Etiquette · Emily Post
Every house has an outward appearance to be made as presentable as possible, an interior continually to be set in order, and incessantly to be cleaned. And for those that dwell within it there are meals to be prepared and served; linen to be laundered and mended; personal garments to be brushed and pressed; and perhaps children to be cared for. There is also a door-bell to be answered in which manners as well as appearance come into play.
Beyond these fundamental necessities, luxuries can be added indefinitely, such as splendor of architecture, of gardening, and of furnishing, with every refinement of service that executive ability can produce. With all this genuine splendor possible only to the greatest establishments, a little house can no more compete than a diamond weighing but half a carat can compete with a stone weighing fifty times as much. And this is a good simile, because the perfect little house may be represented by a corner cut from precisely the same stone and differing therefore merely in size (and value naturally), whereas the house in bad taste and improperly run may be represented by a diamond that is off color and full of flaws; or in some instances, merely a piece of glass that to none but those as ignorant as its owner, for a moment suggests a gem of value.
A gem of a house may be no size at all, but its lines are honest, and its painting and window curtains in good taste. As for its upkeep, its path or sidewalk is beautifully neat, steps scrubbed, brasses polished, and its bell answered promptly by a trim maid with a low voice and quiet courteous manner; all of which contributes to the impression of "quality" evens though it in nothing suggests the luxury of a palace whose opened bronze door reveals a row of powdered footmen.
But the "mansion" of bastard architecture and crude paint, with its brass indifferently clean, with coarse lace behind the plate glass of its golden-oak door, and the bell answered at eleven in the morning by a butler in an ill fitting dress suit and wearing a mustache, might as well be placarded: "Here lives a vulgarian who has never had an opportunity to acquire cultivation." As a matter of fact, the knowledge of how to make a house distinguished both in appearance and in service, is a much higher test than presenting a distinguished appearance in oneself and acquiring presentable manners. There are any number of people who dress well, and in every way appear well, but a lack of breeding is apparent as soon as you go into their houses. Their servants have not good manners, they are not properly turned out, the service is not well done, and the decorations and furnishings show lack of taste and inviting arrangement.
The personality of a house is indefinable, but there never lived a lady of great cultivation and charm whose home, whether a palace, a farm-cottage or a tiny apartment, did not reflect the charm of its owner. Every visitor feels impelled to linger, and is loath to go. Houses without personality are a series of rooms with furniture in them. Sometimes their lack of charm is baffling; every article is "correct" and beautiful, but one has the feeling that the decorator made chalk-marks indicating the exact spot on which each piece of furniture is to stand. Other houses are filled with things of little intrinsic value, often with much that is shabby, or they are perhaps empty to the point of bareness, and yet they have that "inviting" atmosphere, and air of unmistakable quality which is an unfailing indication of high-bred people.
Suitability is the test of good taste always. The manner to the moment, the dress to the occasion, the article to the place, the furniture to the background. And yet to combine many periods in one and commit no anachronism, to put something French, something Spanish, something Italian, and something English into an American house and have the result the perfection of American taste--is a feat of legerdemain that has been accomplished time and again.
[Illustration: "THE PERSONALITY OF A HOUSE IS INDEFINABLE, BUT THERE NEVER LIVED A LADY OF GREAT CULTIVATION AND CHARM WHOSE HOME, WHETHER A PALACE, A FARM-COTTAGE OR A TINY APARTMENT, DID NOT REFLECT THE CHARM OF ITS OWNER." [Page 132.]]
A woman of great taste follows fashion in house furnishing, just as she follows fashion in dress, in general principles only. She wears what is becoming to her own type, and she puts in her house only such articles as are becoming to it.
That a quaint old-fashioned house should be filled with quaint old-fashioned pieces of furniture, in size proportionate to the size of the rooms, and that rush-bottomed chairs and rag-carpets have no place in a marble hall, need not be pointed out. But to an amazing number of persons, proportion seems to mean nothing at all. They will put a huge piece of furniture in a tiny room so that the effect is one of painful indigestion; or they will crowd things all into one corner--so that it seems about to capsize; or they will spoil a really good room by the addition of senseless and inappropriately cluttering objects, in the belief that because they are valuable they must be beautiful, regardless of suitability. Sometimes a room is marred by "treasures" clung to for reasons of sentiment.
It is almost impossible for any of us to judge accurately of things which we have throughout a lifetime been accustomed to. A chair that was grandmother's, a painting father bought, the silver that has always been on the dining table--are all so part of ourselves that we are sentiment-blind to their defects.
