Patty's Summer Days

“Oh, Nan,” she cried in dismay, “I’m not nearly ready for commencement! I haven’t copied my poem yet, and I haven’t had a minute to practice reading it for the last two weeks. What shall I do?”

“That’s all attended to,” said Nan,—“the copying, I mean. You’ve been so busy doing other people’s work, that of course you haven’t had time to attend to your own, so I gave your poem to your father, and he had it typewritten for you, and here it is all ready. Now, while you dress, I’ll read it to you, and that will bring it back to your memory.”

“Nan, you are a dear,” cried Patty, jumping up and flying across the room to give her stepmother a hearty caress. “Whatever would I do without you? I’m all right now, and if you’ll just elocute that thing, while I array myself in purple and fine linen, I’m sure it will all come back to me.”

So Nan read Patty’s jolly little class poem line by line, and Patty repeated it after her as she proceeded with her toilette.

She was ready before the appointed time, and the carriage was at the door, but Nan would not let her go.

“No, my lady,” she said, “you don’t stir out of this house until the very last minute. If you get over there ahead of time, you’ll begin to make somebody a new costume, or build a throne for the fairy queen, or some foolish trick like that. Now you sit right straight down in that chair and read your poem over slowly, while I whip into my own clothes, and then we’ll go along together. Fred can’t come until a little later anyway. Sit still now, and don’t wriggle around and spoil that pretty frock.”

Patty obeyed like a docile child, and Nan flew away to don her own pretty gown for the occasion.

When she returned in a soft grey crêpe de chine, with a big grey hat and feathers, she was such a pretty picture that Patty involuntarily exclaimed in admiration.

“I’m glad you like it,” said Nan, “I want to look my best so as to do you credit, and in return I want you to do your best so as to do me credit.”

“I will,” said Patty, earnestly, “I truly will. You’ve been awfully good to me, Nan, and but for you I don’t know what I should have done.”

Away they went, and when they reached the schoolroom, and Patty went to join her classmates, while Nan took her place in the audience, she said as a parting injunction, “Now mind, Patty, this afternoon you’re to attend strictly to your own part in the programme. Don’t go around helping other people with their parts, because this isn’t the time for that. You’ll have all you can do to manage Patty Fairfield.”

Patty laughed and promised, and ran away to the schoolroom.

The moment she entered, half a dozen girls ran to her with questions about various details, and Nan’s warning was entirely forgotten. Indeed had it not been for Hilda’s intervention, Patty would have gone to work at a piece of unfinished scenery.

“Drop that hammer!” cried Hilda, as Patty was about to nail some branches of paper roses on to a wobbly green arbour. “Patty Fairfield, are you crazy? The idea of attempting carpenter work with that delicate frock on! Do for pity’s sake keep yourself decent until after you’ve read your poem at least!”

Patty looked at Hilda with that same peculiar vacantness in her glance which she had shown in the morning, and though Hilda said nothing, she was exceedingly anxious and kept a sharp watch on Patty’s movements.

But it was then time for the girls to march onto the platform, and as Patty seemed almost like herself, though unusually quiet, Hilda hoped it was all right.

The exercises were such as are found on most commencement programmes, and included class history, class prophecy, class song and all of the usual contributions to a commencement programme.

Patty’s class poem was near the end of the list, and Nan was glad, for she felt it would give the girl more time to regain her poise. Mr. Fairfield had arrived, and both he and Nan waited anxiously for Patty’s turn to come.

When it did come, Patty proved herself quite equal to the occasion.

Her poem was merry and clever, and she read it with an entire absence of self-consciousness, and an apparent enjoyment of its fun. She looked very sweet and pretty in her dainty white dress, and she stood so gracefully and seemed so calm and composed, that only those who knew her best noticed the feverish brightness of her eyes and a certain tenseness of the muscles of her hands.

But this was not unobserved by one in the audience. Mr. Hepworth, though seated far back, noted every symptom of Patty’s nervousness, however little it might be apparent to others.

Although she went through her ordeal successfully, he knew how much greater would be the excitement and responsibility of the evening’s performance and he wished he could help her in some way.

But there seemed to be nothing he could do, and though he had sent her a beautiful basket of roses, it was but one floral gift among so many that he doubted whether Patty even knew that he sent it; and he also doubted if she would have cared especially if she had known it.

