House Party Read Online Free PDF

buffers and orange sticks and emory boards and cuticle scissors. A fitted case of medicaments held everything, short of embalming fluid, to meet any emergency which might overtake Uncle Ned.
    A specially-made traveling desk held his correspondence, his letter paper—four kinds—his diary, notes for his memoirs, signed photographs of famous friends in silver frames, and a Douay version of The Bible. An oddly shaped container held a folding triptych, a lapis lazuli crucifix, a creche, votive lamps and a collection of unusual rosaries, for Uncle Ned was a recent convert to Roman Catholicism.
    In addition there was the emergency trunk, containing clothes for any unforeseen occasion such as a masked ball, torrential rains, a cold snap, a yachting party or a funeral of the first class.
    Then there was Sturgis' baggage, which was considerable. Where once there had been a chauffeur, a cook, a secretary and Sturgis, now Sturgis was all that remained—all Uncle Ned could afford. When he drove Mr. Pruitt, Sturgis wore his chauffeur's livery; when he attended Mr. Pruitt, Sturgis wore the sack suit of a valet; there was a white jacket—reminiscent of the dental parlor—which Sturgis wore during Mr. Pruitt's bath, massage and barbering; there was a black alpaca jacket for mending and pressing, and for exercising Mr. Pruitt's chow dog Fang; denim coveralls for washing the car; and a ticking apron for housecleaning.
    Finally there was Uncle Ned's jewel box containing the essential changes of rings, watches, studs and links for the well-turned-out male. This cargo Uncle Ned considered to be the bare minimum for a gentleman and his gentleman's gentleman over a long three-day weekend. Guarding the jewel box was Fang.
    If Uncle Ned's taste in clothes had reached its peak in 1910 and his taste in equipages in 1930, his taste in livestock had come to full flower in 1920. Uncle Ned's dog—or dogs—was always a chow named Fang. He had resisted the high, but transient, fashion of the borzoi, the scotty, the poodle and the boxer. Seated next to Uncle Ned was Fang VII, his almond eyes squinting against the sun, his amaranthine tongue hanging out. The car was, needless to say, already crowded.
    "Here we are, sir," Sturgis said, coming to a smart stop in front of a towering structure of aluminum and glass.
    "What? The Futura Building already?"
    "Yes sir."
    "What time is it, Sturgis?"
    "Twenty till three, sir."
    "Hmm, early. I well recall the day when it took a carriage thirty minutes to get from Gramercy Park up to here. Of course these were all private residences in those days. Well, punctuality is the etiquette of kings, is it not? I shall just go up and tell young Paul I'm ready. Mind you keep an eye on Fang, Sturgis." Uncle Ned descended regally from the considerable height of his car and made his imperious way into the Futura Building.
    Four seconds and thirty-five stories later, Uncle Ned stepped out of one of the Futura Building's Electronic Brain elevators. "I assume that my stomach will be up in the next lift," he said to the attendant. The elevator door slid closed behind him and he stood in the reception room of Vahan Rabadab Associates—"Architects of the Future."
    Uncle Ned put up his window-glass monocle and uttered an amazed little gasp. For Vahan Rabadab Associates certainly meant business when it came to being modern. The reception floor was covered with an abstract mosaic, derivative of Matisse, made of bottle bottoms, copper wire and chips of marble imbedded into Armstrong's linoleum. One wall was executed in blue marble with an obscenity in its grain. A second wall was banked with plants which Uncle Ned suspected of being carnivorous. A third wall was made of pre-revolutionary brick. The fourth was covered with black leather, and on it hung renderings of four new apartment buildings which Vahan Rabadab Associates were constructing.
    The room was wanly lighted by a tortured tangle of brass tubing and tiny bulbs which writhed