Patty and Azalea

"Yes, let's," and gathering up her wraps, Patty rose to go.

They made their way out of the dark, crowded place, and finding the motor-car, they went straight home.

Once there, Patty flew to the nursery, and fairly snatching the baby from Nurse Winnie's arms, she held it close, and crooned loving little broken songs.

"You're all right," Mona said, laughing at her. "You've got your baby, safe and sound,—now just sit down there and enjoy her for a while."

This Patty gladly did, and Mona went in search of Farnsworth.

She finally found him, down in a distant garden, where he was looking after some planting matters.

"Come along o' me," she said, smiling at him.

Wonderingly Farnsworth looked up.

"Thought you girls went to the city," he said.

"We did,—also, we returned. Patty is in the nursery, and I want a few minutes' talk with you."

"O.K.," and the big man gave some parting instructions to a gardener and then went off with Mona. She led him to a nearby arbour, and commenced at once.

"You and I are old friends," she said, "and so I'm going to take an old friend's privilege and give you some advice, and also ask a few questions. First, who is Azalea?"

"My two or three times removed cousin."

"Are you sure?"

Farnsworth looked at her. "What do you mean, Mona?"

"What I say; are you sure?"

"Funny thing to ask. Well,—I am and—I'm not."

"Now, what do you mean?"

"I'll tell you." And then he told her how queer he thought it that Azalea had had no letters from her father since her arrival,—nor any letters at all from Horner's Corners.

"And she's so sly about it," he wound up; "why once she wrote a letter to herself, and pretended it was from her father!"

"I can't make it out," Mona mused. "If her father were dead, she'd have no reason to conceal the fact. Nor if he had remarried. And if he has done anything disgraceful—maybe that's it, Bill! Maybe he's in jail!"

"I've thought of that, Mona, and, of course, it's a possibility. That would explain her not getting letters, and her unwillingness to tell the reason. But,—somehow, it isn't very plausible. Why shouldn't she confide in me? I've begged her to,—and no matter what Uncle Thorpe may have done, it's no real reflection on Azalea."

"No; but now I've something to tell you about the girl."

Mona gave him a full account of the moving-picture play that she and Patty had visited, and told him, too, of Patty's distress over the pictures of Fleurette.

Farnsworth was greatly amazed, but, like Mona, he knew Patty could not be mistaken as to the identity of Fleurette.

"And I just thought," Mona went on, "that I'd tell you before Patty did,—for,—oh, well, this is my real reason,—Patty is so wrought up and so wild over the Fleurette matter that she can't judge Azalea fairly,—and I don't want to have injustice done to her at this stage of the game. For, Bill, Azalea has real talent,—real dramatic genius, I think, and if there's no reason against it,—except conventional ones,—I think she ought to be allowed to become a motion-picture actress. She's bound to make good,—she has the right sort of a face for the screen,—beautiful, mobile, expressive, and really, a speaking countenance. Why, she'd make fame and fortune, I'm positive."

"Oh, Mona! what utter rubbish! One of our people in the 'movies'!

Impossible!"

"I knew you'd say that! And I know Patty will say—oh, good Heavens, I don't know what Patty will say! But I do know this; she would have been sensible and would have felt just as I do about it, if it hadn't been for the Fleurette part of it. Before the baby appeared on the screen Patty was really delighted with Azalea. She was enthusiastic about her talent and her beauty,—really, Bill, she looked very beautiful in the pictures."

"Oh, Zaly is good-looking enough. But her taking our baby is—why, there's no term suitable! Where is Azalea!"

"I hope nowhere near, while you look like that!" and Mona laughed. "Your expression is positively murderous!"

"I feel almost that way! Just think, Mona, Azalea is my relative! I inflicted her on Patty, poor little Patty—"

"Oh, come now, Bill, don't overdo it! Azalea was most daring and even foolish, but not criminal. You know how she loves that child, and you know she wouldn't let harm come near her."

"But accidents might happen, for all Azalea's care and watchfulness—"

"I know that, but an accident might happen to Winnie when she takes Baby out in her coach!"

"Are you standing up for Azalea?"