For instance, the portrait of a Colonial officer, among others, has always hung in Mrs. Oldname's dining-room. One day an art critic, whose knowledge was better than his manners, blurted out, "Will you please tell me why you have that dreadful thing in this otherwise perfect room?" Mrs. Oldname, somewhat taken back, answered rather wonderingly: "Is it dreadful?--Really? I have a feeling of affection for him and his dog!"
The critic was merciless. "If you call a cotton-flannel effigy, a dog! And as for the figure, it is equally false and lifeless! It is amazing how any one with your taste can bear looking at it!" In spite of his rudeness, Mrs. Oldname saw that what he said was quite true, but not until the fact had been pointed out to her. Gradually she grew to dislike the poor officer so much that he was finally relegated to the attic. In the same way most of us have belongings that have "always been there" or perhaps "treasures" that we love for some association, which are probably as bad as can be, to which habit has blinded us, though we would not have to be told of their hideousness were they seen by us in the house of another.
It is not to be expected that all people can throw away every esthetically unpleasing possession, with which nearly every house twenty-five years ago was filled, but those whose pocket-book and sentiment will permit, would add greatly to the beauty of their houses by sweeping the bad into the ash can! Far better have stone-ware plates that are good in design than expensive porcelain that is horrible in decoration.
The only way to determine what is good and what is horrible is to study what is good in books, in museums, or in art classes in the universities, or even by studying the magazines devoted to decorative art.
Be very careful though. Do not mistake modern eccentricities for "art." There are frightful things in vogue to-day--flamboyant colors, grotesque, triangular and oblique designs that can not possibly be other than bad, because aside from striking novelty, there is nothing good about them. By no standard can a room be in good taste that looks like a perfume manufacturer's phantasy or a design reflected in one of the distorting mirrors that are mirth-provokers at county fairs.
In buying an article for a house one might formulate for oneself a few test questions:
First, is it useful? Anything that is really useful has a reason for existence.
Second, has it really beauty of form and line and color?
(Texture is not so important.) Or is it merely striking, or amusing?
Third, is it entirely suitable for the position it occupies?
Fourth, if it were eliminated would it be missed? Would something else look as well or better, in its place? Or would its place look as well empty? A truthful answer to these questions would at least help in determining its value, since an article that failed in any of them could not be "perfect."
Fashion affects taste--it is bound to. We abominate Louis the Fourteenth and Empire styles at the moment, because curves and super-ornamentation are out of fashion; whether they are really bad or not, time alone can tell. At present we are admiring plain silver and are perhaps exacting that it be too plain? The only safe measure of what is good, is to choose that which has best endured. The "King" and the "Fiddle" pattern for flat silver, have both been in use in houses of highest fashion ever since they were designed, so that they, among others, must have merit to have so long endured.
In the same way examples of old potteries and china and glass, at present being reproduced, are very likely good, because after having been for a century or more in disuse, they are again being chosen. Perhaps one might say that the "second choice" is "proof of excellence."
The subject of furnishings is however the least part of this chapter--appointments meaning decoration being of less importance (since this is not a book on architecture or decoration!), than appointments meaning service.
But before going into the various details of service, it might be a good moment to speak of the unreasoning indignity cast upon the honorable vocation of a servant.
There is an inexplicable tendency, in this country only, for working people in general to look upon domestic service as an unworthy, if not altogether degrading vocation. The cause may perhaps be found in the fact that this same scorning public having for the most part little opportunity to know high-class servants, who are to be found only in high-class families, take it for granted that ignorant "servant girls" and "hired men" are representative of their kind. Therefore they put upper class servants in the same category--regardless of whether they are uncouth and illiterate, or persons of refined appearance and manner who often have considerable cultivation, acquired not so much at school as through the constant contact with ultra refinement of surroundings, and not infrequently through the opportunity for world-wide travel.
And yet so insistently has this obloquy of the word "servant" spread that every one sensitive to the feelings of others avoids using it exactly as one avoids using the word "cripple" when speaking to one who is slightly lame. Yet are not the best of us "servants" in the Church? And the highest of us "servants" of the people and the State?
