Theophilus North by Thornton Wilder Read Free Book Online

about the glorious trees of Newport. I told him about my theory of “The Nine Cities of Newport” (and of Schliemann’s Troy).
    â€œOh, Edweena should hear this! Edweena loves facts and pulling ideas out of facts. She’s always saying that the only thing people in Newport talk about is one another. Oh, she’d love that about the trees—and about the nine cities.”
    â€œI’ve only made out five so far.”
    â€œWell, maybe there are fifteen. You might talk it over with a friend of mine in town named Mrs. Cranston. I’ve told her about you. She’s said she wants to meet you. That’s a very special honor, professor, because she don’t make many exceptions: she only likes to see servants in the house.”
    â€œBut I’m a servant, Henry!”
    â€œLet me ask you a question: all these houses where you’ve got students—do you go in the front door?”
    â€œWell, yes . . .”
    â€œDo they ever ask you to lunch or dinner?”
    â€œTwice, but I’ve never—”
    â€œYou’re not a servant.” I was silent. “Mrs. Cranston knows a lot about you, but she says that she would be very happy, if I brought you to call.”
    â€œMrs. Cranston’s” was a large establishment within the shadow of Trinity Church, consisting of three houses that had been so adjoined that it had required merely making openings in the walls to unite them into one. The summer colony at Newport was upborne by almost a thousand servants most of whom “lived in” at their places of employment; Mrs. Cranston’s was a temporary boardinghouse for many and a permanent residence for a few. At the time of my first visit most of the great houses ( always referred to as “cottages”) had not yet been opened, but servants had been sent on in advance to prepare for the season. In a number of cases female domestics refused to pass the night “alone” in the remoter houses along the Ocean Drive. In addition Mrs. Cranston harbored a considerable number of “extra help,” a sort of labor pool for special occasions, though she made it perfectly clear that she did not run an employment agency. The house was indeed a blessing to the Seventh City—to the superannuated, to the temporarily idle, to the suddenly dismissed—justly or more often unjustly dismissed—to the convalescent. The large parlor and adjacent sitting rooms by the entrance hall furnished a sort of meeting place and were naturally filled to overflowing on Thursday and Sunday evenings. There was a smoking room off the front parlor where legalized beer and fruit drinks were served and where trusted friends of the house—men servants, coachmen, and even chefs—gathered. The dining room was reserved for residents only; even Henry had never entered it.
    Mrs. Cranston ran her establishment with great decorum; no guest ever ventured to utter an inelegant word and even gossip about one’s employers was kept within bounds. I was surprised to discover that stories of the legendary Newport—the flamboyant days before the War—were not often recalled—the wars between social leaders, the rudeness of celebrated hostesses, the Babylonian extravagance of fancy-dress balls; everyone had heard them. More recent summers had not been without great occasions, eccentricity, drama and melodrama, but such events were alluded to in confidence. Mrs. Cranston conveyed that it was unprofessional to discuss the private lives of those who fed us. She herself was present every evening, but she did not choose to sit enthroned governing the conversation. She sat at one or other of the many small tables preferring that her friends join her singly or by twos or threes. She had a handsome head, nobly coiffured, an impressive figure, perfect vision, and perfect hearing. She dressed in the manner of the ladies in whose service she had passed her younger