to represent the dignity of his country.

Etiquette would not seem to play an important part in business, and yet no man can ever tell when its knowledge may be of advantage, or its lack may turn the scale against him. The man who remains "planted" in his chair when a lady (or an older man) speaks to him, who receives customers in his shirt sleeves, who does not take off his hat when talking with a lady and take his cigar out of his mouth when bowing or when addressing her, can never be sure that he is not preparing a witness for the prosecution.

Etiquette In Smoking

The above does not mean that a gentleman may never smoke in the presence of ladies—especially in the presence of those who smoke themselves—but a gentleman should not smoke under the following circumstances:

When walking on the street with a lady.

When lifting his hat or bowing.

In a room, an office, or an elevator, when a lady enters.

In any short conversation where he is standing near, or talking with a lady.

If he is seated himself for a conversation with a lady on a veranda, in an hotel, in a private house, anywhere where "smoking is permitted," he first asks, "Do you mind if I smoke?" And if she replies, "Not at all" or "Do, by all means," it is then proper for him to do so. He should, however, take his cigar, pipe, or cigarette, out of his mouth while he is speaking. One who is very adroit can say a word or two without an unpleasant grimace, but one should not talk with one's mouth either full of food or barricaded with tobacco.

In the country, a gentleman may walk with a lady and smoke at the same time—especially a pipe or cigarette. Why a cigar is less admissible is hard to determine, unless a pipe somehow belongs to the country. A gentleman in golf or country clothes with a pipe in his mouth and a dog at his heels suggests a picture fitting to the scene; while a cigar seems as out of place as a cutaway coat. A pipe on the street in a city, on the other hand, is less appropriate than a cigar in the country. In any event he will, of course, ask his companion's permission to smoke.

Manners And Business

If you had a commission to give and you entered a man's office and found him lolling back in a tipped swivel chair, his feet above his head, the ubiquitous cigar in his mouth and his drowsy attention fixed on the sporting page of the newspaper, you would be impressed not so much by his lack of good manners as by his bad business policy, because of the incompetence that his attitude suggests. It is scarcely necessary to ask: Would you give an important commission to him who has no apparent intention of doing anything but "take his ease"; or to him who is found occupied at his desk, who gets up with alacrity upon your entrance, and is seemingly "on his toes" mentally as well as actually? Or, would you go in preference to a man whose manners resemble those of a bear at the Zoo, if you could go to another whose business ability is supplemented by personal charm? And this again is merely an illustration of bad manners and good.

An Advantage Of Polish

One advantage of polish is that one's opponent can never tell what is going on under the glazed surface of highly finished manners, whereas an unfinished surface is all too easily penetrated. And since business encounters are often played like poker hands, it is surely a bad plan to be playing with a mind-reader who can plainly divine his opponent's cards, while his own are unrevealed.

Manners that can by any possibility be construed as mincing, foppish or effeminate are not recommended; but a gentleman who says "Good morning" to his employees and who invariably treats all women as "ladies," does not half so much flatter their vanity as win their respect for himself as a gentleman. Again, good manners are, after all, nothing but courteous consideration of other people's interests and feelings. That being true, does it not follow that all customers, superior officers and employees prefer an executive whose good manners imply consideration of his customer's, his company's and his employee's interest as well as merely his own?

Perfect Polish That Is Unsuspected

The president of a great industry, whose mastery of etiquette is one of his chief assets, so submerges this asset in other and more apparent qualifications, that every plain man he comes in contact with takes it for granted that he is an equally "plain" man himself. He is plain in so far as he is straightforward in attitude and simple in manner. No red tape is required apparently to penetrate into this president's private office, whereas many "small" men are guarded with pretentiousness that is often an effort to give an impression of "importance."

