Patty's Social Season

“It was necessary, Patty, and you know it, if Mona doesn’t. Now, look here; you and I are Mona’s friends; and if there are any social matters that she isn’t quite familiar with, it’s up to us to help her out a little. And I, for one, don’t believe that man is the right sort for her to be acquainted with; and I’m going to find out about him.”

“Well, I’m sure I’m willing you should, Roger; but you needn’t make such a bluster about it.”

“I’m not making a bluster, Patty.”

“You are so!”

“I am not!”

And then they both realised that they were bickering like two children, and they laughed simultaneously as they swept on round the dancing-room. The music stopped just then, and as they were near a window-seat, Patty sat down for a moment. “You go on, Roger,” she said, “and hunt up your next partner, or fight a duel with Mr. Lansing, or do whatever amuses you. My partner will come to hunt me up, I’m sure, and I’ll just wait here.”

“Who is your next partner, Patty?”

“Haven’t looked at my card; but, never mind, he’ll come. You run along.”

As Roger’s next partner was Mona, and as he was anxious to talk to her about her new friend, Roger obeyed Patty’s bidding and strolled away.

Patty sat alone for a moment, knowing full well who was her next partner, and then Mr. Lansing appeared and made a low bow before her.

Now, Patty had not chosen to express to Roger her real opinion of this new man, but in reality she did not approve of him. Though fairly good-looking and correctly dressed, there was about him a certain something—or perhaps, rather, he lacked a certain something that invariably stamps the well-bred man. He stared at Patty a trifle too freely; he sat down beside her with a little too much informality; and he began conversation a little too familiarly. All of these things Patty saw and resented, but as hostess she could not, of course, be openly rude.

“Nice, jolly rooms you’ve got here for a party,” Mr. Lansing remarked, rolling his eyes about appreciatively, “and a jolly lot of people, too. Some class to ’em!”

Patty looked at him coldly. She was not accustomed to this style of expression. Her friends perhaps occasionally used a slang word or term, but it was done in a spirit of gaiety or as a jest, whereas this man used his expressions as formal conversation.

“Yes, I have many kind and delightful friends,” said Patty, a little stiffly.

“You sure have! Rich, too, most of ’em.”

Patty made no response to this, and Mr. Lansing turned suddenly to look at her. “I say, Miss Fairfield, do you know what I think? I think you are prejudiced against me, and I think somebody put you up to it, and I think I know who. Now, look here, won’t you give me a fair show? Do you think it’s just to judge a man by what other people say about him?”

“How do you know I’ve heard anything about you, Mr. Lansing?”

“Well, you give me the icy glare before I’ve said half a dozen words to you! So, take it from me, somebody’s been putting you wise to my defects.”

He wagged his head so sagaciously at this speech, that Patty was forced to smile. On a sudden impulse, she decided to speak frankly. “Suppose I tell you the truth, Mr. Lansing, that I’m not accustomed to being addressed in such—well, in such slangy terms.”

“Oh, is that it? Pooh, I’ll bet those chums of yours talk slang to you once in a while.”

“What my chums may do is no criterion for an absolute stranger,”—and now Patty spoke very haughtily indeed.

“That’s so, Miss Fairfield; you’re dead right,—and I apologise. But, truly, it’s a habit with me. I’m from Chicago, and I believe people use more slang out there.”

“The best Chicago people don’t,” said Patty, seriously.

Mr. Lansing smiled at her, a trifle whimsically.

“I’m afraid I don’t class up with the best people,” he confessed; “but if it will please you better, I’ll cut out the slang. Shall we have a turn at this two-step?”

Patty rose without a word, and in a moment they were circling the floor. Mr. Lansing was a good dancer, and especially skilful in guiding his partner. Patty, herself such an expert dancer, was peculiarly sensitive to the good points of a partner, and she enjoyed the dance with Mr. Lansing, even though she felt she did not like the man. And yet he had a certain fascination in his manner, and when the dance was over, Patty looked at him with kinder eyes than she had when they began. But all that he had won of her favour he lost by his final speech, for as the dance ended, he said, brusquely: “Now, I’ll tumble you into a seat, and chase my next victim.”

Patty stood looking after him, almost moved to laughter at what he had said, and yet indignant that a man, and a comparative stranger, should address her thus.

“What’s the matter, Lady Fair?” and Philip Van Reypen came up to her. “Methinks thou hast a ruffled brow.”

