Charlotte M Yonge - "John Keble's Parishes"

Goldwin Smith - "Lectures and Essays"

Frederick Marryat - "Mr. Midshipman Easy"

Mrs. Belle Kendrick Abbott - "Leah Mordecai"

Warning: file_get_contents(http://www.publishersnewswire.com/RSS/news4.xml) [function.file-get-contents]: failed to open stream: HTTP request failed! HTTP/1.0 404 Not Found in /home/farmy/public_html/knownwriters.net/inc/rss.php on line 8

Books: Patty\'s Suitors

C >> Carolyn Wells >> Patty\'s Suitors



Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.



PATTY'S SUITORS

BY CAROLYN WELLS

Author of The Patty Books, The Marjorie Books, etc.


Illustrations by E.C. Caswell




CONTENTS

I A VALENTINE PARTY

II ON THE TELEPHONE

III THE HEPWORTHS AT HOME

IV A PERFECTLY GOOD JOKE

V THREE PICTURES

VI PRINCESS POPPYCHEEK

VII SUITORS

VIII A HOUSE PARTY

IX EDDIE BELL

X QUARANTINED

XI MEETING IT BRAVELY

XII A SURPRISE

XIII SISTER BEE

XIV KENNETH

XV AN INVITATION

XVI BELLE HARCOURT

XVII MAY-DAY

XVIII MOONLIGHT

XIX IN THE RUNABOUT

XX THE RIDE HOME




ILLUSTRATIONS

"BEWARE, TAKE CARE, SHE IS FOOLING THEE"

AFTER DINNER THE WHOLE PARTY WENT TO THE OPERA

"NOW, WHAT WOULD YOU DO IN A CASE LIKE THAT?"

"BILL!" SHE CRIED, "LITTLE BILLEE!"




CHAPTER I

A VALENTINE PARTY


"It IS a boofy frock, isn't it, Nansome?"

Patty craned her head over her shoulder, as she waited for her
stepmother's response, which was only, "Yes."

"Oh, my gracious, Nan! Enthuse! Don't you know half the fun in life
is enthusiasm?"

"What shall I say?" asked Nan, laughing.

"Oh, say it's a peach! a hummer! a lallapaloosa!"

"Patty, Patty! what language!"

"Oh, yes; I forgot I meant to stop using slang. But when any one is
so lukewarm in her admiration as you are, forcible language is
called for."

"Well, it certainly is a lovely gown, and you never looked prettier.
There! since you are fishing for compliments, are you pleased now?"

Patty was far from being conceited over her pretty face, but she
honestly liked admiration, and, indeed, she was accustomed to
receive it from all who knew her. At the present moment, she was
standing before a long mirror in her boudoir, putting the last
touches to her new party toilette. Louise, the maid, stood by, with
a fur-trimmed wrap, and Patty drew on her long gloves with a happy
smile of anticipation.

"I just feel sure I'm going to have a good time to-night," she said;
"it's a presentiment or premonition, or whatever you call it."

"Don't flirt too desperately," said Nan, not without cause, for
pretty Petty was by nature a coquette, and as she had many admirers
she merrily led them a dance.

"But it's so interesting to flirt, Nancy. And the boys like it,--so
why not?"

Why not, indeed? thought Nan. Patty's flirtations were harmless,
roguish affairs, and prompted by mischief and good nature. Patty was
a sweet, true character, and if she teased the young men a bit, it
was because of her irrepressible love of fun.

"And this is St. Valentine's night," went on Nan, "so I suppose you
think yourself privileged to break all the hearts you can."

"Some hearts are so brittle, it's no fun to break them," returned
Patty, carelessly, as she adjusted her headdress.

She was going to a Valentine party, where the guests were requested
to come in appropriate costume.

So Patty's gown was of white lace, softly draped with white chiffon.
On the modish tunic were love-knots of pale blue velvet, and a
border of tiny pink rosebuds. The head-dress, of gold filigree, was
a heart pierced by a dart; and on Patty's left shoulder, a dainty
little figure of Cupid was wobbling rather uncertainly.