Like most of the graduates, Patty received quantities of floral tributes. As the ushers came again and again with clusters or baskets of flowers, the audience heartily applauded, and Patty, though embarrassed a little, preserved a pretty dignity, and showed a happy enjoyment of it all.

As soon as the diplomas were awarded, and Patty had her cherished roll tied with its blue ribbon, Nan told Mr. Fairfield that it was imperative that Patty should be made to go straight home.

“If she stays there,” said Nan, “she’ll get excited and exhausted, and be good for nothing to-night. I gave her some stimulants this noon, although she didn’t know it, but the effects are wearing off and a reaction will soon set in. She must come home with us at once.”

“You are right, Mrs. Fairfield,” said Mr. Hepworth, who had crossed the room and joined them just in time to hear Nan’s last words. “Patty is holding herself together by sheer nervous force, and she needs care if she is to keep up through the evening.”

“That is certainly true,” said Nan. “Kenneth,” she added, turning to young Harper, who stood near by, “you have a good deal of influence with Patty. Go and get her, won’t you? Make her come at once.”

“All right,” said Kenneth, and he was off in a moment, while Mr. Hepworth looked after him, secretly wishing that the errand might have been entrusted to him.

But Kenneth found his task no easy one. Although Patty willingly consented to his request, and even started toward the dressing-room to get her wraps, she paused so many times to speak to different ones, or her progress was stopped by anxious-looking girls who wanted her help or advice, that Kenneth almost despaired of getting her away.

“Can’t you make her come, Hilda?” he said.

“I’ll try,” said Hilda, but when she tried, Patty only said, “Yes, Hilda, in just a minute. I want to coach Mary a little in her part, and I want to show Hester where to stand in the third act.”

“Never mind,” said Hilda, impatiently. “Let her stand on the roof, if she wants to, but for goodness’ sake go on home. Your people are waiting for you.”

Again Patty looked at her with that queer vacant gaze, and then Lorraine Hart stepped forward and took matters in her own hands.

“March!” she said, as she grasped Patty’s arm, and steered her toward the dressing-room. “Halt!” she said after they reached it, and then while Patty stood still, seemingly dazed, Lorraine put her cloak about her, threw her scarf over her head, wheeled her about, and marched her back to where Kenneth stood waiting.

“Take her quick,” she said. “Take her right to the carriage; don’t let her stop to speak to anybody.”

So Kenneth grasped Patty’s arm firmly and led her through the crowd of girls, out of the door, and down the walk to the carriage. Ordinarily, Patty would have resented this summary treatment, but still in a half-dazed way she meekly went where she was led.

Once in the carriage, Nan sat beside her and Mr. Fairfield opposite, and they started for home. No reference was made to Patty herself, but the others talked lightly and pleasantly of the afternoon performance.

On reaching home, Nan put Patty to bed at once, and telephoned for the Doctor.

But when Dr. Martin came, Nan met him downstairs, and told him all about the case. They then decided that the Doctor should not see Patty, as to realise the fact that she was in need of medical attendance might prove a serious shock.

“And really, Doctor,” said Nan, “if the girl shouldn’t be allowed at least to try to go through with the play this evening, I wouldn’t like to answer for the consequences.”

“I understand,” said Dr. Martin, “and though I think that with the aid of certain prescriptions I shall give you, she can probably get through the evening, it would be far better if she did not attempt it.”

“I know it Doctor,” said Nan, “and with some girls it might be possible to persuade them to give it up, but I can’t help feeling that if we even advised Patty not to go to-night, she would fly into violent hysterics.”

“Very likely,” said Dr. Martin, “and I think, Mrs. Fairfield, you are right in your diagnosis. If you will give her these drops exactly as I have directed, I think she will brace up sufficiently to go through her part all right.”

Nan thanked the Doctor, and hurried back to Patty’s room to look after her charge. She found Patty lying quietly, but in a state of mental excitement. When Nan came in, she began to talk rapidly.

“It’s all right, Nan, dear,” she said. “I’m not ill a bit. Please let me get up now, and dress so I can go around to the schoolroom a little bit early. There are two or three things I must look after, and then the play will go off all right.”

“Very well,” said Nan, humouring her, “if you will just take this medicine it will brace you up for the evening, and you can go through with the play as successfully as you did your part this afternoon.”