To be a slattern in a vulgar household is scarcely an elevated employment, but neither is working in a sweat-shop, or belonging to a calling that is really degraded; which is otherwise about all that equal lack of ability would procure. On the other hand, consider the vocation of a lady's maid or "courier" valet and compare the advantages these enjoy (to say nothing of their never having to worry about overhead expenses), with the opportunities of those who have never been out of the "factory" or the "store" or further away than the adjoining town in their lives. As for a nurse, is there any vocation more honorable? No character in E.F. Benson's "Our Family Affairs" is more beautiful or more tenderly drawn than that of "Beth," who was not only nurse to the children of the Archbishop of Canterbury but one of the most dearly beloved of the family's members--her place was absolutely next to their mother's in the very heart of the household always.
Two years ago, Anna, who had for a lifetime been Mrs. Gilding's personal maid, died. Every engagement of that seemingly frivolous family was cancelled, even the invitations for their ball. Not one of the family but mourned for what she truly was, their humble but nearest friend. Would it have been so much better, so much more dignified, for these two women, who lived long useful years in closest association with every cultivating influence of life, to have lived on in their native villages and worked in a factory, or to have had a little store of their own? Does this false idea of dignity--since it is false--go so far as that?
It stands to reason that one may expect more perfect service from a "specialist" than from one whose functions are multiple. But small houses that have a double equipment--meaning an alternate who can go in the kitchen, and two for the dining-room--can be every bit as well run, so far as essentials go, as the palaces of the Gildings and the Worldlys, though of course not with the same impressiveness. But good service is badly handicapped if, when the waitress goes out, there is no one to open the door, or when the cook goes out, there is no one to prepare a meal.
For what one might call "complete" service, (meaning service that is adequate for constant entertaining and can stand comparison with the most luxurious establishments,) three are the minimum--a cook, a butler (or waitress) and a housemaid. The reason why luncheons and dinners can not be "perfectly" given with a waitress alone is because two persons are necessary for the exactions of modern standards of service. Yet one alone can, on occasion, manage very well, if attention is paid to ordering an especial menu for single-handed service--described on page 233. Aside from the convenience of a second person in the dining-room, a house can not be run very comfortably and smoothly without alternating shifts in staying in and going out. The waitress being on "duty" to answer bell and telephone and serve tea one afternoon, and the housemaid taking her place the next. They also alternate in going out every other evening after dinner.
It should be realized that above the number necessary for essentials, each additional chambermaid, parlor-maid, footman, scullery maid or useful man, is made necessary by the size of the house and by the amount of entertaining usual, rather than (as is often supposed) for the mere reason of show. The seemingly superfluous number of footmen at Golden Hall and Great Estates are, aside from standing on parade at formal parties, needed actually to do the immense amount of work that houses of such size entail; whereas a small apartment can be fairly well looked after by one alone.
All house employees and details of their several duties, manners, and appearances, are enumerated below. Beginning with the greatest and most complicated establishments possible, the employee of highest rank is:
The position of companion, which is always one of social equality with her employer, exists only when the lady of the house is an invalid, or very elderly, or a widow, or a young girl. (In the latter case the "companion" is a "chaperon.")
Her secretarial duties consist in writing impersonal letters and notes and probably paying bills; she may have occasional invitations to send out, and to answer, though a lady needing a companion is not apt to be greatly interested in social activities. The companion never performs the services of a maid--but she occasionally does the housekeeping. Otherwise her duties can not very well be set down, because they vary with individual requirements. One lady likes continually to travel and merely wants a companion, (usually a poor relative or friend) to go with her. Another who is a semi-invalid never leaves her room, and the duties of her companion are almost those of a trained nurse. The average requirement is in being personally agreeable, tactful, intelligent, and--companionable!
A companion dresses as any other lady does; according to the occasion, her personal taste, her age, and her means.
The private secretary to a diplomat, since, he must first pass the diplomatic examination in order to qualify, is invariably a young man of education, if not of birth, and his social position is always that of a member of his "chief's" family.
The position of an ordinary private secretary is sometimes that of an upper servant, or, on the other hand, his own social position may be much higher than that of his employer. A secretary who either has position of his own or is given position by his employer, is in every way treated as a member of the family; he is present at all general entertainments; and quite as often as not at lunches and dinners. The duties of a private secretary are naturally to attend to all correspondence, take shorthand notes of speeches or conversations, file papers and documents and in every way serve as extra eyes and hands and supplementary brain for his employer.
The position of social secretary is an entirely clerical one, and never confers any "social privileges" unless the secretary is also "companion."
