“That will be lovely!” exclaimed Patty; “but can you paint silver?”
“Well, I could try to get a silvery effect, at least.”
“That wouldn’t do; it must be the real thing. I think you could only get it right by using aluminum paint like they paint the letter-boxes with.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Hepworth, “that would be realistic, at least, but I see a crowd of your young friends coming this way, and I feel quite sure they mean to carry you off. So won’t you promise me a dance or two, when the time comes for that part of the programme?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, “and there is going to be dancing after the supper.”
Mr. Hepworth looked after Patty, as, all unconscious of his gaze, she went on through the rooms with the young friends who had claimed her.
Gilbert Hepworth had long realised his growing interest in Patty, and acknowledged to himself that he loved the girl devotedly. But he had never by word or look intimated this, and had no intention of doing so until she should be some years older. He, himself, was thirty-four, and he knew that must seem old indeed to a girl of seventeen. So he really had little hope that he ever could win her for his own, but he allowed himself the pleasure of her society whenever opportunity offered, and it pleased him to do for her such acts of courtesy and kindness as could not be construed into special attentions, or indication of an unwelcome devotion.
Among the group that surrounded Patty was Kenneth Harper, a college boy who was a good chum of Patty’s and a favourite with Mr. Fairfield. Marian and Frank were with them, also Bob and Bumble, the Barlow Twins, and a number of the Philadelphia young people.
This group laughed and chatted merrily until the orchestra struck up the wedding march, and an expectant hush fell upon the assembly.
At Nan’s special request, there were no bridesmaids, and when the bride entered with her father, she was, as Patty had prophesied, a perfect picture in her beautiful wedding gown.
Mr. Fairfield seemed to think so too, and his happy smile as he came to meet her, gave Patty a thrill of gladness to think that this happiness had come to her father. His life had been lonely, and she was glad that it was to be shared by such a truly sweet and lovely woman as Nan.
Patty was the first to congratulate the wedded pair, and Mr. Hepworth, who was an usher, escorted her up to them that she might do so. Patty kissed both the bride and the bridegroom with whole-hearted affection, and after a few merry words turned away to give place to others.
“Come on, Patty,” said Kenneth, “a whole crowd of us are going to camp out in one of those jolly cozy corners on the verandah, and have our supper there.”
So Patty went with the merry crowd, and found that Kenneth had selected a conveniently located spot near one of the dining-room windows.
“I’m so glad it’s supper time,” she said, as they settled themselves comfortably in their chosen retreat. “I’ve been so busy and excited to-day that I’ve hardly eaten a thing, and I’m starving with hunger. And now that I’ve got my father safely married, and off my hands, I feel relieved of a great responsibility, and can eat my supper with a mind at rest.”
“When I’m married,” said Helen Barlow, “I mean to have a wedding exactly like this one. I think it’s the loveliest one I ever saw.”
“You won’t, though, Bumble,” said Patty, laughing. “In the first place, you’ll forget to order your wedding gown until a day or two before the occasion, and of course it won’t be done. And then you’ll forget to send out the invitations, so of course you’ll have no guests. And I’m sure you’ll forget to invite the minister, so there’ll be no ceremony, anyway.”
Bumble laughed good-naturedly at this, for the helter-skelter ways of the Barlow family were well known to everybody.
“It would be that way,” she said, “if I looked after things myself, but I shall expect you, Patty, to take entire charge of the occasion, and then everything will go along like clockwork.”
“Are you staying long in Philadelphia, Miss Fairfield?” asked Ethel Banks, a Philadelphia girl, who lived not far from the Allens.
“A few days longer,” said Patty. “I have to go back to New York next Tuesday, and then no more gaiety for me. I don’t know how I shall survive such a sudden change, but after this mad whirl of parties and things, I have to come down to plain everyday studying of lessons,—but we won’t talk about that now; it’s a painful subject to me at any time, but especially when I’m at a party.”
“Me, too,” said Kenneth. “If ever I get through college, I don’t think I’ll want to see a book for the next twenty years.”
“I didn’t know you hated your lessons so, Kenneth,” said Marian. “I thought Patty was the only one of my friends who was willing to avow that she was like that ‘Poor little Paul, who didn’t like study at all.’”
“Yes, I’m a Paul too,” said Kenneth, “and I may as well own up to it.”
“But you don’t let it interfere with your work,” said Patty; “you dig just as hard as if you really enjoyed it.”
“So do you,” said Kenneth, “but some day after we have both been graduated, I suppose we’ll be glad that we did our digging after all.”
A little later, Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield went away, amid showers of confetti, and after that there was an hour of informal dancing.