"That's just what I'm doing! I'm glad you've got it through your head at last. And I ask this of you, old friend. Whatever you do or say to Azalea, think it well over beforehand. If you talk to Patty, as she is feeling now you'll both be ready to tar and feather poor Zaly; and, truly, she doesn't deserve it! Please, Bill, go slow,—and be just. Be generous if you can,—but at any rate, be just. That's all I ask. And you can't be just if you act on impulse,—so, go slow. Will you?"

"Yes, Mona,—there's my hand on it We're not often over-impulsive,—Patty and I,—but in this case we may be,—might have been,—if you hadn't warned me. You're a good girl, Mona, and I thank you for your foresight and real kindness,"

And so Farnsworth went in search of Patty with a resolve to try to reason out the matter with a fair consideration of all sides of it.

He found his wife and daughter in the nursery.

Patty had sent Winnie off, feeling that she must hold Fleurette in her arms for some time, in order to realise that she was safe from the whirling winds of that awful cyclone!

When Bill appeared, Patty began at once, and launched forth a full description of the picture play, and of Azalea's and Fleurette's parts in it.

Farnsworth sat looking at her, his blue eyes full of a contented admiration. To this simple-minded, big-hearted man, his wife and child represented the whole world. All he had, all he owned, he valued only for the pleasure it might mean to them.

"Darling," he said, as she finished the tale, "what do you think about it all?"

"Mona's been talking to you!" Patty cried, with sudden intuition.

"What! How do you know? You clair-voyant!"

"Of course I know," and Patty wagged a wise head at him. "First, because you're not sufficiently surprised,—she told you all about it! And second, because you're not furious at Azalea! Mona has talked you around to her way of thinking,—which is, that Azalea is a genius,—and that—"

"That Fleurette is another! Think of being on the screen at the tender age of six months!"

"You're a wretch! you're a monster! you're a—a—dromedary!"

Patty was feeling decidedly better about the whole matter. Having sat for nearly an hour, holding and fondling her idolised child, she realised that whatever Fleurette had gone through, she was safe now,—and that whatever was to be done to Azalea by way of punishment, was more Bill's affair than hers.

"You don't care two cents for your wonder-child! Your own little buttercup,—your daffy-downdilly baby!" she cried, in pretended reproof, and then Farnsworth took Fleurette and tossed her about until she squealed with glee.

"Oh, I guess we'll keep her," he said, as he handed her back to her mother's arms. "She's the paragon baby of the whole world, even if I don't appreciate her."

"Oh, you do! you do!" exclaimed Patty, remorseful now at having teased him. "And now, Sweet William, what's your idea of a right and proper punishment for Cousin Azalea?"

"That's a matter for some thought," he responded, mindful of Mona's words. "Look here, Patty, quite aside from Fleurette's connection with this case,—what's your opinion of Zaly as a 'movie' star?"

"She's great, dear,—she really is. And—if she weren't our relative—"

"My relative—"

"Our relative, I should advise her to go in for the thing seriously; but,—I may be over-conservative,—even snobbish, but I do hate to have our cousin's portrait all over the fences and ashbarrels, and in all the Sunday papers, and—"

"I don't mind that publicity so much as I do the possible effects on Azalea's life. I don't know that the career of a 'movie' star is as full of dangerous pitfalls as the theatrical line, but—I hate to see Azalea subjected to them,—for her own sake."

"I'm not sure we'll have anything to say in the matter," Patty observed, thoughtfully.

"She may take the bit in her own teeth. After seeing her break that bucking broncho to-day,—I don't think her as tractable and easily influenced as I did!"

"How's this plan, dearest? Suppose we don't tell Azalea, for the moment, that you saw the picture to-day, and see what she'll do next."

"All right, I'd be glad to think it over a little. We'll warn Mona not to give it away,—and nobody else knows we went there."

"Of course, I'll take up the matter of Fleurette with Azalea, separately," Farnsworth went on. "But even if she's determined on her career, I feel sure we can persuade her to leave her little assistant out of it!"

"I rather just guess we can!" and Patty cuddled the baby to her breast. "Well, the crowd will gather on the porch soon. I'll make a fresh toilette and play the serene hostess, once again."

Fleurette was given over to Winnie, and Patty, calm and happy now, ran off to dress.

"You're such a darling,—Big Billee," she whispered turning back to her husband, and she went into his embracing arms; "you always know just what is right to do."

"Especially when Mona coaches me beforehand," he laughed, unwilling to deceive her in the slightest degree.

