In all the wild orgy of wastefulness
and luxury with which the nineteenth century reaches its close, the
gilded youth has been surely the worst symptom. With his airs of
young milord, his fast horses, his gold and silver cigarette-cases,
his clothes from a New York tailor, his recklessness of money showered
upon him by indulgent mothers or doting grandfathers, he respects
nothing and nobody. He is blase if you please. Watch him at a social
function how condescendingly he deigns to select a partner for the
popular waltz or two step how carelessly he shoulders older people out
of his way, with what a blank stare he returns the salutation of some
old acquaintance whom he may choose in his royal whim to forget! The
unpleasant part of all this is that the young women he so
condescendingly selects as partners for the dance greet him with
seeming rapture, though in their hearts they must feel humiliated by
his languid hauteur, and many older people beam upon him almost
fawningly if he unbends so far as to throw them a careless, disdainful
word!
One wonders what has come over the new generation.
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