Free The Savage Gentleman by Philip Wylie

table in the "living-room" of the island house was exquisitely set A strange function was taking place.

    Separated by spotless napery and beautiful silver, by white china and crystal glasses brimming with wine, were Stephen Stone and his son. Their ordinary habiliments of heavy cloth and soft-tanned rawhide were missing. Instead, they wore dinner clothes.
    Dinner clothes of the late nineteenth century--Stephen's fitting perfectly, and Henry's somewhat too small for his frame--but dinner clothes with satin lapels, and boiled shirts.

    Behind them, as they commenced to eat their green turtle soup, Jack stood at rigid attention and there was no sign of amusement on his face.

    Stone touched his napkin to his lips and spoke to his son.

    "They tell me, Mr. Stone, that Bryan's championship of bimetallism will sweep the country."

    Henry lifted his eyebrows with elegant hauteur.

    "I've read his speeches. A cheap and dangerous demagogue. Something about crucifixion on a cross of gold. Well--if gold is too heavy a burden for the people to carry about, they'll find that free silver will make their pockets light enough."

    "William Jennings Bryan is a menace--" Stephen Stone began, after laughing politely at Henry's witticism. "A decided menace." He interrupted himself. "Henry--that's not the way to hold a wine-goblet. Like this."

    Henry followed his father's instructions.

    "Am I right, now?"

    "That's better. Now. I'm the Ambassador from Spain. You have just criticized Spanish actions in Cuba and you are unfortunately seated beside me at a dinner given by Mrs. Astor. I am a little bit--perhaps, guardedly, a great deal--perturbed at this unhappy accident. I am thinking of something definitely unpleasant to say about your newspaper.
    Proceed."

    Henry flashed upon his father a winning and wholly artificial smile.

    "My dear Mr. Ambassador-"

    "My dear, Ambassador Chinito--"

    "My dear Ambassador Chinito--this is luck. I've been wanting to meet and talk with you for months. The information we receive.at my office relative to Spanish policy is at best vague and uncertain, and this opportunity to discuss it with a' master of statecraft is handsome Providence indeed."

    Stephen Stone smiled. "A little flowery. But good. Now. I am--oh--Jack--remove the soup. The serving plates. I am--"

    The conversation continued endlessly. The meal lasted two hours.

    It was a new function on Stone Island. A new course in Stephen Stone's instruction of his son. He had planned it long, long ago. He had brought the necessary adjuncts. He was training Henry for his social life, training him how to be a perfect guest, a polished conversationalist, and diplomatically quick-thinking--all in the manner and according to the best traditions of a period that was already twenty years old.

    He taught him how to dress--although when he had ordered the clothes, in London, in 1897, he had not guessed his son would attain such stature. He taught him etiquette, and how to dine and what to order, and how to order from a waiter in Delmonico's and from a waiter in Jack's and what to do in London and Paris and Vienna and where to go.
    He taught him how to behave in a men's club and in a bank and in the box of an opera.

    He taught him all the important trifles and they lived through a thousand scenes and situations, for one night each week was designated to represent some sort of function.
    Invitations were sent and Henry answered them. The table was set meticulously and Stephen Stone portrayed the various guests--sometimes playing three or four roles at once.

    At the same time, he intensified his courses in politics and the newspaper business.
    He made Henry write a complete edition of a newspaper for Stone Island every two weeks. He discussed with his son the politics of his day--for there was no other material open to their contemplation. He taught the mechanics of the business, the functions of the various departments, the financing and the methods of