"Pooh," said Patty, "you're so right, even Mona can't make you any righter!"

CHAPTER XV

SOME RECORDS

"Sur le pont    D'Avignon,On y dansait, on y dansait,    Sur le pont    D'Avignon,On y dansait tout le rond!"

Patty's sweet, clear soprano notes rang out gaily as she trilled the little song she had picked up in France.

"What a pretty thing," cried Elise, "teach it to me, do, Patty."

"All right, I will. But there's a record of it,—my singing,—for the phonograph. You'll learn it better from that."

"All right; Chick, come and find the record for me."

The two went into the library, leaving the others on the porch.

It was Sunday afternoon, and everybody was idle and happy. Patty was a good hostess and did not bother her guests by over-entertaining them.

But at Wistaria Porch there was always enough to do, if any one wanted to do it,—and delightful lounging places, if one were indolently inclined.

Searching among the catalogued records, Chick easily found the one Elise wanted.

"What a lot of records they have of the baby's voice!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," Elise assented, "they make them on all occasions. Patty's keeping them for her, when she grows up. Clever idea."

"Yes, but she'll have to build a town hall to keep them in! The child hasn't begun to talk yet, but here are dozens—"

"Oh, well, they'll weed them out. Some of them are awful cunning,—and one is a first-class crying spell! They never could get but one of Fleurette crying, she's such a good-natured kiddy. All right, Chick,—start it off."

They listened to the pretty little chanson, and repeated it until Elise felt satisfied she had added it to her repertory.

Just as she finished Betty Gale came flying in.

"Skip into your togs, Elise, and come for a drive with us," she said. "I've corralled Bill and Patty,—and Ray wants you,—and I," she looked saucily at Channing, "I want Mr. Chick."

"We're with you to the last ditch!" Channing replied and Elise went off for her hat.

"Shall I put away these records?" Chick asked looking at several they had been using.

"No," said Betty, carelessly, "Patty has hordes of minions who do such things. Leave them, and get your duster on. We're off,—pronto!"

"Where's Azalea?" Raymond Gale inquired, as, a few moments later, he had his merry party in his car, and took hold of the wheel.

"She and Van Reypen went for a long walk," Farnsworth replied. "And the married Farringtons have gone back to town, so this is all our party—for the moment."

"All right; here we go, then." And the big car rolled down the driveway.

"I hesitated about going," Patty demurred, "for it's Winnie's Sunday out, and I had to leave baby with Janet. I've never done it before."

"Oh, well," Betty laughed, "she'll probably sleep till you get back.

Don't babies always sleep all the afternoon?"

"Not always, but Fleurette often does. Oh, of course, she'll be all right"

"And Azalea isn't there," she added, in a low tone to her husband.

And indeed, just then, Azalea was far away from there.

She and Phil had gone for the sort of walk they both loved,—along woodland paths, cross-lots, now and then back on the highroad, and if they got too far to walk back, prepared to return by train or trolley.

The two were congenial spirits, which fact had rather surprised Van Reypen's friends. For he was a conservative, fastidious aristocrat, and though Azalea's rough edges had been rubbed down a bit by Patty's training, she was still of a very different type from the Van Reypen stock.

But they both loved the open, and they strode along, chatting or silent as fitted their mood.

"What's in your mind just now, Brownie?" he asked, as Azalea looked thoughtful.

"Why,—a queer sort of a notion. Did you ever have a premonition,—a sort of feeling that you ought to do something—"

"A hunch?"

"Yes; a presentiment that unless you do what you're told to do, there'll be trouble—"

"Who told you?"

"That's just it. Nobody,—except a—oh, a mysterious force, a—just an impulse, you know."

"Obey it if you like. May I go, too?"

"Well, it's this. Just before we turned that last corner a motor passed us, you know."

"Yes, I saw it. One of Farnsworth's,—with some of the servants in it."

"It was. Patty gives them rides in turn. Now, Winnie the nurse was in, and so it must be her Sunday out. And, of course, Patty is home there with the baby,—she never leaves her if Winnie's away, but still—I feel as if I must go home to look after that child!"

"Is that all? Let's go, then. We can walk back as well as to go on."

"But,—don't laugh, now,—I feel we ought to hurry. Let's take the trolley-car,—it isn't far to the line."

