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.”

“No,” said Patty; “so I’ve understood. Well, Mrs. Greene, now you can see plenty of fashionable costumes. Do you enjoy it?”

“My! I’m just drinkin’ ’em in! Furs is worn a lot this year, ain’t they? Well, I don’t wonder. Why, I feel real regal in this fur of yours, Miss Galbraith. I don’t know when I’ve had such a pleasure as the wearin’ of this fur.”

“Now, we’ll go through the park and up Riverside Drive,” said Mona, as they neared Eighty-sixth Street. It was pleasant in the Park, and the fine motors, with their smartly-apparelled occupants, delighted Mrs. Greene’s very soul.

“Where would you like to go, Celeste?” asked Mona; “or do you like the Park and the River drive?”

“If I might, Miss Galbraith, I’d like to go to Grant’s Tomb. I’ve always wanted to go there, but I never can get a spare hour,—or if I do, I’m too tired for the trip.”

“Certainly, you shall. Would you like that, Mrs. Greene?”

“Oh, land, yes! I’ve never been there, either. Quite some few times I’ve thought to go, but something always interferes.”

So to Grant’s Tomb they went. The other car followed, and all went in to look at the impressive mausoleum.

“Makes you feel kind o’ solemn,” said Mrs. Greene, as they came out. “Think of lyin’ there in that eternal rock, as you might say, and the whole nation comin’ to weep over your bier.”

“They don’t all weep,” observed Celeste.

“Well, in a manner o’ speakin’, they do,” said Mrs. Greene, gently. “Not real tears, maybe; but, you know, to weep over a bier, is a figger of speech; and so far as its meanin’ goes, Grant’s got it. And, after all, it’s the meanin’ that counts.”

It was nearing sundown as they started down the Drive, and Mona proposed that they go to a tea room, and then take their guests to their several homes.

“Oh, how pretty!” said Mrs. Greene, as they all went into the Marie Jeannette Tea Room.

The younger girls chose chocolate, but Mrs. Greene said, “Give me a cup of tea. There’s nothing like it, to my mind. And to think of having tea in this beautiful place, all decked with posies. I’ll just throw this fur a little open, but keep it over my shoulders. It looks so luxuriant that way.”

Mona ordered dainty sandwiches and little fancy cakes—and after a pleasant half-hour they started homeward. They left Celeste at her home first, and then took Mrs. Greene to hers.

“I live way down on East Eleventh Street,” she said, apologetically; “and I oughtn’t to let you go clear down there with me. But,—oh, well, I might as well own up,—I’d just love to roll up to our door in this car!”

“And so you shall,” said Mona, appreciating this bit of feminine vanity. “And, Mrs. Greene, if you’ll accept them, I’d like to make you a present of those furs. I don’t need them, for I have several other sets, and you’re very welcome to them.”

“My land!” said Mrs. Greene, and then could say no more, for her voice choked, and two tears rolled down her cheeks.

“And to think I thought you ladies were stuck up!” she said, in a voice of contrition. “Why, two angels straight from Heaven couldn’t be more kind or whole-soulder than you two are. But, Miss Galbraith, I can’t accept such a gift,—I—I ought not to.”

Mrs. Greene was caressing the fur as she spoke, and Mona patted her hand, saying laughingly:

“I couldn’t take it away from anybody who loves it as you do. Please keep it. I’m more glad to give it to you than you can possibly be to have it.”

So Mrs. Greene kept the furs,—and her beaming face proved the depth of thankfulness which she tried, all inadequately, to express.

CHAPTER VI

CONFIDENCES

Mona went home with Patty to dinner, as she often did when the girls had been together during the afternoon.

At the dinner table the elder Fairfields were greatly entertained by the account of the first Happy Saturday Afternoon.

“But aren’t you afraid,” Mr. Fairfield asked, “that such unaccustomed luxuries will make those people discontented with their own conditions?”

“Now, father Fairfield,” exclaimed Patty, “you ought to know better than that! you might as well say that a man in a prison ought never to see a ray of sunlight, because it would make him more discontented with his dark jail.”

“That’s true,” agreed Nan; “I think it’s lovely to give these people such a pleasure, and if I can help in any way, Patty, I’ll be glad to.”

“And then it’s the memory of it,” said Mona.

“You know yourself how pleasant it is to look back and remember any pleasure you may have had; and when it’s only one, and such a big one, the pleasure of remembrance is even greater.”

“That’s good philosophy, Mona,” said Mr. Fairfield, approvingly, “and I take back what I said. I think the plans you girls have made are excellent; and I, too, will be glad to help if I can.”

“Other people have offered to help us,” began Mona, but Patty interrupted her, saying: “We don’t want any help from people individually. I mean, father, if you will lend us the car, and things like that, we’ll be glad, of course. But we don’t want any personal assistance in our plans.”

“All right, chickadee; far be it from me to intrude. But I thought perhaps if you wanted to make a little excursion, say, to see the Statue of Liberty, or even to go to the circus, you might like a man along with you as a Courier General.”

“That’s just what Mr. Lansing said!” exclaimed Mona, which was the very remark Patty had been fearing.

“That’s just what we’re not going to do!” she declared. “We’re only going to places where we can go by ourselves, or if we need a chaperon, we’ll take Nan. But we don’t want any men in on this deal.”

“I don’t see why,” began Mona, but Patty promptly silenced her by saying, “You do see why. Now, Mona, don’t say anything more about it. There isn’t any circus now, and it’s time enough when it comes, to decide about going to it; and I don’t want to go, anyway. There are lots of things nicer than a circus.”