"You'll lose that little God of War," said Nan.

"I don't care if I do," Patty answered; "he's a nuisance, anyway,
but I wanted something Valentinish, so I perched him up there. Now,
good-bye, Nancy Dancy, and I expect I'll be out pretty late."

"I shall send Louise for you at twelve, and you must be ready then."

"Oh, make it one. You know a Valentine party is lots of fun."

"Well, half-past twelve," agreed Nan, "and not a minute later!"

Then Louise wrapped Patty in a light blue evening cloak, edged with
white fur, and the happy maiden danced downstairs.

"Good-bye, Popsy-Poppet," she cried, looking in at the library door.

"Bless my soul! what a vision of beauty!" and Mr. Fairfield laid
down his paper to look at his pretty daughter.

"Yes," she said, demurely, "everybody tells me I look exactly like
my father."

"You flatter yourself!" said Nan, who had followed, and who now
tucked her hand through her husband's arm. "My Valentine is the
handsomest man in the world!"

"Oh, you turtle-doves!" said Patty, laughing, as she ran down the
steps to the waiting motor.

Unless going with a chaperon, Patty was always accompanied by the
maid, Louise, who either waited for her young mistress in the
dressing-room or returned for her when the party was over.

"Shall you be late, Miss Patty?" she asked, as they reached their
destination.

"Yes; don't wait for me, Louise. Come back about half-past twelve;
I'll be ready soon after that."

Louise adored Patty, for she was always kind and considerate of the
servants; and she thought Louise might as well have the evening to
herself, as to be cooped up in a dressing-room.

The party was at Marie Homer's, a new friend, with whom Patty had
but recently become acquainted.

The Homers lived in a large apartment house, called The Wimbledon,
and it was Patty's first visit there. Miss Homer and her mother were
receiving their guests in a ballroom, and when Patty greeted them, a
large crowd had already assembled.

"You are a true valentine, my dear," said Mrs. Homer, looking
admiringly at Patty's garlanded gown.

"And this is a true Valentine party," said Patty, as she noted the
decorations of red hearts and gold darts, with Cupids of wax or
bisque, here and there among the floral ornaments.

Marie Homer, who was a pretty brunette, wore a dress of scarlet and
gold, trimmed with hearts and arrows.

"I'm so glad to have you here," she said to Patty; "for now I know
my party will be a success."

"I'm sure your parties always are," returned Patty, kindly, for
Marie was a shy sort of girl, and Patty was glad to encourage her.

As soon as the guests had all arrived St. Valentine appeared in the
doorway.

It was Mr. Homer, but he was scarcely recognisable in his garb of
the good old Saint.

He wore a red gown, trimmed with ermine, and a long white beard and
wig.

He carried an enormous letter-bag, from which he distributed
valentines to all. They were of the old-fashioned lace paper
variety, and beautiful of their kind.

Mrs. Homer explained that on the valentine of every young man was a
question, and the girl whose valentine had an answer to rhyme with
it, was his partner for the first dance.

The young men were requested to read their valentines aloud in turn,
and the girls to read their responsive answers.

This proceeding caused much hilarity, for the lines were exceedingly
sentimental, and often affectionate.

When it was Roger Farrington's turn, he read out boldly:

"Where's the girl I love the best?"

and Marie Homer, who chanced to hold the rhyming valentine,
whispered, shyly:

"I am sweeter than the rest!"

"You are, indeed!" said Roger, as he offered his arm with his
courtliest bow.

Then Kenneth Harper read:

"Who's the fairest girl of all?"

and Mona Galbraith read, with twinkling eyes:

"I'll respond to that sweet call!"

Then it was Philip Van Reypen's turn. He glanced at his valentine,
and asked:

"Who's a roguish little elf?"

Everybody laughed when a tall, serious-faced girl responded:

"I guess I am that, myself!"

It was toward the last that Clifford Morse asked:

"Who's the dearest girl I know?"

and as Patty's line rhymed, she said, demurely:

"Guess I am,--if YOU think so!"