Her duties are to write all invitations, acceptances, and regrets; keep a record of every invitation received and every one sent out, and to enter in an engagement book every engagement made for her employer, whether to lunch, dinner, to be fitted, or go to the dentist. She also writes all impersonal notes, takes longer letters in shorthand, and writes others herself after being told their purport. She also audits all bills and draws the checks for them, the checks are filled in and then presented to her employer to be signed, after which they are put in their envelopes, sealed and sent. When the receipted bills are returned, the secretary files them according to her own method, where they can at any time be found by her if needed for reference. In many cases it is she (though it is most often the butler) who telephones invitations and other messages.
Occasionally a social secretary is also a social manager; devises entertainments and arranges all details such as the decorations of the house for a dance, or a programme of entertainment following a very large dinner. The social secretary very rarely lives in the house of her employer; more often than not she goes also to one or two other houses--since there is seldom work enough in one to require her whole time.
Miss Brisk, who is Mrs. Gilding's secretary, has little time for any one else. She goes every day for from two to sometimes eight or nine hours in town, and at Golden Hall lives in the house. Usually a secretary can finish all there is to do in an average establishment in about an hour, or at most two, a day, with the addition of five or six hours on two or three other days each month for the paying of bills.
Supposing she takes three positions; she goes to Mrs. A. from 8.30 to 10 every day, and for three extra hours on the 10th and 11th of every month. To Mrs. B. from 10.30 to 1 (her needs being greater) and for six extra hours on the 12th, 13th and 14th of every month. And to Mrs. C. every day at 3 o'clock for an indefinite time of several hours or only a few minutes.
Her dress is that of any business woman. Conspicuous clothes are out of keeping as they would be out of keeping in an office; which, however, is no reason why she should not be well dressed. Well-cut tailor-made suits are the most appropriate with a good-looking but simple hat; as good shoes as she can possibly afford, and good gloves and immaculately clean shirt waists, represent about the most dignified and practical clothes. But why describe clothes! Every woman with good sense enough to qualify as a secretary has undoubtedly sense enough to dress with dignity.
In a very big house the housekeeper usually lives in the house. Smaller establishments often have a "visiting housekeeper" who comes for as long as she is needed each morning. The resident housekeeper has her own bedroom and bath and sitting-room always. Her meals are brought to her by an especial kitchen-maid, called in big houses the "hall girl," or occasionally the butler details an under footman to that duty.
In an occasional house all the servants, the gardener as well as the cook and butler and nurses, come under the housekeeper's authority; in other words, she superintends the entire house exactly as a very conscientious and skilled mistress would do herself, if she gave her whole time and attention to it. She engages the servants, and if necessary, dismisses them; she sees the cook, orders meals, goes to the market, or at least supervises the cook's market orders, and likewise engages and apportions the work of the men servants.
Ordinarily, however, she is in charge of no one but the housemaids, parlor-maids, useful man and one of the scullery maids. The cook, butler, nurses and lady's maid do not come under her supervision. But should difficulties arise between herself and them it would be within her province to ask for their dismissal which would probably be granted; since she would not ask without grave cause that involved much more than her personal dislike. A good housekeeper is always a woman of experience and tact, and often a lady; friction is, therefore, extremely rare.
The management of a house of greatest size, is divided usually into several distinct departments, each under its separate head. The housekeeper has charge of the appearance of the house and of its contents; the manners and looks of the housemaids and parlor-maids, as well as their work in cleaning walls, floors, furniture, pictures, ornaments, books, and taking care of linen.
The butler has charge of the pantry and dining-room. He engages all footmen, apportions their work and is responsible for their appearance, manners and efficiency.
The cook is in charge of the kitchen, under-cook and kitchen-maids.
The nurse and the personal maid and cook are under the direction of the lady of the house. The butler and the valet as well as the chauffeur and gardener are engaged by the gentleman of the house.
The butler is not only the most important servant in every big establishment, but it is by no means unheard of for him to be in supreme command, not only as steward, but as housekeeper as well.
At the Worldly's for instance, Hastings who is actually the butler, orders all the supplies, keeps the household accounts and engages not only the men servants but the housemaids, parlor-maids and even the chef.
But normally in a great house, the butler has charge of his own department only, and his own department is the dining-room and pantry, or possibly the whole parlor floor. In all smaller establishments the butler is always the valet--and in many great ones he is valet to his employer, even though he details a footman to look after other gentlemen of the family or visitors.
In a small house the butler works a great deal with his hands and not so much with his head. In a great establishment, the butler works very much with his head, and with his hands not at all.
