Never become notorious as that most unfortunate and reprehensible of mortals—the Lunch Fiend. If at a pseudo free-lunch, drink something at the bar first, if only a glass of water.

Never gorge at a luncheon, as if there were never to be a dinner-hour. A gentleman is never supposed to be ravenous.

Never indiscriminately mix your liquors at this hour. A little whisky or brandy as an appetizer, with not more than four varieties of wine while eating, and topping off with a few mugs of beer, should be quite satisfying.

Never, if at a fashionable collation, discuss business, politics or abstruse scientific problems with the fair creatures present. Sink the shop, if only for ten minutes.

Never jocosely give wrong names to well-known dishes before you. To denominate breaded cutlets “fried horse,” cold corned beef “mule-meat,” and sliced tongue “larded elephants’ ears,” may be humorous, but hardly in keeping with the light festivities of the occasion.

Never, if ignorant of certain dishes, attempt to denominate them at all. If found palatable, eat and ask no questions.

Never fail to let a lady sip out of your glass, if she entreats you to that effect. You can secretly throw away the contents afterward, but a direct insult was not embodied in the request.

Never refuse to hold a lady’s saucer of ice-cream for her, and feed her with a spoon, at her earnest request. This betrays a guileless trust in you that should be esteemed as complimentary.

Never be detected in surreptitiously stuffing your pockets with raisins, fruit-cake and peanuts. It will not be so much the theft as the detection that will cause the honest blush to mantle in your virile cheek.

Never attract a lady’s attention by playfully signaling her across the table with melon-rinds or banana-peel. To trundle a napkin-ring straight over into her lap were in better taste.

Never regale the company with detailed descriptions of similar repasts that you have enjoyed in Pekin, but where puppy-dog roasts, rat-pie and sharks’ fins were the most appetizing features. Though roars of laughter reward your recital, you are not now in the antipodes.

Never give in in a contest over a favorite turkey-bone with a spoiled child of the family. Even if his howls shatter the frescoes, never forget that you are his senior, hence his superior.

Never feed your hostess’s favorite cat or lap-dog at the lunch-table, by setting the pretty creature on your shoulder, and tossing up scraps to him between your own mouthfuls. This may be artless, but is not in the best taste.

Never neglect to quit the table after all the other guests have retired. To continue gorging and guzzling in solitary state is to make a show of yourself to the menials.

Never fail, when you have at last fully decided to give the repast a rest, to quit the room easily, though with a dignified air. To dance away with a hop, skip and a jump, while trolling out “a careless, careless tavern-catch,” or with painful grimaces, while convulsively clutching the pit of the stomach with both hands, is to hint a reflection upon the hospitality you have enjoyed. This might subject you to unflattering comment.