In this big man's employ there is an especial assistant chosen purposely because of his tact and good manners. If an unknown person asks to see Mr. President, this deputy is sent out (as from most offices) to find out what the visitor's business is; but instead of being told bluntly the boss doesn't know him and can't see him, the visitor is made to feel how much the president will regret not seeing him. Perhaps he is told, "Mr. President is in conference just now. I know he would not like you to be kept waiting; can I be of any service to you? I am his junior assistant." If the visitor's business is really with the president, he is admitted to the chief executive's office, since it is the latter's policy to see every one that he can.

He has a courteous manner that makes every one feel there is nothing in the day's work half so important as what his visitor has come to see him about! Nor is this manner insincere; for whatever time one sees him, he gives his undivided attention. Should his time be short, and the moment approach when he is due at an appointment, his secretary enters, a purposely arranged ten minutes ahead of the time necessary for the close of the present interview, and apologetically reminds him, "I'm sorry, Mr. President, but your appointment with the 'Z' committee is due." Mr. President with seeming unconcern, uses up most of the ten minutes, and his lingering close of the conversation gives his visitor the impression that he must have been late at his appointment, and wholly because of the unusual interest felt in his caller.

This is neither sincerity nor insincerity, but merely bringing social knowledge into business dealing. To make a pleasant and friendly impression is not alone good manners, but equally good business. The crude man would undoubtedly show his eagerness to be rid of his visitor, and after offending the latter's self-pride because of his inattentive discourtesy, be late for his own appointment! The man of skill saw his visitor for fewer actual minutes, but gave the impression that circumstances over which he had no control forced him unwillingly to close the interview. He not only gained the good will of his visitor, but arrived at his own appointment in plenty of time.

To listen attentively when one is spoken to, is merely one of the rules of etiquette. The man who, while some one is talking to him, gazes out of the window or up at the ceiling, who draws squares and circles on the blotter, or is engrossed in his finger-nails or his shoes, may in his own mind be "finessing," or very likely he is bored! In the first case, the chances are he will lose the game; in the second, lots of people are bored, hideously bored, and most often the fault is their own; always they are at fault who show it.

Good Manners And "Good Mixers"

When one thinks of a man who is known in politics and business as a "good mixer," one is apt to think of him as a rough diamond rather than a polished one. In picturing a gentleman, a man of high cultivation, one instinctively thinks of one who is somewhat aloof and apart. A good mixer among uncouth men may quite accurately be one who is also uncouth; but the best "mixer" of all is one who adjusts himself equally well to finer as well as to plainer society. Education that does not confer flexibility of mind is an obviously limited education; the man of broadest education tunes himself in unison with whomever he happens to be. The more subjects he knows about, the more people he is in sympathy with, and therefore the more customers or associates or constituents he is sure to have.

The really big man—it makes little difference whether he was born with a gold spoon in his mouth or no spoon at all—is always one whose interest in people, things, and events is a stimulating influence upon all those he comes in contact with.

He who says, "That does not interest me," or "That bores me," defines his own limitations. He who is unable to project sympathy into other problems or classes than his own is an unimportant person though he have the birth of a Cecil and the manners of a Chesterfield. Every gentleman has an inalienable right to his own reserves—that goes without saying—and because he can project sympathy and understanding where and when he chooses, does not for one moment mean that he thereby should break down the walls of his instinctive defenses.

It is not the latter type, but the "Gentleman Limited" who has belittled the name of "gentleman" in the world of work; not so much because he is a gentleman, as because he is not entirely one. He who is every inch a gentleman as well as every inch a man is the highest type in the world to-day, just as he has always been. The do-nothing gentleman is equally looked down upon everywhere.

