to Meet Mr. Cavendish”

To Meet Mr. Cavendish” by Charles Battell Loomis is a captivating novel that combines humor and social commentary. The story centers around the character of Mr. Cavendish, who embodies the quirks and eccentricities of society during his time. Through a series of engaging encounters and witty observations, Loomis explores themes of identity, class, and human relationships. His sharp prose and keen insight into social dynamics create a vivid portrait of the era, making the novel both entertaining and thought-provoking.

• Short story

								
The card read, “To meet Mr. Cavendish.” I had not been in Boston
long, and I must confess to a poor head for names, so I had no idea
who Mr. Cavendish was or what he had done, but as he was to be at
Mrs. Emerson’s, I knew he had done something.

There were only five guests there, besides Mr. Cavendish, when I
arrived, and after we were introduced it so happened that Cavendish
and I found ourselves talking together.

He looked tired, so I said as a starter: “Don’t you find your work
exhausting?” I thought I’d play “twenty questions” with him, and
determine what he had done.

“Sometimes it is, very. The expenditure of force fairly makes my
throat ache.”

It was easy. He was probably a Wagnerian singer.

“I suppose you have to be very careful about your throat.”

“Why, no,” he said; “I never think about my throat.”

He wasn’t a singer.

“Well, you’re in love with your art.”

He smiled. “Yes, I’m in love with it.”

I was in despair. What was he?

But now I would nail him. “What are your methods of work, Mr.
Cavendish?”

“Oh, I don’t spend much time in over-elaboration. My brush-strokes
are very broad.”

Ah, a painter! “Exactly,” I said. “You like a free hand.”

He said: “After all, the words are everything.”

Ah, a writer! “Yes,” said I; “your words are everything to the
public.”

“I hope so. I try to make them so,” he said modestly.

Now I felt easier, and proceeded to praise him specifically.

“Which do you like best--to make your public laugh or cry? or do you
aim to instruct it?”

“It is easy to make persons laugh, so I suppose I like rather to
bring them to tears. As for instruction, there are those who say it
is not our province to instruct.”

“But you do all three, Mr. Cavendish.”

He bowed as if he thought I had hit it.

I said: “To those who are familiar with your work there is something
that makes you just the man to pick up for a quarter of an hour.”

His blank expression showed that I had made some mistake. He is a
tall, portly man, and he seemed alarmed at the prospect of being
picked up. A fall would be serious.

“I don’t quite get your meaning, but I suppose you refer to the men
about town who stray in for a few minutes.”

It seemed a queer way to express it, but I replied: “Oh, yes; just
to browse. You repay browsing, Mr. Cavendish.”

He smiled reminiscently. “Speaking of browsing, when I was told to
go ahead on Richelieu, I browsed a long time in the British Museum
getting up data.”

What, a painter, after all? I forgot all else he had said, and told
him I thought he was as happy as Sargent or Whistler.

“Yes; I don’t let little things worry me much. Sometimes the paint
gives out at a critical time in a small town.”

Good heaven! Why should the paint give out in a small town at a
critical time? Was he a painter, after all? Could he be a traveling
sign-painter?

“Does it bother you to work up in the air?”

“That’s an original way of putting it,” said he, with a genial laugh.
“To play to the grand stand, as it were. Oh, no; a man must do more
or less of that to succeed.”

I was shocked. “You surely don’t believe in desecrating nature!
Sermons in stones, if you will, but not sermons on stones. You
wouldn’t letter the Palisades if you had a chance, would you?”

He edged away from me, and said:

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t letter the Palisades, although I dare say my man
of affairs would be glad to.”

Then I gave up. His man of affairs! He must be a gentleman of leisure
to have a man of affairs.

And then up came Ticknor Fields, the dramatic critic, and said: “How
do you do, Mr. Cavendish? Let me congratulate you upon your success
as Richelieu. At last a successor to Booth has been found.”

I went and drank a glass of iced water. My throat was dry.
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