"I'm in luck," said Clifford, as he led her to the dance. "You're
such a belle, Patty Fairfield, that I seldom get a whole dance with
you."

"Faint heart never won fair lady," laughed Patty, shaking her fan at
him. "I always accept invitations."

"Accept mine, then, for the next dance," said Philip Van Reypen, who
overheard her words as he was passing.

"No programmes to-night," returned Patty, smiling at him. "Ask me at
dance time."

As no dances could be engaged ahead, except verbally, Patty was
besieged by partners for every dance.

"Oh, dear," she cried, as, at the fourth dance, five or six eager
young men were bowing before her; "what shall I do? I'd have to be a
centipede to dance with you all! And I can't divide one dance into
six parts. And I can't CHOOSE,-that would be TOO embarrassing! Let's
draw lots. Lend me a coin, somebody."

"Here you are," said Van Reypen, handing her a bright quarter.

Patty took it, and put both hands behind her.

"You may try first, Phil, because you put up the capital. Right or
left?"

"Right," said Philip, promptly.

Patty gaily brought her hands into view, and the quarter lay in her
left palm.

"Next!" she said; "Mr. Downing."

"Left," chose that young man, as Patty again concealed her hands.

But that time she showed the coin in her right hand.

"My turn now," said Ken Harper, "AND, you'll please keep your hands
in front of you! You don't do it right."

"Do you mean that I cheat?" cried Patty, in pretended rage.

"Oh, no, no! nothing like that! Only, this game is always played
with the fists in view."

So Patty held her little gloved fists in front of her, while Kenneth
chose.

"Right!" he said, and her right hand slowly opened and showed the
shining coin.

"Were you going to take me, anyway?" asked Kenneth, as they walked
off together. "And why did you turn down poor Van Reypen? He was
awfully cut up."

"Ken Harper, do you mean to insinuate that I didn't play fair?"

"Yes, my lady, just that. Oh, cheating never prospers. You have to
put up with me, you see!"

"I might do worse," and Patty flashed him a saucy glance.

"I wish you meant that."

"Oh, I do! I DO, Ken. Truly, there are lots of worse people than you
in the world."

"Who?"

"Well,--there's Eddie Perkins."

"Oh, Patty! that fop! Well, I'll bet you can't think of another."

"No; I can't."

"Patty, how dare you! Then you'll sit right here until you can."

Laughingly Kenneth stopped dancing, and led Patty to an alcove where
there were a few chairs. As they sat down, Philip Van Reypen came
toward them.

"Oh, Ken," Patty cried, "I've thought of a man worse than you are!
Oh, EVER so much worse! Here he is! And I simply adore bad men, so
I'm going to dance with him."

Naughty Patty went dancing off with Van Reypen, and Ken looked after
them, a little crestfallen.

"But," he thought, "there's no use being angry or even annoyed at
that butterfly of a girl. She doesn't mean anything anyway. Some
day, she'll wake up and be serious, but now she's only a little
bundle of frivolity."

Kenneth had been friends with Patty for many years; far longer than
any of her other young men acquaintances. He was honestly fond of
her, and had a dawning hope that some time they might be more than
friends. But he was a slow-going chap, and he was inclined to wait
until he had a little more to offer, before he should woo the pretty
butterfly.

And, too, Patty would never listen to a word of that sort of thing.
She had often proclaimed in his hearing, that she intended to enjoy
several years of gay society pleasures, before she would be engaged
to any one.

So Kenneth idly watched her, as she circled the room with Van
Reypen, and took himself off to find another partner.

"Oh, Valentine, fair Valentine," said Van Reypen to Patty, as they
danced.

"Wilt thou be mine, and I'lt be thine," returned Patty, in mocking
sing-song tones.

"Forever may our hearts entwine," improvised Philip, in tune to the
music.

"Like chickwood round a punkin-vine," Patty finished.

"Pshaw, that's not sentimental. You should have said, Like sturdy
oak and clinging vine."

"But I'm not sentimental. Who could be in a crowded ballroom, in a
glare of light, and in a mad dance?"