Patty agreed, and took the drops the Doctor had left, without a murmur.

Soon their soothing effect became apparent, and Patty’s nervous enthusiasm quieted down to such an extent that she seemed in no haste to go.

She ate her dinner slowly, and dawdled over her dressing, until Nan again became alarmed lest the medicine had been too powerful.

Poor Nan really had a hard time of it. Patty was not a tractable patient, and Nan was frequently at her wits’ end to know just how to manage her.

But at last she was ready, and they all started for the school again. Although Patty’s own people, and a few of her intimate girl friends knew of her overwrought state, most of the class and even the teachers had no idea how near to a nervous breakdown she was. For her demeanour was much as usual, and though she would have moments of dazed bewilderment, much of the time she was unusually alert and she flew about attending to certain last details in an efficient and clear-headed manner.

CHAPTER IX

THE PLAY

The play went through beautifully. Every girl did her part wonderfully well, but Patty surpassed them all. Buoyed up by excitement, she played her part with a dash and sprightliness that surprised even the girls who had seen her at rehearsal. She was roguish, merry and tragic by turns, and she sang her solos with a dramatic effect that brought down the house. She looked unusually pretty, which was partly the effect of her intense excitement, and though Nan and Mr. Fairfield could not help admiring and applauding with the rest, they were very anxious and really alarmed, lest she might not be able to keep up to these emotional heights until the end of the play.

Without speaking his thoughts to anyone else, Mr. Hepworth, too, was very much concerned for Patty’s welfare. He realised the danger she was in, and noted every evidence of her artificial strength and merriment. Seeing Dr. Martin in a seat near the back of the room, he quietly rose and went and sat beside the old gentleman.

“Doctor,” he said, “I can’t help fearing that a collapse of some sort will follow Miss Fairfield’s performance.”

“I am sure of it,” said the Doctor, looking gravely at Mr. Hepworth.

“Then don’t you think perhaps it would be wise for you to go around behind the scenes, presently, and be there in case of emergency.”

“I will gladly do so,” said Dr. Martin, “if Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield authorise it.”

Mr. Hepworth looked at his programme, and then he looked at Patty. He knew the play pretty thoroughly, and he knew that she was making one of the final speeches. He saw too, that she had nearly reached the limit of her endurance, and he said, “Dr. Martin, I wish you would go on my authority. The Fairfields are sitting in the front part of the house, and it would be difficult to speak to them about it without creating a commotion. And besides, I think there is no time to be lost; this is almost the end of the play, and in my judgment, Miss Fairfield is pretty nearly at the end of her self-composure.”

Dr. Martin gave the younger man a searching glance, and then said, “You are right, Mr. Hepworth. It may be advisable that I should be there when Miss Fairfield comes off the stage. I will go at once. Will you come with me?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Hepworth, and the two men quietly left the room, and hastened around the building to the side entrance.

As Mr. Hepworth had assisted with the scenery for the play, and had been present at one or two rehearsals, he knew his way about, and guided Dr. Martin through the corridors to the room where the girls were gathered, waiting their cue to go on the stage for the final tableau and chorus.

Lorraine and Hilda looked at each other comprehendingly, as the two men appeared, but the other girls wondered at this apparent intrusion.

Then as the time came, they all went on the stage, and Dr. Martin and Mr. Hepworth, watching from the side, saw them form the pretty final tableau.

Patty in a spangled dress and tinsel crown, waving a gilt wand, stood on a high pedestal. Around her, on lower pedestals, and on the floor, were the rest of the fairy maidens in their glittering costumes.

The last notes of the chorus rang out, and amidst a burst of applause the curtain fell. The applause continued so strongly that the curtain was immediately raised again, and the delighted audience viewed once more the pretty scene.

Mr. Hepworth was nearer the stage than Dr. Martin, in fact, in his anxiety, he was almost edging on to it, and while the curtain was up, and the audience was applauding, and the orchestra was playing, and the calcium lights were flashing their vari-coloured rays, his intense watchfulness noticed a slight shudder pass over Patty’s form, then she swayed slightly, and her eyes closed.

In a flash Mr. Hepworth had himself rung the bell that meant the drop of the curtain, and as the curtain came down, he sprang forward among the bewildered girls, and reached the tall pedestal just in time to catch Patty as she tottered and fell.

