Patty's Social Season

Then Jenny Bisbee came, the girl from the ribbon counter, whom Clementine had invited.

“My, isn’t this fine!” she exclaimed, as she met the others. “I just do think it’s fine!”

“I’m glad we could arrange for you to come,” said Clementine, cordially.

“Glad! My gracious, I guess I’m glad! Well! if you measured ribbon from morning till night, I guess you’d be glad to get away from it for once. Why, I measure ribbon in my dreams, from night till morning. I can’t seem to get away from that everlasting stretching out of thirty-six inches, over and over again.”

“But the ribbons are so pretty,” said Clementine, by way of being agreeable.

“Yes; when they first come in. But after a few weeks you get so tired of the patterns. My, I feel as if I could throw that Dresden sash ribbon on the floor and stamp on it, I’m so tired of seeing it! And there’s one piece of gay brocade that hits me in the eye every morning. I can’t stand that piece much longer.”

“I’ll come round some day, and buy it,” said Patty, laughing good-naturedly. “I didn’t know the ribbons were so individual to you.”

“Yes, they are. There’s one piece of light blue satin ribbon, plain and wide, that I just love. It’s a real comfort to me.”

Jenny gave a little sigh, as she thought of her favourite ribbon, and Patty looked at her in wonderment, that she should be so sensitive to colour and texture. But her taste in colours did not seem to extend to her clothes. Jenny was a pale little thing, with ashy blonde hair, and large, light blue eyes. She wore a nondescript tan-coloured dress, without tone or shape; and she had a weary, exhausted air, as if chronically tired.

Conversation was a little difficult. The four hostesses tried their best to be entertaining without being patronising, but it was not an easy task. At least, their advances were not easily received, and the guests seemed to be on the alert to resent anything that savoured of patronage. But help came from an unexpected quarter. Just at one o’clock Mrs. Greene arrived.

“My land!” she exclaimed, as she entered the room, “if this isn’t grand! I wouldn’t of missed it for a farm! You see, I waited out on the corner, till it was just one o’clock. I know enough to get to a party just on the minute. My bringin’ up was good, if I have fell off a little since. But my folks was always awful particular people,—wouldn’t even take their pie in their hands. My husband, now, he was different. He wasn’t a fool, nor he wasn’t much else. But I only had him a year, and then he up and got killed in a rolling mill. Nice man, John, but not very forth-putting. So I’ve shifted for myself ever since. Not that I’ve done so awful well. I’m slow, I am. I never was one o’ those to sew with a hot needle and a scorching thread, but I do my stent right along. But, my! how I do rattle on! You might think I don’t often go in good society. Well, I don’t! So I must make the most of this chance.”

Mrs. Greene’s chatter had been broken in upon by introductions and greetings, but that bothered her not at all. She nodded her head affably at the different ones, but kept right on talking.

So Mona was fairly obliged to interrupt her.

“Now, let us go out to luncheon,” she said, after the maid had announced it twice.

“Glad to,” said Mrs. Greene. “Oh, my land! what a pretty sight!”

She stood stock still in the doorway, and had to be urged forward, in order that the others might follow.

“Well, I didn’t know a table could look so handsome!” she went on. “My land! I s’pose it’s been thirty years since I’ve went to a real party feast, and then, I can tell you, it wasn’t much like this!”

Probably not, for Mona’s table, with the coloured electric lights blazing from the pretty Christmas tree, the soft radiance of the room, the fragrance of flowers, the exquisite table appointments, and the pretty, kindly hostesses, was a scene well worthy of praise.

Anna Gorman trembled a little as she took her seat, and sat, wide-eyed, looking almost as if in a trance of delight. Celeste Arleson was less embarrassed, as her profession took her into fine mansions and in presence of fashionable people every day.

Jenny Bisbee looked rapturous. “Oh,” she said, “Oh! I am so happy!”

The guests all looked a trifle awestruck when the first course appeared, of grapefruit, served in tall, slender ice-glasses, each with a red ribbon tied round its stem, and a sprig of holly in the bow.