“No, it’s my frock that’s ruffled,” said Patty, demurely. “You men know so little of millinery!”

“That’s true enough, and if you will smile again, I’ll drop the subject of ruffles. And now for my errand; will you go out to supper with me?”

“Goodness, is it supper time? I thought the evening had scarcely begun!”

“Alas! look at the programme,” and Van Reypen showed her that it was, indeed, time for intermission.

“Intermission is French for supper,” he said, gravely, “and I’d like to know if you’d rather sit on the stairs in good old orthodox party fashion, or if you’d rather go to the dining-room in state?”

“Who are on the stairs?”

“I shall be, if you are. You don’t want to know more than that, do you?” The young man’s gaze was so reproachful that Patty giggled.

“You are a great factor in my happiness, Mr. Van Reypen,” she said, saucily; “but you are not all the world to me! So, if I flock on the stairs with you, I must know what other doves will be perching there.”

“Oh, doves!” in a tone of great relief. “I thought you wanted to know what men you would find there,—you inveterate coquette, you! Well, Elise is there waiting for you, and Miss Farley.”

“And Mona Galbraith?”

“I don’t know; I didn’t see Miss Galbraith. But if you will go with me, I will accumulate for you any young ladies you desire.”

“And any men?”

“The men I shall have to fight off, not invite!”

Laughing at each other’s chaff, they sauntered across to the hall and found the stairs already pretty well occupied.

“Why is it,” Mr. Hepworth was saying, “that you young people prefer the stairs to the nice, comfortable seats at little tables in the dining-room?”

“Habit,” said Patty, laughing, as she made her way up a few steps; “I’ve always eaten my party suppers on the stairs, and I dare say I always shall. When I build a house I shall have a great, broad staircase, like they have in palaces, and then everybody can eat on the stairs.”

“I’m going to give a party,” announced Van Reypen, “and it’s going to be in the new Pennsylvania Station. There are enormous staircases there.”

“All right, I’ll come to it,” said Patty, and then Mona and Mr. Lansing came strolling along the hall, and demanded room on the stairs also.

“Seats all taken,” declared Roger, who had had a real tiff with Mona on the subject of her new friend. The others, too, did not seem to welcome Mr. Lansing, and though one or two moved slightly, they did not make room for the newcomers.

Patty was uncertain what she ought to do. She remembered what Mr. Galbraith had said, and she felt that to send Mona and Mr. Lansing away would be to throw them more exclusively in each other’s society; and she thought that Mr. Galbraith meant for her to keep Mona under her own eye as much as possible. But to call the pair upon the stairs and make room for them would annoy, she felt sure, the rest of the group.

She looked at Roger and at Philip Van Reypen, and both of them gave her an eloquent glance of appeal not to add to their party. Then she chanced to glance at Mr. Hepworth and found him smiling at her. She thought she knew what he meant, and immediately she said, “Come up here by me, Mona; and you come too, Mr. Lansing. We can make room easily if we move about a little.”

There was considerable moving about, and finally Patty found herself at the top of the group with Mona and Mr. Lansing. Christine and Mr. Hepworth were directly below them, and then Elise and Kenneth.

Mr. Van Reypen and Roger Farrington declared their intention of making a raid on the dining-room and kidnapping waiters with trays of supplies. On their return the supper plates were passed up to those on the stairs, and Van Reypen and Roger calmly walked away.

Patty knew perfectly well what they meant. They intended her to understand that if she and Mona persisted in cultivating the acquaintance of the man they considered objectionable, they did not care to be of the party.

“Which is perfectly ridiculous!” said Patty to herself, as she realised the state of things. “Those boys needn’t think they can dictate to me at my own party!”

Whereupon, perverse Patty began to make herself extremely and especially agreeable to Mr. Lansing, and Mona was greatly delighted at the turn things had taken.

Christine and Mr. Hepworth joined in the conversation, and perhaps because of what Patty had said earlier in the evening, Mr. Lansing avoided to a great extent the use of slang expressions, and made himself really interesting and entertaining.

“What a fascinating man he is,” said Christine later, to Patty, when Mona and her new friend had walked away to the “extra” supper dance.

“Do you think so?” said Patty, looking at Christine in astonishment. “He was rather nicer than I thought him at first, but, Christine, I never dreamed you would approve of him! But you never can tell when a quiet little mouse like you is going to break loose. Why did you like him, Christine?”