Patty was besieged with partners asking for a dance, and as there was no programme, she would make no promises, but accepted whoever might ask her first at the beginning of each dance. She liked to dance with Kenneth, for his step suited hers perfectly, and her cousin Bob was also an exceptionally good dancer.
But Patty showed no partiality, and enjoyed all the dances with her usual enthusiasm.
Suddenly she remembered that she had promised Mr. Hepworth a dance, but he had not come to claim it. Wondering, she looked around to see where he might be, and discovered him watching her from across the room.
There was an amused smile on his face, and Patty went to him, and asked him in her direct way, why he didn’t claim his dance.
“You are so surrounded,” he said, “by other and more attractive partners, that I hated to disturb you.”
“Nonsense,” said Patty, without a trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment. “I like you better than lots of these Philadelphia boys. Come on.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” said Mr. Hepworth, as they began to dance, “but you seemed to be finding these Philadelphia boys very agreeable.”
“They’re nice enough,” said Patty, carelessly, “and some of them are good dancers, but not as good as you are, Mr. Hepworth. Do you know you dance like a—like a—will-o’-the-wisp.”
“I never met a will-o’-the-wisp, but I’m sure they must be delightful people, to judge from the enthusiastic tone in which you mention them. Do you never get tired of parties and dancing, Patty?”
“Oh, no, indeed. I love it all. But you see I haven’t had very much. I’ve never been to but two or three real dancing-parties in my life. Why, I’ve only just outgrown children’s parties. I may get tired of it all, after two or three seasons, but as yet it’s such a novelty to me that I enjoy every speck of it.”
Mr. Hepworth suddenly realised how many social seasons he had been through, and how far removed he was from this young débutante in his views on such matters. He assured himself that he need never hope she would take any special interest in him, and he vowed she should never know of his feelings toward her. So he adapted his mood to hers, and chatted gaily of the events of the evening. Patty told him of the many pleasures that had been planned for her, during the rest of her visit at Mrs. Allen’s, and he was truly glad that the girl was to have a taste of the social gaiety that so strongly appealed to her.
“Miss Fairfield,” said Ethel Banks, coming up to Patty, as the music stopped, “I’ve been talking with my father, and he says if you and Mr. and Mrs. Allen will go, he’ll take us all in the automobile down to Atlantic City for the week-end.”
“How perfectly gorgeous!” cried Patty, her eyes dancing with delight. “I’d love to go. I’ve never been in an automobile but a few times in my life, and never for such a long trip as that. Let’s go and ask Mrs. Allen at once.”
Without further thought of Mr. Hepworth, save to give him a smiling nod as she turned away, Patty went with Ethel to ask Mrs. Allen about the projected trip.
Mrs. Allen was delighted to go, and said she would also answer for her husband. So it was arranged, and the girls went dancing back to Mr. Banks to tell him so. Ethel’s father was a kind-hearted, hospitable man, whose principal thought was to give pleasure to his only child. Ethel had no mother, and Mrs. Allen had often before chaperoned the girl on similar excursions to the one now in prospect.
As Mr. Banks was an enthusiastic motorist, and drove his own car, there was ample room for Mr. and Mrs. Allen and Patty.
Soon the wedding guests departed, and Patty was glad to take off her pretty gown and tumble into bed.
She slept late the next morning, and awoke to find Mrs. Allen sitting on the bed beside her, caressing her curly hair.
“I hate to waken you,” said that lady, “but it’s after ten o’clock, and you know you are to go to your Cousin Helen’s to spend the day. I want you to come home early this evening, as I have a little party planned for you, and so it’s only right that you should start as soon as possible this morning. Here is a nice cup of cocoa and a bit of toast. Let me slip a kimono around you, while you breakfast.”
In her usual busy way, Mrs. Allen fluttered about, while she talked, and after putting a kimono round her visitor, she drew up beside her a small table, containing a dainty breakfast tray.
“It’s just as well you’re going away to-day,” Mrs. Allen chattered on, “because the house is a perfect sight. Not one thing is in its place, and about a dozen men have already arrived to try to straighten out the chaos. So, as you may judge, my dear, since I have to superintend all these things, I’ll really get along better without you. Now, you get dressed, and run right along to the Barlows’. James will take you over in the pony cart, and he’ll come for you again at eight o’clock this evening. Mind, now, you’re not to stay a minute after eight o’clock, for I have invited some young people here to see you. I’ll send the carriage to-night, and then you can bring your Barlow cousins back with you.”
