Etiquette, Emily Post [read people like a book txt] 📗

unless you tip generously. If you do not care for elaborate meals, that is nothing to your discredit; but you should not go to an expensive hotel, hold a table that would otherwise be occupied by others who might order a long dinner, and expect your waiter to be contented with a tip of fifteen cents for your dollar supper! The rule is ten per cent, beginning with a meal costing about three or four dollars. A quarter is the smallest possible tip in a first class hotel. If your meal costs a quarter—you should give the waiter a quarter. If it costs two dollars or more than two dollars, you give thirty or thirty-five cents, and ten per cent on a bigger amount. In smaller hotels tips are less in proportion. Tipping is undoubtedly a bad system, but it happens to be in force, and that being the case, travelers have to pay their share of it—if they like the way made smooth and comfortable.

A lady traveling alone with her maid (or without one), of necessity has her meals alone in her own sitting-room, if she has one. If she goes to the dining-room, she usually takes a book because hotel service seems endless to one used to meals at home and nothing is duller than to sit long alone with nothing to do but look at the tablecloth, which is scarcely diverting, or at other people, which is impolite.

On The Steamer

In the days when our great-grandparents went to Europe on a clipper ship carrying at most a score of voyagers and taking a month perhaps to make the crossing, those who sat day after day together, and evening after evening around the cabin lamp, became necessarily friendly; and in many instances not only for the duration of the voyage but for life. More often than not, those who had "endured the rigors" of the Atlantic together, joined forces in engaging the courier who was in those days indispensable, and set out on their Continental travels in company. Dashing to Europe and back was scarcely to be imagined, and travelers who had ventured such a distance, stayed at least a year or more. Also in those slower days of crawling across the earth's surface by post-chaise and diligence and horseback, travelers meeting in inns and elsewhere, fell literally on each other's neck at the sound of an American accent! And each retailed to the other his news of home; to which was added the news of all whom they had encountered. It is also from these "traveling ancestors" that families inherit their Continental visiting lists. Friends they made in Europe, in turn gave letters of introduction to friends coming later to America. And to them again their American hosts sent letters by later American friends.

But to-day when going to Europe is of scarcely greater importance than going into another State, and when the passenger list numbers hundreds, "making friends with strangers" is the last thing the great-grandchildren of those earlier travelers would think of.

It may be pretty accurately said that the faster and bigger the ship, the less likely one is to speak to strangers, and yet—as always—circumstances alter cases. Because the Worldlys, the Oldnames, the Eminents,—all those who are innately exclusive—never "pick up" acquaintances on shipboard, it does not follow that no fashionable and well-born people ever drift into acquaintanceship on European-American steamers of to-day—but they are at least not apt to do so. Many in fact take the ocean-crossing as a rest-cure and stay in their cabins the whole voyage. The Worldlys always have their meals served in their own "drawing-room" and have their deck chairs placed so that no one is very near them, and keep to themselves except when they invite friends of their own to play bridge or take dinner or lunch with them.

But because the Worldlys and the Eminents—and the Snobsnifts who copy them—stay in their cabins, sit in segregated chairs and speak to no one except the handful of their personal friends or acquaintances who happen to be on board, it does not follow that the Smiths, Joneses and Robinsons are not enlarging their acquaintance with every revolution of the screws. And if you happen to like to be talked to by strangers, and if they in turn like to talk to you, it can not be said that there is any rule of etiquette against it.

Dining Saloon Etiquette

Very fashionable people as a rule travel a great deal, which means that they are known very well to the head steward, who reserves a table, or they engage a table for themselves when they get their tickets. Mr. and Mrs. Gilding for instance, if they know that friends of theirs are sailing on the same steamer, ask them to sit at their table and ask for a sufficiently large table on purpose. Or if they are traveling alone, they arrange to have one of the small tables for two, to themselves.

People of wide acquaintance in big cities are sure to find friends on board with whom they can arrange, if they choose, to sit on deck or in the dining saloon, but most people, unless really intimate friends are on board, sit wherever the head steward puts them. After a meal or two people always speak to those sitting next to them. None but the rudest snobs would sit through meal after meal without ever addressing a word to their table companions. Well-bred people are always courteous, but that does not mean that they establish friendships with any strangers who happen to be placed next to them.

In crossing the Pacific, people are more generally friendly because the voyage is so much longer, and on the other long voyages, such as those to India and South Africa, the entire ship's company become almost as intimate as in the old clipper days.