At Golden Hall where guests come in dozens at a time (both in the house and the guest annex), his stewardship--even though there is a housekeeper--is not a job which a small man can fill. He has perhaps thirty men under him at big dinners, ten who belong under him in the house always; he has the keys to the wine cellar and the combination of the silver safe. (The former being in this day by far the greater responsibility!) He also chooses the china and glass and linen as well as the silver to be used each day, oversees the setting of the table, and the serving of all food. When there is a house party every breakfast tray that leaves the pantry is first approved by him.
At all meals he stands behind the chair of the lady of the house--in other words, at the head of the table. In occasional houses, the butler stands at the opposite end as he is supposed to be better able to see any directions given him. At Golden Hall the butler stands behind Mr. Gilding but at Great Estates Hastings invariably stands behind Mrs. Worldly's chair so that at the slightest turn of her head, he need only take a step to be within reach of her voice. (The husband by the way is "head of the house," but the wife is "head of the table.")
At tea time, he oversees the footmen who place the tea-table, put on the tea cloth and carry in the tea tray, after which Hastings himself places the individual tables. When there is "no dinner at home" he waits in the hall and assists Mr. Worldly into his coat, and hands him his hat and stick, which have previously been handed to the butler by one of the footmen.
The Butler in a Smaller House
In a smaller house, the butler also takes charge of the wines and silver, does very much the same as the butler in the bigger house, except that he has less overseeing of others and more work to do himself. Where he is alone, he does all the work--naturally. Where he has either one footman or a parlor-maid, he passes the main courses at the table and his assistant passes the secondary dishes.
He is also valet not only for the gentleman of the house but for any gentleman guests as well.
What the Butler Wears
The butler never wears the livery of a footman and on no account knee breeches or powder. In the early morning he wears an ordinary sack suit--black or very dark blue--with a dark, inconspicuous tie. For luncheon or earlier, if he is on duty at the door, he wears black trousers, with gray stripes, a double-breasted, high-cut, black waistcoat, and black swallowtail coat without satin on the revers, a white stiff-bosomed shirt with standing collar, and a black four-in-hand tie.
In fashionable houses, the butler does not put on his dress suit until six o'clock. The butler's evening dress differs from that of a gentleman in a few details only: he has no braid on his trousers, and the satin on his lapels (if any) is narrower, but the most distinctive difference is that a butler wears a black waistcoat and a white lawn tie, and a gentleman always wears a white waistcoat with a white tie, or a white waistcoat and a black tie with a dinner coat, but never the reverse.
Unless he is an old-time colored servant in the South a butler who wears a "dress suit" in the daytime is either a hired waiter who has come in to serve a meal, or he has never been employed by persons of position; and it is unnecessary to add that none but vulgarians would employ a butler (or any other house servant) who wears a mustache! To have him open the door collarless and in shirt-sleeves is scarcely worse!
A butler never wears gloves, nor a flower in his buttonhole. He sometimes wears a very thin watch chain in the daytime but none at night. He never wears a scarf-pin, or any jewelry that is for ornament alone. His cuff-links should be as plain as possible, and his shirt studs white enamel ones that look like linen.
All house servants who assist in waiting on the table come under the direction of the butler, and are known as footmen. One who never comes into the dining-room is known as a useful man. The duties of the footmen (and useful man) include cleaning the dining-room, pantry, lower hall, entrance vestibule, sidewalk, attending to the furnace, carrying coal to the kitchen, wood to all the open fireplaces in the house, cleaning the windows, cleaning brasses, cleaning all boots, carrying everything that is heavy, moving furniture for the parlor-maids to clean behind it, valeting all gentlemen, setting and waiting on table, attending the front door, telephoning and writing down messages, and--incessantly and ceaselessly, cleaning and polishing silver.
In a small house, the butler polishes silver, but in a very big house one of the footmen is silver specialist, and does nothing else. Nothing! If there is to be a party of any sort he puts on his livery and joins the others who line the hall and bring dishes to the table. But he does not assist in setting the table or washing dishes or in cleaning anything whatsoever--except silver.
The butler also usually answers the telephone--if not, it is answered by the first footman. The first footman is deputy butler.
The footmen also take turns in answering the door. In houses of great ceremony like those of the Worldlys' and the Gildings', there are always two footmen at the door if anyone is to be admitted. One to open the door and the other to conduct a guest into the drawing-room. But if formal company is expected, the butler himself is in the front hall with one or two footmen at the door.