"What conditions would make you feel sentimental?"

"Why,--let me see. Moonlight,--on a balcony,--with the right man."

"I'm the right man, all right,--and you know it. And if I'm not
greatly mistaken, here's moonlight and a balcony!"

Sure enough, a long French window had been set slightly ajar to cool
the overheated room, and almost before she knew it, Patty was
whisked outside.

"Oh, Philip! Don't! you mustn't! I'll take cold. I ought to have
something around me."

"You have," said Van Reypen, calmly, and as he had not yet released
her from the dance he held his arms lightly round her shoulders.

Patty was angry. She knew Philip loved her,--several times he had
asked her to marry him,--but this was taking an unfair advantage.

The February wind itself was not colder than the manner with which
she drew away from him, and stepped back into the ballroom.

"My dear, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Homer, who chanced to be near,
"how imprudent! You should not go out without a wrap."

"I know it, Mrs. Homer," and Patty looked so sweetly penitent that
her hostess could but smile at her. "But, truly, I just stepped out
a single second to get a tiny breath of air. The room IS warm, isn't
it? May I stay here by you a few moments?"

"Yes, indeed," and Mrs. Homer drew the girl down beside her on the
sofa. "You're not robust, my child, and you mustn't run foolish
risks."

"You're quite right, and I won't do it again. But on a night not
quite so cold, that balcony, flooded with moonlight, must be a
romantic spot."

"It is, indeed," said Mrs. Homer, smiling. "My young people think
so; and I hope you will have many opportunities in the future to see
it for yourself."

"Your young people? Have you other children besides Marie?"

"Yes; I have a daughter who is away at boarding-school. And, also, I
have a nephew, whose home is in this same building."

"Is he here to-night?"

"No; Kit hates dances. Of course, that's because he doesn't dance
himself. He's a musician."

"Kit? What a funny name."

"It's Christopher, really, Christopher Cameron; but he's such a
happy-go-lucky sort of chap, we naturally call him Kit."

"I think I should like him," said Patty. "Would he like me?"

"No," said Mrs. Homer, her eyes twinkling at Patty's look of
amazement. "He detests girls. Even my daughters, his cousins, are
nuisances, he says. Still he likes to come down here and sit on my
balcony, and tease them. He lives with his parents in the apartment
just above us."

"He sounds an interesting youth," said Patty, and then, as Roger
came up and asked her for a dance, she promptly forgot the musical
nephew.

At supper-time, Patty's crowd of intimates gathered around her, and
they occupied a pleasant corner of the dining-room.

"What'll you have, Patsums?" asked Roger, as a waiter brought a tray
full of dainty viands.

"Sandwiches and bouillon," said Patty, promptly; "I'm honestly
hungry."

"The result of exercise in the open air," murmured Philip Van
Reypen, as he took a seat directly behind her.

Patty gave an involuntary giggle, and then turned upon Philip what
she meant to be an icy glare. He grinned back at her, which made her
furious, and she deliberately and ostentatiously ignored him.

"Hello, you two on the outs?" inquired Kenneth, casually.

"Oh, no!" said Philip, with emphasis; "far from it!"

So, as Patty found it impossible to snub such cheerfulness, she
concluded to forgive and forget.

"There's something doing after supper," remarked Roger. "Miss Homer
dropped a hint, and even now they're fixing something in the
ballroom."

"What can it be?" said Elise, craning her neck to see through a
doorway.

"It's a game," said Marie Homer, who had just joined the group. "I
told mother, you all considered yourselves too grown-up for games,
but she said she didn't want to have the whole evening given over to
dancing. So you will play it, won't you?"

"Sure we will!" declared Kenneth, who admired the shy little girl.

Marie was new in their set, but they all liked her. She was timid
only because she felt unacquainted, and the good-natured crowd did
all they could to put her at ease.

"Games!" exclaimed Philip; "why, I just love 'em! I'll play it,
whatever it is."

"I too," said Patty. "It will be a jolly change from dancing."




