A MIDNIGHT MESSAGE
Dinner in the big dining-room was great fun. A large, round table had
been prepared for the party, and the smaller, unoccupied tables all
about, were also decorated with flowers to give a festive atmosphere.
As there were scores of idle waiters, each of the party could have one,
or more, if desired.
Farnsworth seated his guests.
“I’ll sit here,” he announced, “and I’ll ask Mrs. Kenerley to sit at my
right. The rest of you may sit where you choose, alternating, of course,
the girls and the men. Now, here’s my plan. At every meal, the men sit
as we do tonight, and the ladies move one seat to the right. This gives
us new companions each time, and prevents monotony.”
“Here’s me,” said Patty, dropping into the chair at Bill’s left hand,
while Channing sat the other side of Patty. Laughingly, they all found
places, and dinner was served.
It was an unusual experience. The hotel dining-room was ornate in design
and appointments, and its green and gold colouring and soft glow of
silk-shaded lights made a charming setting for the merry party round the
big table. The other tables, and there were many of them, looked as if
they might be occupied by the ghosts of the departed guests.
“It’s like being castaways on a beautiful and very comfortable desert
island,” said Patty, as she looked appreciatively at a huge tray of hors
d’œuvre offered her by a smiling waiter. “I do love these pickly-wickly
things, and never before have I felt that I might take my time in
choosing. But, here at——what’s the name of the hotel, Bill?”
“Never mind the name on its letter-heads,” he returned, “we’ll call it
Freedom Castle. Everybody is to follow his or her own sweet will,—or
somebody else’s if that seems pleasanter.”
“Who has the pleasantest will?” asked Patty, looking around; “I want to
follow it.”
“I have,” said Chick, promptly. “My will is something fierce in the way
of pleasantness. I daresay every one here will fall all over themselves
in their haste to follow it. Ha, do I hear a familiar strain? I do!”
He did, for just then the hotel orchestra, a fine one, struck up a
popular air.
“Music, too!” exclaimed Mona. “All the comforts of home, and none of the
cares. This is just too perfect! Billy Boy, you’re a wonder!”
“To think of it being Bill’s hotel!” said Daisy, in an awed voice.
“To think of our being here without any bills,” put in Roger Farrington.
“That’s the best part of it. It’s like being given the freedom of the
city!”
“The freedom of the country,” Adele corrected; “that’s much better.”
The orchestra, on a platform, gorgeous in scarlet, gold-braided coats,
began a fascinating fox-trot.
Kit Cameron looked across the table at Patty, with a nod of invitation.
Smiling assent, Patty rose, flinging her napkin on the table. Kit came
round to her, and in a moment they were dancing to the music that had
called them. Skilfully, Kit guided her among the maze of tables and
chairs, for they were the two best dancers in the crowd, and they had no
difficulty in avoiding obstacles.
“Have a turn, Adele?” asked Bill, laying down his fork.
“No, thank you; it’s all very well for the girls, but your chaperon is
too nearly middle-aged for such capers.”
“Nonsense; but maybe you’re wise to save your energies for an evening
dance.”
Several of the young people did dance a few turns, but Chick Channing
speedily caused them to halt by announcing the arrival of mushrooms
under glass.
“Whoosh!” cried Kit, “back to nature! We can dance at any old time, but
mushrooms under glass are an event! I say, Bill, I’m glad the cook
didn’t leave with the guests.”
“The whole serving force is under contract for a fortnight longer,”
explained Farnsworth. “You can live on mushrooms, if you like.”
“It’s Paradise,” said Marie Homer, ecstatically; “I don’t ever want to
go home. Does the mail come regularly?”
Everybody laughed at Marie’s look of anxiety, and Bill replied, “Yes, my
child, you can get your daily letter from him up here.”
“He doesn’t write _every_ day,” said Marie, so innocently that they all
roared again.
“I wish _I_ had somebody to write love-letters to me,” sighed Patty. “It
must make life very interesting.”
“I’ll write them to you,” offered Chick. “It’s no trouble at all, and
I’m the little old complete love-letter writer.”
“You’re right here in the spot, though, so that’s no fun. I mean
somebody who isn’t here,—like Marie’s somebody.”
“Well, you must have plenty of absent adorers. Can’t you encourage their
correspondence?”
“But then I’d have to write first, and I hate to do that, it’s so—so
sort of forward.”
“That, to be sure. But it’s better to be forward than forlorn.”
“Oh, I’m not exactly forlorn!” said Patty, indignantly. “I can be happy
with all these others, if t’other dear charmer _is_ away.”
