When they were little I was permitted a certain amount of decorous informality, but now I have to be very careful how I kiss them on account of the amount of powder they use.  They have, both of them, excellent natural complexions, but they are not satisfied unless their noses have an artificial whiteness like that of marble.  I suspect, also, that their lips have a heightened color.  At all events I am careful to “mind the paint.”  But they are—­either because of these things or in spite of them—­extraordinarily pretty girls—­prettier, I am forced to admit, than their mother was at their age.  Now, as I write, I wonder to what end these children of mine have been born into the world—­how they will assist in the development of the race to a higher level.

For years I slaved at the office—­early, late, in the evenings, often working Sundays and holidays, and foregoing my vacation in the summer.

Then came the period of expansion.  My accumulations doubled and trebled.  In one year I earned a fee in a railroad reorganization of two hundred thousand dollars.  I found myself on Easy Street.  I had arrived—­achieved my success.  During all those years I had devoted myself exclusively to the making of money.  Now I simply had to spend it and go through the motions of continuing to work at my profession.

My wife and I became socially ambitious.  She gave herself to this end eventually with the same assiduity I had displayed at the law.  It is surprising at the present time to recall that it was not always easy to explain the ultimate purpose in view.  Alas!  What is it now?  Is it other than that expressed by my wife on the occasion when our youngest daughter rebelled at having to go to a children’s party?

“Why must I go to parties?” she insisted.

“In order,” replied her mother, “that you may be invited to other parties.”

It was the unconscious epitome of my consort’s theory of the whole duty of man.

CHAPTER II

MY FRIENDS

By virtue of my being a successful man my family has an established position in New York society.  We are not, to be sure—­at least, my wife and I are not—­a part of the sacrosanct fifty or sixty who run the show and perform in the big ring; but we are well up in the front of the procession and occasionally do a turn or so in one of the side rings.  We give a couple of dinners each week during the season and a ball or two, besides a continuous succession of opera and theater parties.

Our less desirable acquaintances, and those toward whom we have minor social obligations, my wife disposes of by means of an elaborate “at home,” where the inadequacies of the orchestra are drowned in the roar of conversation, and which a sufficient number of well-known people are good-natured enough to attend in order to make the others feel that the occasion is really smart and that they are not being trifled with.  This method of getting rid of one’s shabby friends and their claims is, I am informed, known as “killing them off with a tea.”