“She has only fainted,” he said, as he carried her off the stage, “please don’t crowd around, she will be all right in a moment.”

He carried her to the dressing-room and gently laid her on a couch. Dr. Martin followed closely, and Mr. Hepworth left Patty in his charge.

“You, Miss Hamilton, go in there,” he said to Lorraine, at the door, “and see if you can help Dr. Martin. I will speak to the Fairfields and see that the carriage is ready. I don’t think the audience knows anything about it, and there need be no fuss or commotion.”

Quick-witted Hilda grasped the situation, and kept the crowd of anxious girls out of the dressing-room, while Dr. Martin administered restoratives to Patty.

But it was not so easy to overcome the faintness that had seized upon her. When at last she did open her eyes, it was only to close them again in another period of exhaustion.

However, this seemed to encourage Dr. Martin.

“It’s better than I feared,” he said. “She isn’t delirious. There is no threat of brain fever. She will soon revive now, and we can safely take her home.”

And so when the Doctor declared that she might now be moved, Mr. Fairfield supported her on one side, and Kenneth on the other as they took her to the carriage.

“Get in, Mrs. Fairfield,” said Kenneth, after Patty was safely seated by her father, “and you too, Dr. Martin. I’ll jump up on the box with the driver. Perhaps I can help you at the house.”

So away they went, without a word or a thought for poor Mr. Hepworth, to whose watchfulness was really due the fact of Dr. Martin’s opportune assistance. And too, if Mr. Hepworth had not seen the first signs of Patty’s loss of consciousness, her fall from the high pedestal might have proved a serious accident.

Although Dr. Martin told the family afterward of Mr. Hepworth’s kind thoughtfulness, it went unnoted at the time. But of this, Mr. Hepworth himself was rather glad than otherwise. His affection for Patty was such that he did not wish the girl to feel that she owed him gratitude, and he preferred to have no claim of the sort upon her.

When the party reached the Fairfield house, Patty had revived enough to talk rationally, but she was very weak, and seemed to have lost all enthusiasm and even interest in the occasion.

“It’s all over, isn’t it?” she asked of her father in a helpless, pathetic little voice.

“Yes, Puss,” said Mr. Fairfield, cheerily, “it’s all over, and it was a perfect success. Now don’t bother your head about it any more, but just get rested, and get a good sleep, and then we’ll talk it over.”

Patty was quite willing not to discuss the subject, and with Nan’s assistance she was soon in bed and sound asleep.

Dr. Martin stood watching her. “I don’t know,” he said to Nan, “whether this sleep will last or not. If it does all will be well, but she may wake up soon, and become nervous and hysterical. In that case give her these drops, which will have a speedy effect. I will be around again early to-morrow morning.”

But the doctor’s fears were not realised. Patty slept deeply all through the night, and had not waked when the doctor came in the morning.

“Don’t waken her,” he said, as he looked at the sleeping girl. “She’s all right. There’s no fear of nervous prostration now. The stress is over, and her good constitution and healthy nature are reasserting themselves and will conquer. She isn’t of a nervous temperament, and she is simply exhausted from overwork. Don’t waken her, let her sleep it out.”

And so Patty slept until afternoon, and then awoke, feeling more like her old self than she had for many days.

“Nan,” she called, and Nan came flying in from the next room.

“I’m awful hungry,” said Patty, “and I am pretty tired, but the play is over, isn’t it, Nan? I can’t seem to remember about last night.”

“Yes, it’s over, Patsy, and everything is all right, and you haven’t a thing to do but get rested. Will you have your breakfast now, or your luncheon?—because you’ve really skipped both.”

“Then I’ll have them both,” said Patty with decision. “I’m hungry enough to eat a house.”

Later, Patty insisted on dressing and going downstairs for dinner, declaring she felt perfectly well, but the exertion tired her more than she cared to admit, and when Dr. Martin came in the evening, she questioned him directly.

“I’m not really ill, am I, Dr. Martin? I’ll be all right in a day or two, won’t I? It’s so silly to get tired just walking downstairs.”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said the old doctor, “you will be all right in a day or two. By day after to-morrow you can walk downstairs, or run down, if you like, without feeling tired at all.”