“I don’t know exactly; only he seemed so breezy and unusual.”

“Yes, he’s that,” and Patty wagged her head, knowingly; “but I don’t like him very much, Christine, and you mustn’t, either. Now run away and play.”

Patty’s last direction was because she saw a young man coming to ask Christine for this dance; while two others were rapidly coming toward herself.

The rest of the evening was danced gaily away, but neither Roger nor Philip Van Reypen came near Patty. To be sure, she had plenty of partners, but she felt a little offended at her two friends’ attitude, for she knew she hadn’t really deserved it.

But when the dance was over, Patty’s good-nights to Roger and Philip were quite as gentle and cordial as those she said to any one else. She smiled her best smiles at them, and though not as responsive as usual, they made polite adieux and departed with no further reference to the troublesome matter.

CHAPTER III

HAPPY SATURDAYS

As was not to be wondered at, Patty slept late the next morning. And when she awakened, she lay, cozily tucked in her coverlets, thinking over the occurrences of the night before.

Presently Jane came in with a dainty tray of chocolate and rolls, and then, with some big, fluffy pillows behind her, Patty sat up in bed, and thoughtfully nibbled away at a crust.

Then Nan came in, in her pretty morning gown, and, drawing up a little rocker, sat down by Patty’s bedside.

“Are you in mood for a gossip, Patty?” she asked, and Patty replied, “Yes, indeedy! I want to talk over the whole thing. In the first place, Nan, it was a howling, screaming success, wasn’t it?”

“Why, yes, of course; how could it be otherwise? with the nicest people and the nicest flowers and the nicest girl in New York City!”

“In the whole United States, you mean,” said Patty, complacently, as she took a spoonful of chocolate. “Yes, the party in all its parts was all right. There wasn’t a flaw. But, oh, Nan, I got into a scrap with the boys.”

“What boys? and what is a scrap? Patty, now that you’re out, you mustn’t use those slang words you’re so fond of.”

“Nan,” and Patty shook her spoon solemnly at her stepmother, “I’ve come to realise that there is slang and slang. Now, the few little innocent bits I use, don’t count at all, because I just say them for fun and to help make my meaning clear. But that man last night,—that Lansing man,—why, Nan, his slang is altogether a different matter.”

“Well, Patty, he, himself, seems to be an altogether different matter from the people we know.”

“Yes, doesn’t he? And yet, Nan, he isn’t so bad. Well, anyway, let me tell you what Mr. Galbraith says.”

“That’s just it!” declared Nan, after Patty had finished her story. “That man is a fortune-hunter, and he means to try to marry Mona for the sake of her father’s money!”

“Oh, my!” exclaimed Patty, laughing; “isn’t it grand to be grown up! I see I’m mixed up in a matrimonial tangle already!”

“Nothing of the sort, you foolish child! There won’t be any matrimonial tangle. Mr. Galbraith is quite right; this man must be discouraged, and Mona must be made to see him in his true light.”

“But, Nan, he isn’t so awful. You know, sometimes he was quite fascinating.”

“Yes, you think that, because he has big dark eyes and rolled them at you.”

“Goodness! it sounds like a game of bowls. No, I don’t mean that; but—well, I’ll tell you what I do mean. He said we weren’t fair to him, to judge him adversely, not knowing anything about him. And I think so, too, Nan; it doesn’t seem fair or right to say a man is a bounder,—that’s what Roger called him,—when we don’t know anything about him, really.”

“Patty, you’re a goose! Don’t you suppose we’ll find out about him? Of course, we can’t, but your father and Mr. Galbraith,—yes, and Roger Farrington, will soon find out his standing.”

“Well,” said Patty, with a relieved sigh, “then I needn’t bother about him any more. But, Nan, I have troubles of my own. Philip and Roger are both mad at me!”

“Goodness! Patty, how awful! Do you suppose they’ll stay mad all day?”

“Oh, it isn’t just a momentary tiff; they are up and down angry! Why, neither of them danced with me or even spoke to me after supper last night!”

“Well, it was probably your own fault.”

“My own fault, indeed! It was all because of that horrid Lansing man. Well, if they want to stay mad, they may! I shan’t make any advances.”

“Don’t worry, my child. Into each life some little squabbles must fall,—and though you’re fairly good-natured, as a rule, you can’t expect it always to be smooth sailing.”