"You sure have got a hunch! But your will is my law. Wish we were near a garage,—I'm not a bit fond of Sunday trolley riding!"

"I'm not either,—but, Phil, you're awful good not to laugh at me."

"Bless your soul, I've no notion of laughing at you! Your presentiment may be the real thing,—for all I know. Anyway, if you want to go home, you're going."

So go they did, and, by the trolley-car route, arrived at the house in half an hour.

As they passed the Gales' place, on their way from the car-line to the house, Van Reypen said, "Guess I'll stop here a minute if you don't mind. I left my pet pipe here yesterday. Skip along home, and I'll follow."

Azalea went on and was surprised to find the house deserted.

She went straight to the nursery, and found Fleurette in the care of Janet, who was substitute nurse in Winnie's absence.

"Everything all right, Janet?" said Azalea.

"Yes, Miss Thorpe. Baby's had her milk, and I think she'll soon go to sleep."

"She doesn't look much like it now," and Azalea smiled at the gurgling, laughing child, who was wide awake and in frolicsome mood.

"Where's Mrs. Farnsworth?" Azalea asked.

"She went motoring with Miss Gale. They all went,—and all the help have gone too. I'm alone in the house with the baby."

"Glad I came home, then. Mr. Van Reypen is here too, and I think I'll take Fleurette down on the porch for half an hour. When she gets sleepy I'll bring her up here."

"Very well, Miss Thorpe. I'll be here."

Janet busied herself about the nursery and Azalea went downstairs with the baby in her arms.

On the vine-shaded porch they sat, and as Van Reypen stayed chatting with some of the Gale family, Azalea and the baby were each other's sole companions.

Their conversation was a little one-sided, but Azalea's remarks were mostly eulogies and compliments and Fleurette's engaging smiles seemed to betoken appreciation if not acknowledgment.

A footstep approaching made Azalea look up.

Before her stood Mr. Merritt, the assistant director of the film company.

"Good afternoon, Miss Thorpe," he said, politely; "I see the little one is in a sunshiny mood."

"Yes;" Azalea returned, but her very soul quaked with fear. Well she knew what was in this man's mind.

"And so, I'm going to ask you to run over to the studio just a few minutes and give us one more chance at a good picture of that scene."

"And I'm going to refuse," Azalea returned with spirit. "You know very well, Mr. Merritt, that I'm not going to let you pose this child again."

"I know you are,—and mighty quick, too," he retorted, in a low voice, but tones of great determination. "I know everybody is out,—you are practically alone in the house, and I know you're coming with me,—willing or not! It won't hurt the baby a mite,—I've my little car out in the road,—and if you don't consent,—I'll—"

He voiced no threat, but Azalea felt pretty sure he meant to take the baby himself if she refused to go with them.

She thought quickly, but no avenue of escape could she see. It would be utterly useless to call Janet, for she was a nervous, timid girl, and would probably run away at sight of this strange man.

The nursery, too, was on the other side of the house, and she couldn't make Janet hear if she tried.

The Gale house also was on the other side of the Farnsworth house, and so, indeed, if Azalea chose to call for help, it would do no good. Doubtless Phil would be along shortly, but there was no telling, for there was always a merry crowd on the Gale's piazza and he would stay there talking for a time.

But Merritt was impatient, and he finally broke out with; "Make up your mind, please, and quickly. Will you bring the baby quietly, or shall I just—take her along."

He held out his arms to Fleurette, who, always ready to make friends with strangers, smiled and leaned toward him.

Azalea had wild thoughts of running away,—anywhere,—but she knew the futility of such a plan. Merritt was a big and strong man, and though Azalea was a swift runner, she could not get a start without his intervening.

She tried pleading. She appealed to his manliness, his kindness, his generosity,—all with no success.

"Don't talk rubbish," he said, shortly; "you know as well as I do, it won't hurt the child. In fact, I came to get her to-day, myself, because I knew her nurse was out,—and I saw you go off,—and later, all the rest of the bunch. If you hadn't come back,—confound you! I'd have had that child over there by this time!"

Azalea gasped. So her premonition had been a true one after all! Had she not returned, Merritt would have easily overcome Janet and taken the baby off with him. She knew they would not harm Fleurette,—indeed, would be most careful of her. Unless, perhaps, they should give her soothing-sirup again. Well they'd get no chance, for Azalea was determined the baby should not be taken from her, and she most certainly was not going herself.