CHAPTER II

ON THE TELEPHONE


When the young people returned to the ballroom, it presented a
decidedly changed appearance. Instead of an interior scene, it was a
winter landscape.

The floor was covered with snow-white canvas, not laid on smoothly,
but rumpled over bumps and hillocks, like a real snow field. The
numerous palms and evergreens that had decorated the room, were
powdered with flour and strewn with tufts of cotton, like snow. Also
diamond dust had been lightly sprinkled on them, and glittering
crystal icicles hung from the branches.

At each end of the room, on the wall, hung a beautiful bear-skin
rug.

These rugs were for prizes, one for the girls and one for the boys.
And this was the game.

The girls were gathered at one end of the room and the boys at the
other, and one end was called the North Pole, and the other the
South Pole. Each player was given a small flag which they were to
plant on reaching the Pole.

This would have been an easy matter, but each traveller was obliged
to wear snowshoes. These were not the real thing, but smaller
affairs made of pasteboard. But when they were tied on, the wearer
felt clumsy indeed, and many of the girls declared they could not
walk in them at all. And in addition each one was blindfolded.

However, everybody made an attempt, and at a given signal the young
people started from their opposite ends of the room and endeavoured
to make progress toward the goal as they blindly stumbled along.

Patty concluded to move very slowly, thinking this the surest way to
make a successful trip. So she scuffled along among the other
laughing girls, now and then stumbling over a hillock, which was
really a hassock or a sofa cushion under the white floor covering.
It was great fun, and the girls cheered each other on as they
pursued their blinded way. And then about midway of the room they
met the boys coming toward them. Then there was scrambling, indeed,
as the explorers tried to get out of each other's way and follow
their own routes.

It was a very long room, and Patty hadn't gone much more than
halfway, when she concluded to give up the race as being too
tiresome. She made her way to the side of the room, and reaching the
wall she took off her blinding handkerchief and kicked off the
snowshoes. To her great surprise she found that many of the other
girls and some of the boys had done the same thing, and not half of
the original contestants were still in the race. And, indeed, it
proved to be much greater fun to watch those who were still blindly
groping along, than to stay in the game.

At last the game was concluded, as Roger Farrington proudly planted
his flag at the very spot that designated the North Pole, and not
long after, Clementine Morse succeeded in safely reaching the South
Pole. So the beautiful rugs were given to these two as prizes, and
every one agreed that they had earned them.

Then, amid much laughter, everybody was unblindfolded. and they all
sat around on the snow mounds waiting for the next game.

A big snow man was brought in and set in the centre of the room. Of
course it was not real snow, but made of white plaster, gleaming all
over with diamond dust. But it was the traditional type of snow man,
with a top hat on, and grotesque features.

In the mouth of the figure was a cigarette, and each guest was
presented with a few snowballs, made of cotton wool. The game was to
knock the cigarette from the snow man's mouth with one of the
snowballs.

Of course the cigarette was so arranged that the lightest touch of a
ball would dislodge it, and as one cigarette was displaced, Mr.
Homer supplied another.

The guests had been divided into two parties, and each side strove
to collect the greater number of cigarettes.

Some balls flew very wide of the mark, while others with unerring
aim would hit a cigarette squarely.

The game caused great hilarity, and everybody was anxious to throw
balls. They threw in turn, each having three balls at a time.

Patty was especially deft at this, and with true aim succeeded
several times.

Then when they tired of this play, a few more dances followed before
it was time to go home.

Some attendants came in and whisked away the snow hillocks and floor
covering, leaving the ballroom once again in order for dancing.

"Makes me feel young again, to play those kiddy games," said
Kenneth, as he was dancing with Patty.

"I like them," returned Patty; "I hate to think that my childhood is
over, and I love games of any kind."

"Your childhood will never be over," returned Kenneth; "I think you
are the incarnation of youth, and always will be."

"I'm not so much younger than you."

"Five years,--that's a long time at our age. By the way, when are
the Hepworths coming home?"