“Well, did you ever!” exclaimed Mrs. Greene. “And is this the way they do things now? Well, well! It does look ’most too good to eat, but I’m ready to tackle it.”

Anna Gorman looked a little pained, as if this homely enthusiasm jarred upon her sense of fitness. But Mona said hospitably, “Yes, indeed, Mrs. Greene,—it’s here to be eaten.”

“Now, I’m free to confess, I don’t know what spoon to take,” Mrs. Greene acknowledged, looking blankly at the row of flat silver before her.

“I know,” spoke up Jenny Bisbee, eagerly; “I read it in a Sunday paper. You begin at the outside of the row, and eat in!”

“Land! are you sure to come out right, that way? S’pose you had a fork left for your ice cream!”

“We’ll risk it,” said Mona, smiling. “Let’s use this spoon at the outside, as Jenny suggests.”

The second course was clam bouillon, and after it was served, a maid passed a dish of whipped cream.

Mrs. Greene watched carefully as Mona placed a spoonful on the top of her soup, and then she exclaimed:

“Well, if that don’t beat all! What is that, might I ask?”

“Whipped cream,” said Mona. “Won’t you have some?”

“Well, I will,—as you took some. But if that ain’t the greatest! Now, just let me tell you. A friend of mine,—she has seen some high society,—she was telling me a little how to behave. And she told me of a country person she knew, who had some soup in a cup once. And he thought it was tea, and he ca’mly puts in milk and sugar! Well, he was just kerflum-mixed, that poor man, when he found it was soup! So, my friend says, says she: ‘Now, Almira, whatever you do, don’t put milk in your soup!’ And, I declare to goodness, here you’re doin’ just that very thing!”

“Well, we won’t put any sugar in,” said Mona, pleasantly; “but I think the cream improves it. You like it, don’t you, Jenny?”

“Heavenly!” said Jenny, rolling her eyes up with such a comically blissful expression that Elise nearly choked.

As Patty had agreed, the luncheon was good and substantial, rather than elaborate. The broiled chicken, dainty vegetables, and pretty salad all met the guests’ hearty approval and appreciation; and when the ice cream was served, Mrs. Greene discovered she had both a fork and a spoon at her disposal.

“Well, I never!” she observed. “Ain’t that handy, now? I s’pose you take whichever one you like.”

“Yes,” said Mona. “You see, there is strawberry sauce for the ice cream, and that makes it seem more like a pudding.”

“So it does, so it does,” agreed Mrs. Greene, “though, land knows, it ain’t much like the puddin’s I’m accustomed to. Cottage, rice, and bread is about the variety we get, in the puddin’ line. Not but what I’m mighty grateful to get those.”

“I like chocolate pudding,” said Jenny, in a low voice, and apparently with great effort. Patty knew she made the remark because she thought it her duty to join in the conversation; and she felt such heroism deserved recognition.

“So do I,” she said, smiling kindly at Jenny. “In fact, I like anything with chocolate in it.”

“So do I,” returned Jenny, a little bolder under this expressed sympathy of tastes. “Once I had a whole box of chocolate candies,—a pound box it was. I’ve got the box yet. I’m awful careful of the lace paper.”

“I often get boxes of candy,” said Celeste, unable to repress this bit of vanity. “My customers give them to me.”

“My,” said Jenny, “that must be fine. Is it grand to be a manicure?”

“I like it,” said Celeste, “because it takes me among nice people. They’re mostly good to me.”

“My ladies are nice to me, too,” observed Anna. “I only sew in nice houses. But I don’t see the ladies much. It’s different with you, Miss Arleson.”

“Well, I don’t see nice ladies,” broke in Jenny. “My, how those queens of society can snap at you! Seems ’if they blame me for everything: the stock, the price, the slow cash boys,—whatever bothers ’em, it’s all my fault.”

“That is unkind,” said Clementine. “But shopping does make some people cross.”

“Indeed it does!” returned Jenny. “But I’m going to forget it just for to-day. When I sit here and see these things, all so beautiful and sparkly and bright, I pretend there isn’t any shop or shopping in all the world.”

Jenny’s smile was almost roguish, and lighted up her pale face till she looked almost pretty.

