Patty and Azalea

"Brush it, you mean?"

"Yes; clean it and press it properly."

"My land! does your servant do that?"

"Certainly. And leave your street shoes out for her to attend to."

"Oh,—I see! She's a regular outfit! Well, I never had a maid,—but I guess I can stand one."

Janet re-entered the room at this moment, and with an attempted air of grandeur, Azalea flung herself into a low chair, and stuck out her foot to have her shoe removed.

Patty gasped. The girl changed so quickly from independence to apparent helplessness, and yet her manner was so crude and overbearing, that it was doubtful how the maid would take it.

However, Janet was not only a well-trained servant, but she adored her mistress and not for worlds would she have failed in her duty.

Quietly and respectfully she knelt before Azalea and took off her shoes and waited on her as she would have waited on any of Patty's more cultured friends.

"Yes, put on a kimono, Azalea," Patty said, this time in a decided tone, and Azalea obeyed.

Then the tea tray was brought and the two sat together for a time.

Patty was up against a crisis. She had been thinking deeply ever since

Azalea's arrival, and she was still perplexed.

Should she try now to reform the girl,—improve her manners, or at least her general attitude,—or, should she leave her to her own ways for a time, and trust to her observation of other people to show her her own faults?

It was almost impossible not to correct some of Azalea's ignorant mistakes, but still more difficult to ignore her over readiness to adapt herself to what she thought was the proper behaviour toward servants.

On the latter point Patty permitted herself a word when they were alone.

"Be a little careful with Janet," she said, pleasantly. "She's a bit peculiar as to disposition. A splendid maid, and a most capable girl,—but she doesn't like to be ordered about too definitely. You see, she knows her duties so well, and is so efficient, that it's really unnecessary to give her directions."

"Oh, pooh, she's only a servant. You oughtn't to stand for her airs. Why, our girl at home,—she was a Tartar! But I tamed her. I've a way with them—"

"Please, Azalea," and Patty smiled ingratiatingly, "remember, won't you, that this is my house and these are my servants. I have my own ways of treating them, and I'm going to ask you to work with me,—not against me."

"Dunno what you mean! I've no notion of working against you, Cousin. And don't you be high and mighty with me! We'll get along all right, if you meet me half way, but—"

Patty saw her chance. "Good, Azalea! There's my hand on that! We'll meet each other half way, and you consider my wishes and I'll consider yours."

The danger point was passed and Azalea smiled again.

"I want to see the baby," she said suddenly. "I love babies."

"To-morrow, please. She's asleep now."

"Well, I can look at her. I won't wake her. I'll be awful careful."

This interest in Fleurette touched Patty's mother heart, and she consented.

"Can I go this way?" said Azalea, looking at her kimono.

This garment was,—not entirely to Patty's surprise,—a horror of gaily flowered silkoline, but as they would see no one but the nurse, she said, "Yes; come along."

To the nursery they went and there, in her bassinette lay the baby, asleep. She looked like a lovely little flower, indeed, and Patty gazed with adoring eyes at the flushed little face.

"Oh!" cried Azalea, aloud, "what an angel baby!"

"Hush!" whispered Patty, "don't wake her!" and Nurse Winnie stood around in a state of nervous apprehension.

"No, I won't," Azalea said, in such a loud whisper, that it was scarce a whisper at all,—rather a muffled shout.

And then she poked her forefinger into the baby's roseleaf cheek.

"Pretty!" she said, beaming at the child.

"Oh, don't touch her!" Patty cried out. "Come away, Azalea!" for she really didn't know what the strange girl would do next.

"Pshaw! I didn't hurt her. If she's such a touch-me-not, she's no fun at all! But every-body's like that with their first baby! Silly! Fussy! Just ridiculous!"

"I daresay," laughed Patty, determined not to show her annoyance. "But it's time to dress for dinner,—or nearly. Come back to your room,—and—wouldn't you like to take a fifteen minute nap? It might refresh you."

"It would not! Take a nap in broad daylight! I never heard of such a thing! Oh, well, if I can't speak to that kid let's go back to my room. I'll skittle into my frock and go down to that flowery, bowery piazza again. I like that."

"What shall you put on?" asked Patty, interestedly, as Azalea made a mad dive into her trunk.

"Dunno. What say? This?" She held up a mussy looking white muslin, trimmed with coarse embroidery and some imitation lace.