"Next week; and we're planning the loveliest reception for them. You
know their apartment is all ready, and we're going to have just a
few people to supper there, the night they return."

"Shall I be one of the few?"

"Well, rather! The best man at the wedding must surely be at the
home-coming. Doesn't it seem funny to think of Christine as mistress
of her own home? She'll be perfectly lovely, I know. My goodness
gracious! Ken, what time is it? I'm afraid I'm staying too late. I
promised Nan I'd leave at half-past twelve."

"It's not much more than that. Can't you stay for another dance?"

"No, I can't possibly. I must run right away, or my motor car will
turn into a pumpkin, and Louise into a white mouse. Take me to Mrs.
Homer, please, and I will say good-night to her."

But as they crossed the room, they met Van Reypen coming toward
them.

"Our dance, I think," he said, coolly, as he took Patty's hand.

The music had just started, and its beautiful rhythm was too
tempting for Patty to resist.

"I'm just on my way home," she said, "but we'll go around the room
once, and then I must go."

"Once indeed!" said Philip, gaily; "we won't stop until the music
does."

"Yes, we will; I must go now," but somehow or other they circled the
room several times. Patty loved dancing, and Philip was one of the
best of partners.

But at last she laughingly protested that she really must go home,
and they went together to say good-night to their hostess. And then
Patty said good-night to Philip, and ran away to the dressing-room,
where Louise was patiently waiting for her.

And soon, muffled up in her furs, they were rapidly spinning along
toward home.

"I didn't keep you waiting very long, did I, Louise?" said Patty,
kindly.

"No, Miss Patty, you're right on time. I expect you would have liked
to stay longer."

"Yes, I should, but I promised Mrs. Fairfield not to."

When at last Patty reached her own little boudoir, she declared she
was more tired than she had realised. So Louise took off her pretty
frock, and Patty sat in her blue silk dressing gown while the maid
brushed her hair. Then she brought her a cup of hot milk, and left
her for the night.

Patty wasn't sleepy, and she dawdled around her room, now and then
sipping the milk, and then looking over her engagements for the next
day.

"Oh," she thought, suddenly, "I've left my fan at the party. I'm
sorry, for it's my pet fan. Of course it will be safe there, but I
think I'll telephone Marie to look it up and put it away."

Knowing that the Homers would not yet have retired, Patty picked up
her telephone and called the number.

A masculine voice gave back a cheery "Hello!"

"Is this Mr. Homer?" said Patty.

"No, indeed. I'm Kit Cameron. Who are you, please?"

"Isn't this The Wimbledon apartment house?"

"It sure is."

"Isn't this 6483?"

"No, it's 6843. Please tell me who you are?"

A spirit of mischief entered into Patty. She knew this must be Marie
Homer's cousin, who lived on the floor above the Homers, and who,
Mrs. Homer had said, detested girls.

"But I have the wrong number," she said. "I didn't mean to call
you."

"But since you did call me, you must tell me who you are."

"I'm a captive princess," said Patty, in rather a melancholy tone.
"I'm imprisoned in the dungeon of a castle."

"How awful! May I get a squad of soldiers and come to your rescue,
oh, fair lady?"

"Nay, nay, Sir Knight; and anyway you do not know that I am a fair
lady."

"Your voice tells me that. Surely such musical tones could belong
only to the most beautiful princess in the world."

"Oh, yes, I am THAT," and Patty laughed, roguishly; "but a well-
behaved princess would not be talking to a strange man. So I must
say good-bye."

"Oh, no, no! wait a minute; you haven't told me your name yet."

"And I don't intend to. You detest girls, anyway."

"Yes, I always have, but you see I never met a princess before."

"You haven't met me yet."

"But I shall! Don't make any mistake about that."

"How can you? I'm going to ring off now, and you have no way of
tracing me."

"I can find out from Central."

"No, you can't."

"Why can't I?"

"Because I forbid you to do so."

"All right; then I can't find out that way, but I'll find out some
other way. I'll go on a quest."

"Goodness, what is a quest?"

"Oh, it just means that I henceforth devote my whole life to finding
you."