The Sunday Eight O'Clock/Who Pays?
"I'VE just been up at their country place visiting the Simpkinses," George remarked to me this fall. "Cadillac, motor boat, house party, fine board, no laundry bill, nothing to pay; pretty soft."
I had met Simpkins at the end of August, and he had told me what a grind the summer had been to him. "I've had to work early and late," he said. "That family of mine had a tearing good time up north with their friends, but the bills were tremendously heavy, and you know somebody always has to pay."
The Beta Tau Sigma party, the papers said, had set a new standard for social events in this community. Nothing was lacking to make it a success—cabs, evening clothes (mostly rented), favors, theatre party, seven course luncheon—it cost a pretty sum. I wondered who was paying; father at home getting up early and going to bed late? Sister teaching, or clerking, or nursing? Mother going without the new gown or the vacation trip of which she was very much in need? These things more often than otherwise mean sacrifice; for some one has to pay.
Parker cut a pretty wide swath last year in college. He had the latest clothes; he never missed a good show—or a bad one; if anything was going on he could be found sitting in the front row, and there were unpleasant rumors about his associates. I knew his being in college was pinching at home a good deal, but his folks were quite willing to make the sacrifice in order that he might have the advantages that they had been denied. It wouldn't have been so bad if he had paid his part by boning on his college work. Mother could perhaps have afforded to deny herself a spring bonnet if son had needed the money to buy a Phi Beta Kappa pin; but as it was he finished the year in debt to every one and with a scholastic average of fifty nine. Those who were paying got little for their money.
For every good time you have, for every luxury you enjoy, for every dissipation in which you indulge or graft which you take advantage of, somebody is having to pay. You may charge the account at times, but ultimately the bills come in with interest.
It is better on the whole for each man to pay his share of the bill. No one respects a boy who is always eager to sit in, but who never reaches, or reaches far enough, for the check. He's a yellow sport and an unworthy son if he doesn't play the game fairly, economize occasionally, and square his half of the account by a return of manly character and good scholarship.
October