“Can you, Patty?” whispered Bill. “Are you happy here?”
“Oho, Little Billee, I am beatifically happy! Just see that confection
Louis is bringing in! Could I be anything but happy with that ahead of
me?”
The dessert that had just appeared was indeed a triumph of the
confectioner’s art. Composed of ice cream, meringue and spun sugar, it
was built into an airy structure that delighted the sight as well as the
palate. Everybody applauded, and Adele declared it was really a shame to
demolish it.
“It would be a shame not to,” said Patty, her blue eyes dancing in
anticipation of the delicious sweet.
“What a little gourmande you are,” said Chick, watching Patty help
herself bountifully to the dessert.
“’Deed I am. I love sweet things, they always make me feel at peace with
the world. I eat them mostly for their mental and moral effect on me,
for my disposition is not naturally sweet, and so I do all I can to
improve it.”
“And yet you give the effect of a sweet dispositioned person.”
“She is,” spoke up Daisy, overhearing. “Why, Chick, Patty is the
sweetest nature ever was. Don’t you believe her taradiddles.”
“I know the lady so slightly, I’m not much of a judge. But I feel sure
she’ll improve on acquaintance,” and Chick looked hopeful.
“I hope so, I’m sure,” and Patty’s humble expression of face was belied
by the twinkle in her eye.
Then dinner was over, and Adele rose and led the way to the great salon
or drawing-room.
“Come for a little walk on the veranda,” said Chick to Patty. “Let’s get
more acquainted.”
Patty caught up a rose-coloured wrap from the hall rack, and they went
out and strolled the length of the long veranda that went round three
sides of the house.
“Splendid crowd,” said Chick, enthusiastically; “and right down fine of
old Bill to do this thing.”
“He _is_ fine,” said Patty, impulsively; “whatever he does is on a big
scale.”
“His friendships are, I have reason to know that. He’s done heaps for
me, dear old chap.”
“Have you known him long?”
“Three or four years. Met him through Mona. Good sort, Mona.”
“Yes, Mona’s a dear. She’s the sort that wears well. Where is your home,
Mr. Chick?”
“Nowhere, at present. I’ve lived in Arizona, but I’ve come East to grow
down with the country. I’m a mining engineer, at your service.”
“I’d love to employ you, but, do you know, I seldom have need of the
services of a first-class mining engineer.”
“Oh, I’m not so awfully first-class. Bill thinks he can use me in his
manœuvres. We talked it over a bit on the way up, and I hope so, I’m
sure.”
“Then I hope so, too.”
“Thank you. You’re a kind lady. Shall we sit in this glassy nook and
flirt a bit?”
They had reached a portion of the veranda, glass-enclosed, and arranged
with seats among tall palms and jars of flowers. There were shaded
lights and a little illuminated fountain in the centre.
“I’ll stop here a moment, but I can’t flirt,” said Patty, demurely; “my
chaperon won’t allow it.”
“Allowed flirting is no fun, anyway. Forbidden fruit is sweetest.”
“But sour grapes are forbidden fruit. How can sour be sweet?”
“Oh, it’s all according to your nature. If you have a sour nature, the
grapes are sour. If a sweet disposition, then all fruits are sweet.”
“Even a lemon?”
“Nobody hands a lemon to sweet people.”
“Then they can’t have any lemonade, and I love it! I guess I’ll stop
being so sweet——”
“Good gracious, Patty, you couldn’t do _that_ if you tried!”
This remark was made by Kit Cameron, who just then put his head in at
the doorway and overheard Patty’s laughing decision.
“Hello, you two,” he went on; “you’ll have to stop your introspective
conversation, and come and join the dance. Will you, won’t you come and
join the dance? We’re only to have one, our dragon chaperon declares,
and then we must all go by-by. So come and trip it, Patty of the fairy
toes!”
The trio returned to the drawing-room, and after the one dance had been
extended to half a dozen, Adele collected her headstrong charges and
carried them off to bed.
“And you’re not to have kimono confabs all night, either,” she ordered.
“Patty, you’ll be good for nothing tomorrow, if you don’t get some rest.
And the others, too.”
But there was more or less chattering and giggling before the girls
separated for the night. It seemed natural for them to drift into
Patty’s boudoir and in their pretty negligées they dawdled about while
Patty brushed her hair.
“What goldilocks!” exclaimed Marie, in admiration. And truly, Patty’s
hair was a thing to admire. Thick and curling, it hung well below her
waist, and shone with a golden glimmer as the light touched its rippling
lengths.