Seeing she could get no sympathy from her stepmother, Patty dropped the subject of her quarrels, and remarked, with a yawn, “Well, I suppose I may as well get up, and begin on those flower notes. What shall I say, Nan, something like this? ‘Miss Patricia Fairfield thanks you for your kind donation of expensive blossoms, but as it’s such a bother to write the notes of acknowledgment, she really wishes you hadn’t sent them.’”

“What base ingratitude! Patty, I’m ashamed of you! or I would be, if I thought you meant a word of it, but I know you don’t. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. We’re going to have a club, just a little club,—only four of us girls. And, Nan, you know there are so many clubs that make an awful fuss and yet don’t really do anything. Well, this is going to be a Doing Club. We’re going to be real doers.”

“It sounds lovely, Patty. What are you going to do?”

“We don’t know yet, that’s what the meeting’s for this afternoon. But we’re going to do good, you know—some kind of good. You know, Nan, I always said I didn’t want to be just a social butterfly and nothing else. I want to accomplish something that will give some joy or comfort to somebody.”

Patty’s blue eyes looked very earnest and sincere as she said this, and Nan kissed her, saying, “I know you do, Patty, dearest, and I know you’ll succeed in your doing. If I can help you in any way, be sure to ask me; and now I’ll run away and let you dress.”

Patty made a leisurely toilette; and then, in a trailing blue silk négligée, she went into her boudoir and began to write her notes.

It was not a difficult task, and she did not really mind it, though it was a long list. But Patty had a knack at writing graceful little notes, and although she jested about it, she was really grateful to the kind friends who had sent the flowers.

“I don’t know why I have so many friends,” she said to herself, as she scanned the rows of names. “To be sure, a great many are really friends of father’s and Nan’s, but there’s a lot of our crowd, too, and lots of out of town people. Perhaps it would be a good idea to do the farthest away first, and so work back to New York.”

Patty picked up Mr. Farnsworth’s card, and read again the message on it. “H’m,” she said to herself, “it sounds to me a trifle formal and conventional—considering all things. Now, Little Billee is a Western man,—but how different he is from that Lansing person! I wonder what makes the difference. Little Billee isn’t formal or conventional a bit, and yet his manners are as far removed from Horace Lansing’s as white is from black. Oh, well, I know the reason well enough. It’s because Little Billee is a thorough gentleman at heart; and the other one is,—well, I guess he’s what Roger called him. Now, what shall I say to Mr. William Farnsworth by way of thanks for his truly beautiful pink roses? I’d like to write a nice, every-day letter, and tell him all about the party and everything; but, as he just sent his visiting card, with a mere line on it, I suppose I must reply very formally.”

Patty began her formal note, but tore up half a dozen beginnings before she completed one to her satisfaction. This one read, “Miss Patricia Fairfield thanks Mr. William Farnsworth sincerely for his exquisite gift of roses, and for his kind congratulations.”

Patty gave a little sigh as she sealed this missive and addressed it to her friend in Arizona.

With the exception of the roses, Patty had never heard a word from Big Bill since they were at Spring Beach together. She had told her father and Nan of what Mr. Farnsworth had said to her down there, and as they had agreed that Patty was altogether too young even to think of such a thing as being engaged to anybody, it was wiser to hold no correspondence with him at all.

Apparently, this in no way disappointed the young man, for he had made no effort on his part to recall himself to Patty’s remembrance, until the occasion of sending the flowers.

Patty had liked Bill extremely, but as Arizona was far away, and she had no reason to think she would ever see him again, she gave him few thoughts. However, the thoughts, when she did allow them to come, were pleasant ones. Although she had sealed the note she intended to send, she began another one, and the opening words were “Little Billee.” This note she wrote in the first person, and thanked him simply and naturally for the flowers. Then, for a signature, she made a carefully and daintily drawn pen-and-ink sketch of an apple blossom. She was clever at flower-sketching, and she sat a moment admiring her own handiwork. Then a flush spread over her pretty face, and she spoke sternly to herself, as was her habit when she disapproved of her own actions.

“Patty Fairfield,” she said, reprovingly, “you ought to be ashamed to think of sending a personal, lettery sort of a note like that, to a man who sent you the formalest kind of a message! He only sent the flowers, because convention demanded it! He never gave you one single thought after that last time he saw you,—and that’s all there is about that!”