"You know what it will mean to you," Merritt threatened; "if I so advise Bixby, he'll throw you over. How'd you like to lose your job now that you've just begun to make good?"

"That's nothing to do with it," Azalea said, trying to speak calmly and not show how frightened she was.

But Merritt discerned it.

"All right," he said, "sorry you won't listen to reason,—but since you won't,—guess I'll have to use force."

He took hold of Fleurette's little arm, to lift her from Azalea's lap, and the touch roused the girl's wrath to boiling point.

"Don't you dare!" she cried, holding the baby tightly. "Leave,—leave at once! or I'll call for help!"

She rose, as if to make good her threat, though she knew there was no help within call.

Merritt knew it too, and he laughed at her.

"Stop this nonsense, now," he commanded roughly. "I'm going to accomplish what I came here for, so you may as well take it quietly. I can take the child without a whimper from her,—and you know it! So, why not be sensible and come along too, and look out for her yourself?"

"You shall not take her!" Azalea looked like an angry tigress.

"Gee! Wish I had you on the screen like that! You're some picture!"

"Please, Mr. Merritt," Azalea tried coaxing again, "please believe me,—I can't take Fleurette again. Her mother—why, Mr. Merritt, you have children of your own—"

"Sure I have! That's how I know how to treat 'em so well. If mine were only small enough, I wouldn't need this little cutie. Well, here goes, then!"

This time he laid such a definite hold on the baby, that Azalea could scarcely keep the child in her own arms.

In her utter desperation, a new idea struck her. She would try strategy.

"Oh, don't!" she cried, "rather than have you touch her, I'll go—I'll take her. Let me get her cap and coat."

"Where are they?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Right here, in the library,—just across the hall."

"Go on, then,—I trust you, 'cause I think you're sensible. I'd go along and keep you in sight, but I want to keep watch if anybody comes. But you sing, or whistle or something, so's I'll know you're right there."

"All right," and Azalea's heart beat fast, for she had a splendid scheme.

Into the library she carried Fleurette, singing as she went, and once in the room, she put the baby on a chair and flew for the record rack.

Quickly she found the record of the baby's crying spell and put it in place in the phonograph.

Then, picking up Fleurette, she set the needle going and hurried from the room.

Merritt, hearing the cries, screams and sobs, scowled with anger at the baby's fit of ill temper, but never dreamed that it was not really the child crying at all.

So Azalea had ample chance to escape by a back door from the library, and crossing the dining-room went out on a side porch that faced the Gale place.

Looking carefully to see that Merritt had not followed her, and listening a moment to learn how much longer the record,—of which she knew every familiar sound,—would last, she ran with all the speed of which she was capable over to the Gales'.

Van Reypen was just taking leave, and he, as well as the others present, looked in amazement at the flying figure coming nearer and nearer until Azalea reached the group.

"Take her," she said to Mrs. Gale, as she gave her the baby, "keep her safe—safe!"

And then Azalea went flying back.

The record was finished,—and with the sudden stop of the child's crying Merritt had started into the library to see what it meant.

There Azalea found him, and she faced him bravely.

"That baby is safe," she said, "where you can't get at her! And now I will tell you what I think of you! You are a thief and a scoundrel! You don't deserve to be allowed to carry on a reputable business! I don't want any further connection with you or your company. I am proud to be fired from such a lot of bandits as you people are!"

So angry was she, and so unguarded as to what she was saying that she fairly flung the words at him.

For a moment he was stunned at her wild tirade, and then his artist instinct was stirred,—for the picture she made was beautiful and dramatic. She had no thought of this, for she was in earnest, and her whole soul was up in arms at thought of the threatened abduction of Fleurette. And, so, knowing that the child was safe with Mrs. Gale, she let the vials of her wrath pour forth on the villain who had so aroused it, and her voice was raised in scathing obloquy.

"All right!" Merritt said, as she paused from sheer want of breath, "I'll take my beating, if you'll go over to the studio with me and repeat this scene. Let me pose you while you're in this humour,—you'll never reach such heights again!"

"Nor will I ever pose for you again! I'm through with you,—all of you, and all the moving-picture business! I was warned to keep out of it,—but I didn't know what wretches I would find in it! Go! Go at once! and never let me see your face again!"