Then they had coffee, and snapping crackers with caps inside, and they put on the caps and laughed at each other’s grotesque appearance.

Mrs. Greene’s cap was a tri-corne, with a gay cockade, which gave her a militant air, quite in keeping with her strong face. Patty had a ruffled night-cap, which made her look grotesque, and Anna Gorman had a frilled sunbonnet.

Celeste had a Tam o’ Shanter, which just suited her piquant face, and Jenny had a Scotch cap, which became her well.

“Now,” said Mona, as she rose from the table, “I’m going to give you each a bunch of these carnations–”

“To take home?” broke in Jenny, unable to repress her eagerness.

“Yes; and I’ll have them put in boxes for you, along with your cards and souvenirs, which, of course, you must take home also. And, if there’s room, I’ll put in some of these Christmas tree thingamajigs, and you can use them for something at Christmas time.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Jenny; “maybe my two kid brothers won’t just about go crazy over ’em! Says I to myself, just the other day, ‘What’s going in them kids’ stockings is more’n I know; but something there must be.’ And,—here you are!”

“Here you are!” said Mona, tucking an extra snapping cracker or two in Jenny’s box.

“We plan to go for a motor ride, now,” said Mona. “I wonder if you girls are dressed warmly enough.”

All declared that they were, but Mona provided several extra cloaks and wraps, lest any one should take cold.

“We have two cars for our trip,” she explained; “Miss Farrington’s limousine and my own. Has any one any preference which way we shall go?”

“Well,” said Mrs. Greene, “if you ask me, I’d like best to ride up Fifth Avenue. There ought to be some fine show of dress, a bright afternoon like this. And there ain’t anything I admire like stylish clothes. That’s a real handsome gown you got on, Miss Fairfield.”

“Do you like it?” said Patty, smiling.

“Yes, I do. It’s fashionable of cut, and yet it ain’t drawed so tight as some. And a becomin’ colour, too.”

“It’s a dandy,” observed Jenny. “I see lots of good clothes on my customers, but they don’t all have such taste as Miss Fairfield’s. And all you other ladies here,” she added, politely, glancing round.

“Now, are we all ready?” asked Mona, looking over the group. “Mrs. Greene, I fear you won’t be warm enough, though your jacket is thick, isn’t it? But I’m going to throw this boa round your neck, by way of precaution. Please wear it; I have another.”

“My land! if this ain’t luxuriant,” and Mrs. Greene smoothed the neckpiece and muff that Mona put on her. “What is this fur, Miss Galbraith?”

“That is caracul. Do you like it?”

“Like it? Well, I think it’s just too scrumptious for anything. I’ll remember the feel of it for a year. And so genteel looking, too.”

“Yes, it’s a good fur,” said Mona, carelessly throwing a sable scarf round her own throat. “Now, let us start.”

Down went the eight in an elevator, and Mrs. Greene was overjoyed to find that she was attended with quite as much deference as Mona herself. Elise and Clementine took their guests in the Farrington car, leaving Patty and Mona, with their guests, for the Galbraith car.

Celeste Arleson enjoyed the ride, but she was not so openly enthusiastic as Mrs. Greene.

“My!” exclaimed that worthy, as she bobbed up and down on the springy cushions; “to think it’s come at last! Why, I never expected to ride in one of these. I saved up once for a taxicab ride, but I had to use my savings for a case of grippe, so I never felt to try it again.”

“Did you have grippe?” said Patty, sympathetically; “that was too bad.”

“Well, no; it wasn’t my grippe. Leastways, I didn’t have it. It was a lady that lived in the same boardin’ house, along with me. But she’d had misfortune, and lost her money, so I couldn’t do no less than to help her. Poor thing! she was crossed in love and it made her queer. But that Rosy,—you know, that redhead boy, Miss Fairfield?”

“Yes, I do,” returned Patty, smiling.

“Well, he says she was queered in love, and it made her cross! She works in our place, you know. Well, cross she is; and, my land! if she wasn’t cross when she had the grippe! You know, it ain’t soothin’ on folks’ nerves.”

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