The Tactics Of The Climber

There are certain constant travelers who, it is said, count on a European voyage to increase their social acquaintance by just so much each trip! Richan Vulgar, for instance, has his same especial table every time he crosses, which is four times a year! Walking through a "steamer train" he sees a "celebrity," a brilliant, let us say, but unworldly man. Vulgar annexes him by saying, casually, "Have you a seat at table? Better sit with me, I always have the table by the door; it is easy to get in and out." The celebrity accepts, since there is no evidence that he is to be "featured," and the chances are that he remains unconscious to the end of time that he served as a decoy. Boarding the steamer, Vulgar sees the Lovejoys, and pounces: "You must sit at my table! Celebrity and I are crossing together—he is the most delightful man! I want you to sit next to him." They think Celebrity sounds very interesting; so, not having engaged a table for themselves, they say they will be delighted. On the deck, the Smartlys appear and ask the Lovejoys to sit with them. Vulgar, who is standing by (he is always standing by) breaks in even without an introduction and says: "Mr. and Mrs. Lovejoy and Celebrity are sitting at my table, won't you sit with me also?" If the Smartlys protest they have a table, he is generally insistent and momentarily overpowering enough to make them join forces with him. As the Smartlys particularly want to sit next to the Lovejoys and also like the idea of meeting Celebrity, it ends in Vulgar's table being a collection of fashionables whom he could not possibly have gotten together without just such a maneuver.

The question of what he gets out of it is puzzling since with each hour the really well-bred people dislike him more and more intensely, and at the end of a day or so, his table's company are all eating on deck to avoid him. Perhaps there is some recompense that does not appear on the surface, but to the casual observer the satisfaction of telling others that the Smartlys, Lovejoys and Wellborns sat at his table would scarcely seem worth the effort.

Those Acquisitive Of Acquaintance

There is another type of steamer passenger and hotel guest who may, or may not, be a climber. This one searches out potential acquaintances on the passenger list and hotel register with the avidity of a bird searching for worms. You have scarcely found your own stateroom and had your deck chair placed, when one of them swoops upon you: "I don't know whether you remember me? I met you in nineteen two, at Countess della Robbia's in Florence." Your memory being woefully incomplete, there is nothing for you to say except, "How do you do!" If a few minutes of conversation, which should be sufficient, proves her to be a lady, you talk to her now and again throughout the voyage, and may end by liking her very much. If, however, her speech breaks into expressions which prove her not a lady, you become engrossed in your book or conversation with another when she approaches. Often these over-friendly people are grasping, calculating and objectionable, but sometimes like Ricki Ticki Tavi they are merely obsessed with a mania to run about and see what is going on in the world.

For instance, Miss Spinster is one of the best-bred, best-informed, most charming ladies imaginable. But her mania for people cannot fail on occasions to put her in a position to be snubbed—never seriously because she is too obviously a lady for that. But to see her trotting along the deck and then darting upon a helpless reclining figure, is at least an illustration of the way some people make friends. It can't be done, of course, unless you have once known the person you are addressing, or unless you have a friend in common who, though absent, can serve in making the introduction.

As said in "Introductions," introducing oneself is often perfectly correct. If you, sharing Miss Spinster's love of people, find yourself on a steamer with the intimate friend of a member of your family, you may very properly go up and say, "I am going to speak to you because I am Celia Lovejoy's cousin—I am Mrs. Brown." And Mrs. Norman, who very much likes Celia Lovejoy, says cordially, "I am so glad you spoke to me, do sit down, won't you?" But to have your next chair neighbor on deck insist on talking to you, if you don't want to be talked to, is very annoying, and it is bad form for her to do so. If you are sitting hour after hour doing nothing but idly looking in front of you, your neighbor might address a few remarks to you, and if you receive them with any degree of enthusiasm, your response may be translated into a willingness to talk. But if you answer in the merest monosyllables, it should be taken to mean that you prefer to be left to your own diversions.

Even if you are agreeable, your neighbor should show tact in not speaking to you when you are reading or writing, or show no inclination for conversation. The point is really that no one must do anything to interfere with the enjoyment of another. Whoever is making the advance, whether your neighbor or yourself, it must never be more than tentative; if not at least met halfway, it must be withdrawn at once. That is really the only rule there is. It should merely be granted that those who do not care to meet others have just as much right to their seclusion as those who delight in others have a right to be delighted—as long as that delight is unmistakably mutual.

Steamer Tips

Each ordinary first class passenger, now as always, gives ten shillings ($2.50) to the room steward or stewardess, ten shillings to the dining-room steward, ten shillings to the deck steward, ten shillings to the lounge