"That will do nicely," Patty said, relieved that it was at least white, and not some of the flamboyant effects she saw still in the trunk. "Janet will press it off for you,—it's rumpled from packing. And then you needn't unpack, dear, Janet will do that for you."

"Oh, I thought you told me not to call on the servant for anything!"

"No," Patty said, discouraged, "I didn't quite say that,—here's Janet now. Let her do your hair for you!"

"Do my hair! Mercy gracious! I should say not! I've never had that done for me."

"But I'm sure you'll be pleased with the way she'd do it. Janet is an artist at hair-dressing."

"Nopy! nix on the barber act for little Zaly! I'll comb my own wig, thank you!"

With a comb, she stood before the cheval glass, and twisted up the dark mop into a tidy but most unbecoming coil.

"Don't you care how it looks?" cried Patty, in dismay. "Really, don't you? And you've such pretty hair!"

"Then if it's pretty hair, it doesn't need any fancy doing," and Azalea gave a whimsical smile. "There, that's done. Now for my frock."

Janet had whisked the white muslin away, and already had it back, pressed and freshened.

"Lovely!" Azalea exclaimed; "how ever did you do it so quick? Happen to have an iron on the stove?"

"Electric iron," said Patty, briefly. "They're always handy, you know."

"Never saw one. No, Miss Janet,—not that way, it hooks in the back."

At last, Azalea was attired, and looked fairly presentable in her white frock; though having no white shoes and stockings she wore black ones.

"I'd like white ones," she said, apologetically, "but I could only have two pairs so I got black and the ones I wore here."

"Quite right," said Patty, appreciatively; "I'll be glad to get you some white ones. They'd be pretty with this frock."

"Oh, thank you. I'd love to have 'em. Where we going now?"

"Suppose you come to my room, while I dress," Patty suggested, thinking an object lesson in the arts of the toilette might not be amiss.

"O.K.," and the visitor strode along by the side of her hostess.

They were a contrast! Patty, dainty, graceful and sweet, was the very antithesis of tall, gawky Azalea, with her countrified dress and badly made black shoes. Her careless air, too, was unattractive,—for it was not the nonchalance of experience, but the unselfconsciousness of sheer ignorance of urban ways and manners.

"My land! what a room," the country girl ejaculated, as they entered Patty's boudoir. "How ever can you live in this fancy place! It's like a picture!"

"It is," agreed Patty, pleased at the comment. "But I love it. I'm afraid I'm too fond of soft lights and pretty appointments, and delicate fragrance."

"Well, you've got it! My land! I'm afraid to move around! I don't want to break anything."

"You won't," laughed Patty. "Sit there, and we can talk while I get into my gown. I do my own hair, too," and she shook down her mop of golden curls, to Azalea's hearty admiration.

CHAPTER VI

TABLE MANNERS

Patty's dining-room was beautiful. She argued that as an appreciable percentage of one's waking hours were spent there, care and thought should be given to its appointment.

The colouring was soft old blue, and the furniture of mahogany. The lights were pleasantly shaded and the sideboards and cabinets showed attractive silver and glass in immaculate order.

"The flowers are in your honour," said Patty, smiling, as they took their places at the table, in the centre of which was a bowl of azaleas.

"Ho, ho! You needn't have done that! I ain't accustomed to such grand things."

"Now, Azalea, flowers on the table aren't especially grand. I think I should have them,—if I could,—if I were eating in the middle of the Desert of Sahara."

"I believe you would," said Bill, smiling at her; "Patty is a flower-worshipper, Zaly. Zaly's the name your mother called you when you were a tiny mite. Tell me about your father? Was he willing to be left alone?"

"Oh,—he didn't mind. What lovely silver you have, Patty."

"Yes; they are my wedding presents."

"Oh, tell me all about your wedding!"

"I didn't have any. I mean, not a big reception and all that. We were married in haste,—so we could have a chance to repent at leisure,—if we want to."

"And do you?" asked Azalea, with such a serious air that the other two laughed.

"I haven't had leisure enough for that yet," Bill declared.

"And I don't know what leisure means," Patty said. "I'm busy from morning till night. If we ever get any leisure,—either of us,—perhaps we'll begin on that repentance performance."

But Patty's happy face, as she turned it toward her husband, left little doubt as to her state of satisfaction with her life. Though, as she said, she was always busy, it was by her own wish, and she would have been miserable if she had had nothing to do.

