gave a reception, and at the close of the account it said, 'The supper was
furnished by Calizetti, and the genius by the Récamier Salon (Limited)'?"
suggested Elizabeth, scornfully.

"I must admit," replied the French lady, "that you call up an unpleasant
possibility, but I don't really see what else we can do if we want to
preserve the salon idea. Somebody has told these talented people that they
have a commercial value, and they are availing themselves of the demand."

"It is a sad age!" sighed Elizabeth.

"Well, all I've got to say is just this," put in Xanthippe: "You people
who get up functions have brought this condition of affairs on yourselves.
You were not satisfied to go ahead and indulge your passion for lions in a
moderate fashion. Take the case of Demosthenes last winter, for instance.
His wife told me that he dined at home three times during the winter. The
rest of the time he was out, here, there, and everywhere, making
after-dinner speeches. The saving on his dinner bills didn't pay his
pebble account, much less remunerate him for his time, and the fearful
expense of nervous energy to which he was subjected. It was as much as she
could do, she said, to keep him from shaving one side of his head, so that
he couldn't go out, the way he used to do in Athens when he was afraid he
would be invited out and couldn't scare up a decent excuse for refusing."

"Did he do that?" cried Elizabeth, with a roar of laughter.

"So the cyclopædias say. It's a good plan, too," said Xanthippe. "Though
Socrates never had to do it. When I got the notion Socrates was going out
too much, I used to hide his dress clothes. Then there was the case of
Rubens. He gave a Carbon Talk at the Sforza's Thursday Night Club, merely