As Mrs. Allen rattled on, she had been fussing around the room getting out Patty’s clothes to wear that day, and acting in such a generally motherly manner that Patty felt sure she must be missing Nan, and she couldn’t help feeling very sorry for her, and told her so.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Allen, “it’s awful. I’ve only just begun to realise that I’ve lost my girl; still it had to come, I suppose, sooner or later, and I wouldn’t put a straw in the way of Nan’s happiness. Well, I shall get used to it in time, I suppose, and then sometimes I shall expect Nan to come and visit me.”
CHAPTER III
ATLANTIC CITY
Patty’s day at the Barlows’ was a decided contrast to her visit at Mrs. Allen’s.
In the Allen home every detail of housekeeping was complete and very carefully looked after, while at the Barlows’ everything went along in a slipshod, hit-or-miss fashion.
Patty well remembered her visit at their summer home which they called the Hurly-Burly, and she could not see that their city residence was any less deserving of the name. Her Aunt Grace and Uncle Ted were jolly, good-natured people, who cared little about system or method in their home. The result was that things often went wrong, but nobody cared especially if they did.
“I meant to have a nicer luncheon for you, Patty,” said her aunt, as they sat down at the table, “but the cook forgot to order lobsters, and when I telephoned for fresh peas the grocer said I was too late, for they were all sold. I’m so sorry, for I do love hothouse peas, don’t you?”
“I don’t care what I have to eat, Aunt Grace. I just came to visit you people, you know, and the luncheon doesn’t matter a bit.”
“That’s nice of you to say so, child. I remember what an adaptable little thing you were when you were with us down in the country, and really, you did us quite a lot of good that summer. You taught Bumble how to keep her bureau drawers in order. She’s forgotten it now, but it was nice while it lasted.”
“Helen, Mother, I do wish you would call me Helen. Bumble is such a silly name.”
“I know it, my dear,” said Mrs. Barlow, placidly, “and I do mean to, but you see I forget.”
“I forget it, too,” said Patty. “But I’ll try to call you Helen if you want me to. What time does Uncle Ted come home, Aunt Grace?”
“Oh, about five o’clock, or perhaps six; and sometimes he gets here at four. I never know what time he’s coming home.”
“It isn’t only that,” said Bob; “in fact, father usually comes home about the same time. But our clocks are all so different that it depends on which room mother is in, as to what time she thinks it is.”
“That’s so,” said Helen. “We have eleven clocks in this house, Patty, and every one of them is always wrong. Still, it’s convenient in a way; if you want to go anywhere at a certain time, no matter what time you start, you can always find at least one clock that’s about where you want it to be.”
“I’m sure I don’t see why the clocks don’t keep the right time,” said Mrs. Barlow. “A man comes every Saturday on purpose to wind and set them all.”
“We fool with them,” confessed Bob. “You see, Patty, we all like to get up late, and we set our clocks back every night, so that we can do it with a good grace.”
“Yes,” said Helen, “and then if we want each other to go anywhere through the day,—on time, you know,—we go around the house, and set all the clocks forward. That’s the only possible way to make anybody hurry up.”
Patty laughed. The whole conversation was so characteristic of the Barlows as she remembered them, and she wondered how they could enjoy living in such a careless way.
But they were an especially happy family, and most hospitable and entertaining. Patty thoroughly enjoyed her afternoon, although they did nothing in particular for her entertainment. But Aunt Grace was very fond of her motherless niece, and the twins just adored Patty.
At five o’clock tea was served, and though the appointments were not at all like Mrs. Allen’s carefully equipped service, yet it was an hour of comfortable enjoyment. Uncle Ted came home, and he was so merry and full of jokes, that he made them all laugh. Two or three casual callers dropped in, and Patty thought again, as she sometimes did, that perhaps she liked her Barlow cousins best of all.
Dinner, not entirely to Patty’s surprise, showed some of the same characteristics as luncheon had done. The salad course was lacking, because the mayonnaise dressing had been upset in the refrigerator; the ice cream was spoiled, because by mistake the freezer had been set in the sun until the ice melted, and the pretty pink pyramid was in a state of soft collapse.
But, as Aunt Grace cheerfully remarked, if it hadn’t been that, it would have been something else, and it didn’t matter much, anyway.
It was this happy philosophy of the Barlow family that charmed Patty so, and it left no room for embarrassment at these minor accidents, either on the part of the family or their guest.
“Now,” said Patty, after dinner, “if necessary, I’m going to set all the clocks forward, for, Helen, I do want you to be ready when Mrs. Allen sends for us. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting, one bit.”
“Never mind the clocks, Patty,” said Helen good-naturedly. “I’ll be ready.” She scampered off to dress, and sure enough was entirely ready before the carriage came.
“You see, Patty,” she said, “we can do things on time, only we’ve fallen into the habit of not doing so, unless there’s somebody like you here to spur us up.”