My Career Goes Bung by Miles Franklin

Author:Miles Franklin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781742699455
Publisher: Allen & Unwin Pty Ltd
Published: 2012-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

SOCIETY.

I put on my white dress and stole down. Gaddy was already there, and in swallow tails looked like an egg. I found out later that his nickname was “The Egg”. Mrs. Crasterton’s head and train promised smartly for what was hidden in the big shawl. Edmée was in her little wet-night dress. There was no trace of Derek, but there was present a small insipid young man with big ears. He was unmistakably infatuated with Edmée. There was also a man about six-foot-two in a violent check suit and long faded walrus moustache.

Mrs. Crasterton had apologised for him as a sort of cousin. She said relations were so huffy that she had to overlook his not being in evening dress, that he was leaving immediately after dinner. He talked in a self-important voice to Jemima, as he call her, and did not see me at all beyond a nod when introduced as “a little girl”. His theory was that people of his class, that meant SOCIETY’S and Jemima’s, should never touch politics except for what was in them. They should feather their nests and get out while the going was good.

When the meal was eaten Big Ears and Big Checks went to the smoking room with Gaddy. Edmée disappeared upstairs. Mrs. Crasterton had still more telephoning to do, and told me to remain in the drawing-room, as Lady Hobnob was going to run in and see me on her way to a ball at Admiralty House. I must not delay her, as it was kind of her to come.

I wrote in my diary with a fountain pen sent to me by a commercial traveller at Broken Hill, until Gad seated himself nearby with an odour of wine and the stuffed look peculiar to men with short necks and long appetites. My soul did not go out to him. Mrs. Crasterton came in for a moment and said that Edmée’s admirer was not of an old family, and she pointed out a dog-eared ornament and named the howling swell from whom it had descended.

“Stow that old rubbish, Sis,” said Gad testily. “The girl is as young as morning and as fresh as dawn. She doesn’t want to concern herself with anything but being herself and not getting spoiled. Age is no recommendation of an article if a new thing would be an improvement. If we are here only to degenerate and breed rotters and find out that old things were better, the sooner we throw up the sponge the better.”

I discerned an unexpected ally.

Mrs. Crasterton threw off her shawl to meet arrivals. I was abashed to be in close proximity. Her bosom was like two vast white puddings, her waist was sinfully compressed, she rocked on silly little heels, but she was as fashionable as Wheeler, the expert, could make her. Lady Hobnob was as big as Mrs. Crasterton, but more flabby and spreading. She had her head wrapped in tulle with feathers that nodded precariously, but she was kind.

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