And then, to her great surprise, luncheon was announced, and she found that her whole morning was gone and only one name on her list crossed off!

The club that met that afternoon in Mona’s pretty sitting-room in the Plaza Hotel, consisted of only four girls—Patty, Mona, Elise, and Clementine Morse.

It was thought wiser to start with a few earnest members and then enlarge the number later if it seemed advisable.

“What a beautiful room!” said Clementine, as she tossed off her furs. “Don’t you like it, Mona, to live in a big hotel like this, and yet have your own rooms, like a home all to yourself?”

“Yes, I like it in some ways; but I’m alone a great deal. However, I would be that, if father and I lived in a house or an apartment.”

“You ought to have a companion of some sort, Mona,” said Patty, who thought this a good opportunity to urge Mr. Galbraith’s wishes.

“No, thank you,” and Mona tossed her head, disdainfully; “I know what companions are! Snoopy old maids who won’t let you do anything, or careless, easy-going old ladies who pay no attention to you. If I could have a companion of my own age and tastes, I’d like that,—but I suppose that wouldn’t do.”

“Hardly,” said Elise, laughing; “that would only mean your father would have two troublesome girls to look after instead of one. And I daresay, Mona, you are quite as much as he can handle.”

“I suppose I am. But he’s so good to me I’m afraid he spoils me. But come on, girls, let’s organise our club.”

“Don’t let’s have too much organisation,” said Clementine. “Do you know, I think lots of clubs, especially charity clubs, have so much organisation that they haven’t anything else. One club I joined fell to pieces before it was fairly started, because the two vice-presidents squabbled so.”

“If there’s anything I hate,” declared Patty, “it’s a squabble. Whatever else we girls do, let’s try not to have any friction. Now, I know perfectly well that none of us four is very meek or mild.”

“I am,” declared Elise, assuming an angelic expression, which made them all laugh, for Elise was really the one most likely to take offence at trifles, or to flare up impulsively if any one disagreed with her.

Patty knew this only too well, and was trying to forestall it by a preliminary treaty of peace.

“Well, then, let’s be an organisation that doesn’t organise,” said Mona, “but let’s be it now.”

“I think,” said Patty, “that our end and aim ought to be to do good to somebody who doesn’t expect it. Now, that isn’t quite what I mean,—I mean to people who wouldn’t accept it if it seemed like charity, but to whom we could give a pleasure that they would really like.”

“Patty, my child,” said Clementine, “I think your ideas are all right, but I must say you don’t express them very clearly. Let’s get down to something definite. Do you mean to give material things,—like presents or money?”

“That’s just exactly what I don’t mean, Clem! Don’t you remember that little club we used to have at school,—the Merry Grigs?”

“Indeed I do! All we had to do was to be merry and gay.”

“Well, that’s what I mean,—in a way,—if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, Patty,” cried Mona, “I never knew you to be so hopelessly vague. Now, for instance, how would it be if we gave a lovely motor ride to some poor shop girl, or somebody that never gets into a motor?”

“That’s it!” cried Clementine, approvingly; “I was thinking of sending flowers to hospitals, but that’s so general. Now, your suggestion, Mona, is definite, and just the right sort of thing.”

“But aren’t we going to have a president and treasurer, and things like that?” asked Elise.

“No,” said Patty; “my mind is clearing now, and I begin to see our club. Instead of a president, we’ll all four be presidents, and instead of a treasurer, we’ll all four be treasurers. We’ll give money when it’s necessary, or we’ll use our motor cars, or buy flowers, or whatever we like; but we won’t have dues and officers and things.”

“But the shop girls are always busy; how can we take them motoring?” asked Elise.

“That was only a suggestion,” said Mona; “it needn’t be exactly a shop girl; but anybody we know of, who would enjoy a little unexpected pleasure.”

“The principle is exactly right,” said Clementine; “now, let’s get it down to practicability. As Mona says, we needn’t necessarily choose a shop girl,—but suppose we do, many of them are free Saturday afternoon.”

“Only in the summer time,” objected Elise.

“Yes, perhaps, in the big shops; but there are lots of them, in offices,—or even school teachers,—who would be free Saturday afternoons. Well, anyway, here’s what I’m thinking of, and you can all say what you think of it. Suppose we try, every week, to give a happy Saturday afternoon to somebody who wouldn’t have it otherwise.”