Azalea, as Bill expressed it later to Patty, was a whole show!

The girl was ignorant of manners and customs that were second nature to her hosts, and was even unacquainted with the uses of some of the table furniture.

But this they had expected, and both Patty and Bill were more than ready to ignore and excuse any lapses of etiquette.

However, they were not prepared for Azalea's attitude, which was that of self-important bravado. Quite conscious of her shortcomings, the girl's nature was such that she preferred to pretend familiarity with her strange surroundings and she assumed an air of what she considered elegance that was so funny that the others had difficulty to keep from laughing outright.

She was especially at great pains to extend her little finger when she raised a glass or cup, having evidently observed the practice among people she admired. This finally resulted in her dropping the glass and spilling water all over her dinner plate.

"Hang it all!" she cried; "ain't that me! Just as I get right into the swing of your hifalutin ways, I go and upset the applecart! Pshaw! You'll think I'm a country junk!"

"Not at all," said Patty, kindly, "'twas an accident that might happen to anybody. Norah will bring you a fresh plate. Don't think of it."

"No, I won't have a fresh plate. I'm going to keep this one, to serve me right for being so awkward." And no amount of insistence would persuade the foolish girl to have her plate changed.

"Nonsense, Azalea!" Farnsworth remonstrated, "you can't eat that chicken, floating around in a sea of potato and water! Don't be a silly! Let Norah take it."

"No, I won't," and a stubborn look came into the black eyes. But in the meantime, Norah had attempted to remove the plate,—carefully, not to spill the water.

Azalea made a clutch at it, and succeeded in overturning the whole thing,—and the food fell, partly in her lap and partly on the pretty tablecloth.

"Never mind," said Patty, gaily. "Leave it all to Norah,—she'll do a conjuring trick."

And sure enough, the deft waitress whisked the details of the accident out of sight, spread a large fresh napkin at Azalea's place, set another plate for her, and was passing her the platter of chicken almost before she realised what was going on.

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed; "that was some stunt! Say, I'm sorry, Cousin Patty,—but I'm a little kerflummixed,—and I may as well own up to it."

"Oh, don't be that!" Patty laughed, carelessly. "Forget the past and enjoy a piece of hot chicken. It's real good,—isn't it?"

"It's great! I never tasted anything like it!" Whereupon, Azalea took in her fingers a wing and, with both elbows on the table, proceeded to enjoy it in her own informal way. But both little fingers were carefully extended at right angles to the others. She glanced at them now and then, to make sure.

Her equanimity restored by Patty's kindliness and tact, the girl lapsed into what was, doubtless, her customary way of eating. She displayed undue gusto, smacked her lips at the appearance of a dainty dish and when the dessert proved to be ice cream, she rolled her eyes ceilingward, and patted her chest in a very ecstasy of anticipation.

It was too much for Farnsworth. He appreciated Patty's patience and endurance, but he knew just how she felt. And it was his cousin who was acting like a wild Indian at their pretty home table!

"Azalea," he said,—Norah had left the dining-room,—"who brought you up?

Your mother died some years ago. With whom have you lived since?"

"Why,—oh,—only with Papa."

"But Uncle Thorpe,—I remember him well,—was a simple soul, but he was a quiet, well-behaved man. Why didn't he teach you to be more restrained in your ways,—especially at table?"

"Restrained? Oh, you mean I eat too much! Well, I have got a big appetite, but to-night I guess I'm specially hungry. Or else your eats are specially good! You don't mind how much I eat, do you, Cousin Patty?"

"Of course she doesn't," Farnsworth went on, trying to look severe but obliged to smile at Azalea's total unconsciousness of any wrong manners on her part. "But she does care if you behave like a 'wild and woolly,' although she's too polite to say so!"

"Wild and woolly nothing! I've been awful careful to crook out my finger,—and that's the very reason why I upset the tumbler!"

"That's true," agreed Patty, "and so, Zaly, suppose you discontinue that habit. It isn't done this year."

"Honest? That so? I'd be mighty glad to quit it!"

"Do, then," put in Bill. "And while we're on the subject, you won't mind if I go into it a little more deeply,—will you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, they don't put elbows on the table this season as much as formerly."

"Pooh! I know that! I didn't mean to,—but I forgot. I guess I know how to behave,—if I don't always do it!"

"I'm glad you do, Zaly,—and, listen, dear, you're my relative, you know, and I'm going to ask you to try to use your knowledge,—for Patty is too polite to mention such subjects!"