Etiquette In "Reverse Gear"

Etiquette, remember, is merely a collection of forms by which all personal contacts in life are made smooth. The necessity for a "rough" man to become polished so that he may meet men of cultivation on an equal footing, has an equally important reverse. The time has gone by when a gentleman by grace of God, which placed him in a high-born position, can control numbers of other men placed beneath him. Every man takes his place to-day according to born position plus the test of his own experience. And just as an unlettered expert in business is only half authoritative to men of high cultivation, so also is the gentleman, no matter how much he knows of Latin, Greek, history, art and polish of manner, handicapped according to his ignorance on the subject of another's expertness. Etiquette, in reverse, prescribes this necessity for complete knowledge in every contact in life. Through knowledge alone, does one prove one's right to authority. For instance:

A man in a machine ship is working at a lathe. An officer of the company comes into the shop, a gentleman in white collar and good clothes! He stands behind the mechanic and "curses him out" because his work is inefficient. When he turns away, the man at the lathe says, "Who was that guy anyway? What business has he to teach me my job?" Instead of accepting the criticism, he resents what he considers unwarranted interference by a man in another "class."

But supposing instead of standing by and talking about inefficiency, the "gentleman" had said, "Get out of there a moment!" and throwing off his coat and rolling up his silk shirt sleeves, he had operated the lathe with a smoothness and rapidity that could only have been acquired through long experience at a bench. The result would be that the next time he came on a tour of inspection that particular man (as well as all those who were witnesses of the former scene) would not only listen to him with respect but without resentment of his "class," because his expertness proved that he had earned his right to good clothes and silk shirts, and to tell those beneath him how work should be done.

The same test applies to any branch of experience: a man who knows as much about any "specialty" as an expert does himself, makes the "expert" think at once, "This man is a wonder!" The very fact that the first man is not making the subject his specialty, intensifies the achievement. Everything he says after that on subjects of which the second man knows nothing is accepted without question. Whenever you know as much as the other man, whether you are socially above, or below him, you are on that subject his equal; when you know more than he does, you have the advantage.

The Self-Made Man And World-Made Manners

It is not in order to shine in society that grace of manner is an asset; comparatively few people in a community care a rap about "society" anyway! A man of affairs whose life is spent in doing a man's work in a man's way is not apt to be thrilled at the thought of putting on "glad" clothes and going out with his wife to a "pink" tea or a ball.

But what many successful men do not realize is that a fundamental knowledge of etiquette is no less an asset in business or public life, or in any other contact with people, than it is in society.

Just as any expert, whether at a machine bench, an accountant's desk, or at golf, gives an impression of such ease as to make his accomplishment seemingly require no skill, a bungler makes himself and every one watching him uneasy if not actually fearful of his awkwardness. And as inexpertness is quite as irritating in personal as in mechanical bungling, so there is scarcely any one who sooner or later does not feel the need of social expertness. Something, some day, will awaken him to the folly of scorning as "soft," men who have accomplished manners; despising as "effeminate," youths who have physical grace; of being contemptuous of the perfect English of the well-bred gentleman; of consoling himself with the thought that his own crudeness is strong, and manly, and American!

The "X" Markers

But let "success" come to this same inexpert man—let him be appointed to high office, let him then shuffle from foot to foot, never knowing what to do or say, let him meet open derision or ill-concealed contempt from every educated person brought in contact with him, let opprobrium fall upon his State because its governor is a boor, and let him as such be written of in the editorials of the press and in the archives of history! Will he be so pleased with himself then? Does any one think of Theodore Roosevelt as "soft" or "effeminate" because he was one of the greatest masters of etiquette who ever bore the most exalted honor that can be awarded by the people of the United States? Washington was completely a gentleman—and so was Abraham Lincoln. Because Lincoln's etiquette was self-taught it was no less masterly for that! Whether he happened to know a lot of trifling details of pseudo etiquette matters not in the least. Awkward he may have been, but the essence of him was courtesy—unfailing courtesy. No "rough, uneducated" man has command of perfect English, and Lincoln's English is supreme.

One thing that some Men of Might forget is that lack of polish in its wider aspects is merely lack of education. They themselves look down upon a man who has to make an "X" mark in place of signing his name—but they overlook entirely that to those more highly educated, they are themselves in degree quite as ignorant.