The City of Masks Part 30

One day Mrs. Smith-Parvis, to his surprise and joy, announced that she thought Stuyvesant ought to have a real chance to make something of himself,--a vocation or an avocation, she wasn't sure which,--and she couldn't see why the father of such a bright, capable boy had been so blind to the possibilities that lay before him. She actually blamed him for holding the young man back.

"I suggested some time ago, my dear," he began, in self-defence, "that the boy ought to get a job and settle down to--"

"Job? How I loathe that word. It is almost as bad as situation."

"Well, then, position," he amended. "You wouldn't hear to it."

"I have no recollection of any such conversation," said she firmly. "I have been giving the subject a great deal of thought lately. The dear boy is ent.i.tled to his opportunity. He must make a name for himself. I have decided, Philander, that he ought to go into the diplomatic service."

"Oh, Lord!"

"I don't blame you for saying 'Oh, Lord,' if you think I mean the American diplomatic service," she said, smiling. "That, of course, is not even to be considered. He must aim higher than that. I know it is a vulgar expression, but there is no cla.s.s to the American emba.s.sies abroad. Compare our emba.s.sies with any of the other--"

"But, my dear, you forget that--"

"They are made up largely of men who have sprung from the most ordinary walks in life,--men totally unfitted for the social position that-- Please do not argue, Philander. You know perfectly well that what I say is true. I shouldn't think of letting Stuyvesant enter the American diplomatic service. Do you remember that dreadful person who came to see us in Berlin,--about the trunks we sent up from Paris by _grande vitesse_? Well, just think of Stuyvesant--"

"He was a clerk from the U. S. Consul's office," he interrupted doggedly. "Nothing whatever to do with the emba.s.sy. Besides, we can't--"

"It doesn't matter. I have been giving it a great deal of thought lately, trying to decide which is the best service for Stuyvesant to enter. The English diplomatic corps in this country is perfectly stunning, and so is the French,--and the Russian, for that matter. He doesn't speak the Russian language, however, so I suppose we will have to--"

"See here, my dear,--listen to me," he broke in resolutely. "Stuyvesant can't get into the service of any of these countries. He--"

"I'd like to know why not!" she cried sharply. "He is a gentleman, he has manner, he is--Well, isn't he as good as any of the young men one sees at the English or the French Legations in Was.h.i.+ngton?"

"I grant you all that, but he is an American just the same. He can't be born all over again, you know, with a new pair of parents. He's got to be in the American diplomatic corps, or in no corps at all. Now, get that through your head, my dear."

She finally got it through her head, and resigned herself to the American service, deciding that the Court of St. James offered the most desirable prospects in view of its close proximity to the other great capitals of Europe.

"Stuyvesant likes London next to Paris, and he could cross over to France whenever he felt the need of change."

Mr. Smith-Parvis looked hara.s.sed.

"Easier said than done," he ventured. "These chaps in the legations have to stick pretty close to their posts. He can't be running about, all over the place, you know. It isn't expected. You might as well understand in the beginning that he'll have to work like a nailer for a good many years before he gets anywhere in the diplomatic service."

"Nonsense. Doesn't the President appoint men to act as Amba.s.sadors who never had an hour's experience in diplomacy? It's all a matter of politics. I'm sorry to say, Philander, the right men are never appointed. It seems to be the practice in this country to appoint men who, so far as I know, have absolutely no social standing. Mr. Choate was an exception, of course. I am sure that Stuyvesant will go to the top rapidly if he is given a chance. Now, how shall we go about it, Philander?" She considered the matter settled. Her husband shook his head.

"Have you spoken to Stuyvie about it?" he inquired.

"Oh, dear me, no. I want to surprise him."

"I see," said he, rather grimly for him. "I see. We simply say: 'Here is a nice soft berth in the diplomatic corps, Stuyvie. You may sail tomorrow if you like.'"

"Don't be silly. And please do not call him Stuyvie. I've spoken to you about that a thousand times, Philander. Now, don't you think you ought to run down to Was.h.i.+ngton and see the President? It may--"

"No, I don't," said he flatly. "I'm not a dee fool."

"Don't--don't you care to see your son make something of himself?" she cried in dismay.

"Certainly. I'd like nothing better than--"

"Then, try to take a little interest in him," she said coldly.

"In the first place," said he resignedly, "what are his politics?"

"The same as yours. He is a Republican. All the people we know are Republicans. The Democrats are too common for words."

"Well, his first attempt at diplomacy will be to change his politics,"

he said, waxing a little sarcastic as he gained courage. "And I'd advise you not to say nasty things about the Democrats. They are in the saddle now, you know. I suppose you've heard that the President is a Democrat?"

"I can't help that," she replied stubbornly.

"And he appoints nothing but Democrats."

"Is there likely to be a Republican president soon?" she inquired, knitting her brows.

"That's difficult to say."

"I suppose Stuyvesant could, in a diplomatic sort of way, pretend to be a Democrat, couldn't he, dear?"

"He lost nearly ten thousand dollars at the last election betting on what he said was a sure thing," said he, compressing his lips.

"The poor dear!"

"I can't see very much in this diplomatic game, anyhow," said Mr.

Smith-Parvis determinedly.

"I asked you a direct question, Philander," she said stiffly.

"I--I seem to have forgotten just what--"

"I asked you how we are to go about securing an appointment for him."

"Oh," said he, wilting a little. "So you did. Well,--um--aw--let me think. There's only one way. He's got to have a pull. Does he know any one high up in the Democratic ranks? Any one who possesses great influence?" There was a twinkle in his eye.

"I--I don't know," she replied, helplessly. "He is quite young, Philander. He can't be expected to know everybody. But you! Now that I think of it, you must know any number of influential Democrats. There must be some one to whom you could go. You would simply say to him that Stuyvesant agrees to enter the service, and that he will do everything in his power to raise it to the social standard--"

"The man would die laughing," said he unfeelingly. "I was just thinking.

Suppose I were to go to the only influential Democratic politician I know,--Cornelius McFaddan,--and tell him that Stuyvesant advocates the reconstruction of our diplomatic service along English lines, he would undoubtedly say things to me that I could neither forget nor forgive. I can almost hear him now."

"You refuse to make any effort at all, then?"

"Not at all," he broke in quickly. "I will see him. As a matter of fact, McFaddan is a very decent sort of chap, and he is keen to join the Oxford Country Club. He knows I am on the Board of Governors. In fact, he asked me not long ago what golf club I'd advise him to join. He thinks he's getting too fat. Wants to take up golf."

"But you _couldn't_ propose him for members.h.i.+p in the Oxford, Philander," she said flatly. "Only the smartest people in town--"

"Leave it to me," he interrupted, a flash of enthusiasm in his eyes. "By gad, I shouldn't be surprised if I could do something through him. He carries a good deal of weight."

"Would it be wise to let him reduce it by playing golf?" she inquired doubtfully.