"Oh, I don't mind! Pick on me all you like,—either of you. I suppose there are some frills I'm not onto,—but I'm quick at catchin' on,—and I'll get there, Eli!"

Norah returned then, and the subject was not continued. Coffee was served in the library and the small cups excited Azalea's scorn.

"Skimpy, I call it!" she cried. "And where's the milk?"

"You may have cream if you wish it, Azalea," said Patty, a little tired of smiling. "Norah will bring some."

"Oh, let me get it," and Azalea jumped up. "I remember, Patty, you told me not to trouble the servants too much."

"Sit down!" Farnsworth said, in a tone that made Azalea jump. "Wait for

Norah to bring it."

"Oho! you believe in making the lazy things work, don't you! What's the use of hiring a dog, and doing your own barking? That's right!"

Patty struggled with her annoyance, overcame it, and making a gesture to Bill to keep quiet, she warded off his angry explanations, and took the situation in her own hands.

"Here's cream, Azalea," she said, as the maid reappeared, "many people like it in after dinner coffee, and you're very welcome to it."

"Licking good!" was the verdict, as Azalea stirred her coffee, and drank the tiny cupful at one draught. "The sample's fine! I'll take a regular sized cup, please."

"For breakfast," smiled Patty. "That's all we serve at night. Are you fond of music, Azalea?"

"You bet! Why, we've got some records that are just bang-up!"

"I remember Uncle Thorpe was quite a singer," said Bill; "do you sing, too?"

"Not so's you'd notice it! My voice is like—"

But the description of Azalea's singing voice was interrupted by the entrance of two young people. Betty Gale and her brother Raymond stepped in at the open French window, and laughingly announced themselves as daring intruders.

"Very welcome ones," declared Patty, jumping up to greet them, and then

Farnsworth introduced Azalea.

"You're the real purpose of our visit," said Betty, her charming little face alight with gay welcome. "We adore our neighbours, and they simply worship us,—so we're quite prepared to take any friends or relatives of either of them into our hearts and homes."

"My!" said Azalea, unable to think of any more fitting response, and taking Betty's outstretched hand, with her own little finger carefully extended.

Betty Gale's eyes opened wide for a fraction of a second, then she as quickly accepted the situation, and said, cordially, "I'm sure we shall be friends. And you must like my scapegrace brother, too, if only for my sake."

"At first," supplemented Raymond, as he stepped toward Azalea, "but as soon as you know me better, you'll love me for myself alone,—I feel sure of that!"

"My!" said Azalea again. Her bravado deserted her in the presence of these two merry visitors. They seemed so at ease, so knowing, so carelessly polite, that Azalea felt as if they were beings from some other sphere. The Farnsworths, she knew, made allowance for her because she was a guest in their household, but these people seemed to expect her to be like themselves, and she suddenly realised she couldn't be as they were.

A strange contradictory streak in her nature often made her assume an accomplishment she did not possess, and now, knowing she couldn't chat in their lively fashion, she took refuge in an attitude of bold hilarity, and talked loud and fast.

"I'll love you, if you make love to me good and proper," she said, with a burst of laughter. "But I've got a beau back home, who'll go for you, if he knows it!"

"Oh, we'll keep it secret," returned young Gale; "I'm awfully good at keeping secrets of that sort! Trust me. And it shall be my earnest endeavour to cut out said beau. Meet me halfway, won't you?"

"Yes, indeed, and then some! I'm a great little old halfway meeter, you bet!"

"I'm sure of it!" Gale was laughing now. "Let's go out on the verandah and talk it over."

"Don't trust him too implicitly, Miss Thorpe," warned Betty; "my brother is a first-grade scalawag,—and I want you to be forewarned!"

"There, there, Sis, I'll do my own forewarning. Come along, Miss Thorpe, we'll sit under the spreading wistaria tree."

The two disappeared, and there was a moment's silence, and then Patty said,

"Our cousin is from Arizona, and it's hard for her, at first, to adapt herself to our more formal ways. It must be great out there,—all wide spaces, and big, limitless distances—"

"God's country!" said Farnsworth, who always had a love for his Western wilds.

"Nix!" cried Betty, "I've been there, and it's just one cactus after another!"

"Well, cactuses are all right,—in their place," said Patty, smiling.

"They're as much verdure as maples or redwoods."