“Mr. Lansing said he’d send us a box for the Hippodrome, some Saturday afternoon,” said Mona, a little diffidently.

“That’s awfully kind of him,” said Nan. “I should think you girls would be delighted with that.”

“A box,” and Patty looked scornful. “Why, a box only holds six, so with us four, we could only invite two guests. I don’t think much of that scheme!”

“I’ll donate a box also,” said Mr. Fairfield. “You can get them adjoining, and with two of you girls in one and two in the other, you can invite eight guests.”

Patty hesitated. The plan sounded attractive, and she quickly thought that she could invite Rosy for one of the guests and give the boy a Happy Saturday Afternoon. But she didn’t want to accept anything from Mr. Lansing, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to say so, frankly.

“What’s the matter, Patty?” asked Nan. “You don’t like the idea of the Hippodrome, though I don’t see why.”

“I do like it,” said Patty, “but we can’t decide these things in a minute. We ought to have a meeting of the club and talk it over.”

“Nonsense,” said Mona. “You know very well, Patty, it isn’t a formal club. I’m going to accept these two Hippodrome boxes, and tell the girls that we can each invite two guests. The Hippodrome show is lovely this year, and anybody would like it, whether children or grown-ups. And we’re much obliged to you, Mr. Fairfield.”

“You’re taking a great deal upon yourself, Mona,” said Patty. “You’re not president of the club.”

“Neither are you.”

“Well, I’m not dictating how things shall be run.”

“Well, I am! So all you’ll have to do, is to run along with me.”

Mona was so laughingly good-natured that Patty’s serious face broke into a smile, too. She was annoyed at the idea of being under obligation to Mr. Lansing, but, after all, it was hardly fair to stand in the way of eight people’s pleasure. So she surrendered gracefully.

“All right, Mona,” she said; “we’ll have the Hippodrome party. I know one guest I shall invite, who’s sure to enjoy it. He’s a boy about fourteen, and the funniest thing you ever saw.”

“I’d like to take children, too,” said Mona; “but I don’t know many. I think I’ll ask Celeste’s two little sisters.”

It was characteristic of Patty not to dwell on anything unpleasant, so having made up her mind to accept Mr. Lansing’s favour, she entered heartily into the plan for the next party.

But after dinner, when the girls were alone in Patty’s boudoir, she said to Mona, seriously, “You know I didn’t want to take that box from Mr. Lansing.”

“Of course I know it, Patty,” and Mona smiled, complacently. “But I made you do it, didn’t I? I knew I should in the end, but your father helped me unexpectedly, by offering a second box. Now, Pattikins, you may as well stop disliking Mr. Lansing. He’s my friend, and he’s going to stay my friend. He may have some faults, but everybody has.”

“But, Mona, he isn’t our sort at all. I don’t see why you like him.”

“He mayn’t be your sort, but he’s mine; and I like him because I like him! That’s the only reason that anybody likes anybody. You think nobody’s any good unless they have all sorts of aristocratic ancestry! Like that Van Reypen man who’s always dangling after you.”

“He isn’t dangling now,” said Patty. “I haven’t seen him since my party.”

“You haven’t! Is he mad at you?”

“Yes; he and Roger are both mad at me; and all on account of your old Mr. Lansing!”

“Yes, Roger’s mad at me, too, on account of that same poor, misunderstood young gentleman. But they’ll get over it. Don’t worry, Patty.”

“Mona, I’d like to shake you! I might just as well reason with the Rock of Gibraltar as to try to influence you. Don’t you know that your father asked me to try to persuade you to drop that Lansing man?”

Patty had not intended to divulge this confidence of Mr. Galbraith, but she was at her wit’s end to find some argument that would carry any weight with her headstrong friend.

“Oh, daddy!” said Mona, carelessly. “He talks to me by the hour, and I just laugh at him and drum tunes on his dear old bald head. He hasn’t anything, really, against Mr. Lansing, you know; it’s nothing but prejudice.”

“A very well-founded prejudice, then! Why, Mona, that man isn’t fit to—to–”

“To worship the ground I walk on,” suggested Mona, calmly. “Well, he does, Patty, so you may as well stop interfering.”

“Oh, if you look upon it as interfering!”

“Well, I don’t know what you call it, if not that. But I don’t mind. Go ahead, if it amuses you. But I’m sorry if my affairs make trouble between you and your friends. However, I don’t believe Mr. Van Reypen will stay angry at you very long. And as for Roger,—well, I wouldn’t worry about him. Of course, you’re going to Elise’s dance on Tuesday night?”

“Yes, of course. And I’ve no doubt I’ll make up with Roger, then; but I don’t know about Philip. I doubt if he’ll be there.”

“I haven’t the least doubt. Where you are, there will Mr. Van Reypen be, also,—if he can possibly get an invitation.”

Mona was right in her opinion. At Elise’s dance on Tuesday night, almost the first man Patty saw, as she entered the drawing-room, was Philip Van Reypen. He greeted her pleasantly, but with a certain reserve quite different from his usual eager cordiality.

“May I have a dance, Miss Fairfield?” he said, holding out his hand for her card.

Quick-witted Patty chose just the tone that she knew would irritate him. “Certainly, Mr. Van Reypen,” she said, carelessly, and as she handed him her card, she turned to smile at another man who was just coming to speak to her. When Philip handed back her card, she took it without looking at it, or at him, and handed it to Mr. Drayton, seemingly greatly interested in what dances he might select.