“Then that’s all right,” said Patty. “I suppose I did do too much with my school work, and the play, and everything, but I couldn’t seem to help it, and if I get over it in a week I’ll be satisfied. In fact, I shan’t mind a bit, lounging around and resting for a few days.”

“That’s just the thing for you to do,” agreed Dr. Martin, “and I’ll give you another prescription. After a week or two of rest, you need recreation. You must get out of the city, and go somewhere in the country. Not seashore or the mountains just yet, but away into the country, where you’ll have plenty of fresh air and nothing to do. You mustn’t look at a book of any sort or description for a month or two at least. Will you promise me that?”

“With great pleasure,” said Patty, gaily, “I don’t think I shall care to see a book all summer long; not a schoolbook anyway. I suppose I may read storybooks.”

“Not at present,” said the doctor. “Let alone books of all sorts for a couple of months, and after that I’ll see about it. What you want is plenty of fresh air and outdoor exercise. Then you’ll get back the roses in your cheeks, and add a few pounds of flesh to your attenuated frame.”

“Your prescription sounds attractive,” said Patty, “but where shall I go?”

“We’ll arrange all that,” said Mr. Fairfield. “I think myself that all you need is recreation and rest, with a fair proportion of each.”

“So do I,” said Patty; “I don’t want to go to an old farmhouse, where there isn’t a thing to do but walk in the orchard; I want to go where I’ll have some fun.”

“Go ahead,” said the doctor, “fun won’t hurt you any as long as it’s outdoor sports or merry society. But don’t get up any plays, or any such foolishness, where fun is only a mistaken name for hard work.”

Patty promised this, and Dr. Martin went away without any doubts as to the speedy and entire recovery of his patient.

Mr. Fairfield and Nan quite agreed with the doctor’s opinion that Patty ought to go away for a rest and a pleasant vacation. The next thing was to decide where she should go. It was out of the question, of course, to consider any strange place for her to go alone, and as Mr. Fairfield could not begin his vacation until July, and Nan was not willing to leave him, there seemed to be no one to accompany Patty.

The only places, therefore, that Mr. Fairfield could think of, were for her to go to Vernondale and visit the Elliotts, or down to the Hurly-Burly where the Barlows had already gone for their summer season.

But neither of these plans suited Patty at all, for she said that Vernondale would be no rest and not much fun. She was fond of her Elliott cousins, but she felt sure that they would treat her as a semi-invalid and coddle her until she went frantic.

The Hurly-Burly, she said, would be just the opposite. They would have no consideration down there for the fact that she wanted a rest, but would make her jog about hither and thither, taking long tramps and going on tiresome picnics whether she wanted to or not.

So neither of these plans seemed just the thing, and Nan’s proposal that Patty go to Philadelphia and spend June with Mrs. Allen wasn’t quite what Patty wanted. Indeed, Patty did not know herself exactly what she wanted, which was pretty good proof that she was not so far from the borders of Nervous Land as they had believed.

And so when Elise came over one afternoon, and brought with her an invitation for Patty, that young woman showed no hesitation in announcing at once that it was exactly what she wanted. The invitation was nothing more nor less than to go on a long motor-car trip with the Farringtons.

“It will be perfectly splendid,” said Elise, “if you’ll only go, Patty.”

“Go!” said Patty, “I should think I would go! It’s perfectly splendid of you to invite me. Who are going?”

“Just father and mother, and Roger and myself,” said Elise, “and you will make five. Roger can run the car, or father can, either, for that matter, so we won’t take a man, and father has had a new top put on his big touring-car and we can pile any amount of luggage up on it, so you can take all the frocks you want to. We’ll stop at places here and there, you know, to visit, and of course, we’ll always stop for meals and to stay over night.”

“But perhaps they wouldn’t want me,” said Patty, “where you go to visit.”

“Nonsense, of course they will. Why, I wrote to Bertha Warner that I wanted to bring you, and she said she’d love to have you come.”

“How could she say so? she doesn’t know me.”

“Well, I told her all about you, and she’s fully prepared to love you as I do. Oh, do you suppose your people will let you go?”

“Of course they will. They’ll be perfectly delighted to have me go.”

Patty was right. When she told her father and Nan about the delightful invitation, they were almost as pleased as she was herself, and Mr. Fairfield gave ready permission.