"Quite different kind of verdure," said Betty. "Now, Patty, I want to do something for your cousin,—right away, I mean, to help you launch her."

"Oh, no, Betty; you're awfully kind, but—"

"Yes, I shall, too. I'm your nearest neighbour, and it's my right. I suppose you'll give her a luncheon or something, first, and then I'll follow it with a tea, or a dance, or whatever you like. There'll be lots of things for her later on, so I want to get my bid in first. How pretty she is."

"You're a darling, Betty," cried Patty, enthusiastically, touched by her friend's kindness, "but,—well, there's no use mincing matters,—I'm not sure Azalea is quite ready to be presented to society."

"Oh, but your cousin—"

"Indeed she isn't!" put in Farnsworth, "I want you to understand that she's my cousin,—not Patty's. And, also my wife's quite right,—Azalea is not ready for social functions,—of any sort. You see, Betty, we can't blink the facts,—she's of the West, western,—in the least attractive sense. I'm fond of my home, and unashamed of my people, but all the same, I'm not going to have Patty embarrassed by the ignorance and awkwardness of an untutored guest. And so here's where I set my foot down. We accept no invitations for Azalea until we think she is in trim to make a correct appearance in society."

"Oh, Cousin Bill, I overheard you and I think you're just horrid!" Azalea came running back into the room, while Raymond Gale followed, evidently in a dilemma how to act.

"Cousin Patty would let me go, I know, and I want to go to Miss Gale's to a party! Just because I upset a glass of water at dinner, you're mad at me! It isn't fair! I think you're real mean!"

The girl went up to Farnsworth and almost scowled at him as she awaited his response.

But he looked at her steadily,—even sternly.

"Of course it must be as Patty says," he told her, at last, "but I will say, Azalea, that I'm surprised at you—"

"Why should you be surprised at me? You invited me to come and see you. If I'm not good enough to visit you, I'll go home again. You didn't ask me any questions,—you just said come along,—and I came. I ain't a swell,—like these friends of yours,—but I am your cousin, and you've got no right to scorn me!"

"That's so, Bill," Patty said, seriously; "and here's another thing. Betty has met Azalea now,—she knows just what she is. If she still cares to ask her to her house, I shall approve of her going. I want to do all I can for our cousin, and there's no better way to teach people to swim, than to throw them into the water!"

"Bully for you, Cousin Patty!" Azalea cried, her eyes snapping at Bill.

"I'm not so bad as I might be, and I'll do just what you tell me."

"I'm sure you will," agreed Betty, and Farnsworth looked at her appreciatively, feeling a deep sense of gratitude at the way she was helping Patty out.

"It seems hard on you, Azalea," he went on, "to talk of you like this,—as if you were not present,—but it is so. You need,—I'm not going to hesitate to tell you,—you need a thorough training in matters pertaining to polite society. Unless you are willing to accept our teachings and do your best to profit by them,—I am going to send you back home! For much as I want to be kind and helpful to my young cousin,—I will not even try, if it makes my wife any trouble or embarrassment."

"Oh, pshaw, Little Billee,—leave Azalea to me,—I can manage her."

"You can't, Patty, without her cooperation and willingness. Will you promise those, Azalea?"

"Sure I will! I'm a great little old promiser,—I am!"

"And will you keep your promises?"

"You bet! I don't want to go home when I've just got here! And if my learning things is my meal ticket,—then I'm ready to learn."

Farnsworth sighed. He had had, as yet, no chance to talk to Patty alone, since their misfit visitor had arrived. He had been firmly resolved to send her home again,—until now, that Patty and Betty seemed willing to take her in hand. If they were, it would be a great injustice to the Western girl not to give her the chance to learn refinement and culture from those two who were so well fitted to teach her.

And, anyway,—he continued to muse,—perhaps Azalea's worst faults were superficial. If she could be persuaded to amend her style of talk and her gauche manners, perhaps she was of a true fine nature underneath. His Uncle,—so-called,—and his Aunt Amanda, he remembered as kindly, good-hearted people, of fair education, though lacking in elegance.

"Oh, don't take it so seriously," cried the vivacious Betty, as she noted Farnsworth's thoughtful face: "leave the little girl to us for a few weeks,—and you will be surprised at the result! You'll do just as I tell you,—won't you, Azalea?"

"If you tell me the same as Cousin Patty," was the reply, and the strange girl gave Patty a look of loyalty and admiration that won her heart.