The Footmen's Livery
People who have big houses usually choose a color for their livery and never change it. Maroon and buff, for instance, are the colors of the Gildings; all their motor cars are maroon with buff lines and cream-colored or maroon linings. The chauffeurs and outside footmen wear maroon liveries. The house footmen, for everyday, wear ordinary footmen's liveries, maroon trousers and long-tailed coats with brass buttons and maroon-and-buff striped waistcoats.
For gala occasions, Mrs. Gilding adds as many caterer's men as necessary, but they all are dressed in her full-dress livery, consisting of a "court" coat which comes together at the neck in front, and then cuts away to long tails at the back. The coat is of maroon broadcloth with frogs and epaulets of black braiding. There is a small standing collar of buff cloth, and a falling cravat of pleated cream-colored lace worn in front. The waistcoat is of buff satin, the breeches of black satin, cream-colored stockings, pumps, and the hair is powdered. It is first pomaded and then thickly powdered. Wigs are never worn.
Mrs. Worldly however compromises between the "court" footman and the ordinary one, and puts her footmen in green cloth coats cut like the everyday liveries, with silver buttons on which the crest is raised in relief, but adds black velvet collars, and black satin waistcoats in place of the everyday striped ones. Black satin knee breeches, black silk stockings, and pumps with silver buckles, and their ordinary hair, cut short.
The powdered footman's "court" livery is, as a matter of fact, very rarely seen. Three or four houses in New York, and one or two otherwhere, would very likely include them all. Knee breeches are more usual, but even those are seen in none but very lavish houses.
To choose servants who are naturally well-groomed is more important than putting them in smart liveries. Men must be close shaven and have their hair well cut. Their linen must be immaculate, their shoes polished, their clothes brushed and in press, and their finger nails clean and well cared for. If a man's fingers are indelibly stained he would better wear white cotton gloves.
The kitchen is always in charge of the cook. In a small house, or in an apartment, she is alone and has all the cooking, cleaning of kitchen and larder, to do, the basement or kitchen bell to answer, and the servants' table to set and their dishes to wash as well as her kitchen utensils. In a bigger house, the kitchen-maid lights the kitchen fire, and does all cleaning of kitchen and pots and pans, answers the basement bell, sets the servants' table and washes the servants' table dishes. In a still bigger house, the second cook cooks for the servants always, and for the children sometimes, and assists the cook by preparing certain plainer portions of the meals, the cook preparing all dinner dishes, sauces and the more elaborate items on the menu. Sometimes there are two or more kitchen-maids who merely divide the greater amount of work between them.
In most houses of any size, the cook does all the marketing. She sees the lady of the house every morning, and submits menus for the day. In smaller houses, the lady does the ordering of both supplies and menus.
How a Cook Submits the Menu
In a house of largest size--at the Gildings for instance, the chef writes in his "book" every evening, the menus for the next day, whether there is to be company or not. (None, of course, if the family are to be out for all meals.) This "book" is sent up to Mrs. Gilding with her breakfast tray. It is a loose-leaf blank book of rather large size. The day's menu sheet is on top, but the others are left in their proper sequence underneath, so that by looking at her engagement book to see who dined with her on such a date, and then looking at the menu for that same date, she knows--if she cares to--exactly what the dinner was.
If she does not like the chef's choice, she draws a pencil through and writes in something else. If she has any orders or criticisms to make, she writes them on an envelope pad, folds the page, and seals it and puts the "note" in the book. If the menu is to be changed, the chef re-writes it, if not the page is left as it is, and the book put in a certain place in the kitchen.
The butler always goes into the kitchen shortly after the book has come down, and copies the day's menus on a pad of his own. From this he knows what table utensils will be needed.
This system is not necessary in medium sized or small houses, but where there is a great deal of entertaining it is much simpler for the butler to be able to go and "see for himself" than to ask the cook and--forget. And ask again, and the cook forget, and then--disturbance!--because the butler did not send down the proper silver dishes or have the proper plates ready, or had others heated unnecessarily.
The kitchen-maids are under the direction of the cook, except one known colloquially as the "hall girl" who is supervised by the housekeeper. She is evidently a survival of the "between maid" of the English house. Her sobriquet comes from the fact that she has charge of the servants' hall, or dining-room, and is in fact the waitress for them. She also takes care of the housekeeper's rooms, and carries all her meals up to her. If there is no housekeeper, the hall girl is under the direction of the cook.
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End of part 7 of 32
Continue readingChapter 12: The Well-Appointed House (Part 2)
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