“It’s an awful nuisance,” Patty declared; “there’s such a lot of it, and
it does snarl so.”
“Let me help you,” cried Daisy, springing up and taking the brush from
Patty’s hand. “Mona, do the other side.”
Mona seized another brush and obeyed, and as the two brushed most
vigorously, Patty’s little head was well pulled about.
“Thank you, girls, oh, _thank_ you _ever_ so much, but truly, I _don’t_
mind doing it myself! Oh, _honestly_, I don’t!”
Patty rescued her brushes, and soon had the rebellious locks in two long
pigtails for the night.
“Now, scoot, all of you,” she said, “this is the time I seek repose for
my weary limbs, on beds of asphodel—or—whatever I mean.”
“Beds of nothing,” said Mona, “I’m not a bit sleepy. Let us stay a
little longer, Patty, dear,—sweet Patty, ah, _do_ now.”
“_I_ can’t,” and Marie started toward the door. “I’m awfully sleepy.”
“You don’t fool me, my infant,” said Patty, wisely. “Your eyes are like
stars burned in a blanket! _I_ know what you’re going to do! But don’t
be alarmed, I won’t tell.”
Marie blushed and with murmured good-nights, ran away.
“Going to write a letter, of course.” And Daisy wagged her sapient head.
“Who is the man, Pat?”
“Fie, Daisy! You heard me say I wouldn’t tell!”
“You only said you wouldn’t tell what she’s going to do. And we know
that. Do tell us who he is!”
“I won’t do it. If Marie chooses, she will tell you herself. And anyway,
Daisy, it’s no one you know. I don’t think you ever saw him and I doubt
if you ever even heard of him.”
“Is he nice?”
“Charming. Full of capers, though. And Marie is so serious. But he’s
very attractive.”
“Are they engaged? Oh, Patty, _do_ tell us about it!”
“I can’t. I don’t know so very much about it myself; but what I do know
is a sacred trust, and not to be divulged to a horde of rattle-pates.
Now, will you make yourselves scarce? Go and write letters, go and darn
stockings,—anything, but let me go to bed.”
Finally, Patty shooed the girls away, and locking her door against their
possible return, she began to make ready for bed.
She glanced at her watch as she sat at her toilette-table. It was
exactly midnight.
And at that moment her telephone rang.
“Those girls!” she thought to herself. “I’ll not answer it!”
But the bell kept ringing, and Patty took down the receiver with a soft
“Hello.”
“That you, Patty?” and her astonished ears recognised Philip Van
Reypen’s voice.
“For mercy’s sake! Where are you, Phil?”
“Home. In New York. Can you hear me all right?”
“Yes, plainly. How did you know I was here?”
“Learned it from your father. Say, girlie, why didn’t you get me a bid
up there, too?”
“Do you want to come?”
“_Do_ I! Aren’t _you_ there!”
“Is that a reason?”
“The best in the world. Do get Farnsworth to invite me.”
“I can’t, Phil. He doesn’t want any—any more than we have here now.”
“You mean he doesn’t want _me_.”
“Why, doesn’t he like you?” Patty’s voice was full of innocent surprise.
“It isn’t that, but he wants you all to himself.”
“Nonsense! There are a dozen of us up here.”
“Well, I mean he’s afraid to have _me_ there. By Jove, Patty, that’s a
sort of a compliment. He’s afraid of me.”
“Don’t be silly, Philip. How’s Lady Van?”
“She’s all right. She’s at Newport, just now. I’m in town for a day or
two, so thought I’d call up Spring Beach and maybe run down there to see
you. And this is the immediate result. Well, look here, Patty, if I
can’t get invited to Farnsworth’s Palace Hotel, for I hear it’s that,
I’m going to Poland Spring, and then I can run over and see you anyway.”
“Oh, Philip, _don’t_ do that!”
“Why not? Haven’t I a right to go to Poland Spring, if I like?”
“Yes, but don’t come over here.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t exactly explain it, myself; at least not over the telephone,
but I don’t think it would be nice for you to come here when you were
not invited.”
“Oh, I was spoken of, then?”
“Well,—yes,—since you will have it.”
“And Farnsworth wouldn’t have me?”
“Well,—I said not to have you.”
“Oh, you _did_! What a nice friend you are!”
“Now, Phil, don’t talk like that. I said—I said——”
“Bless your heart, I know just how it was. Or nearly. But you could have
had me asked—and you didn’t! Now, my lady, just for that, I _am_ going
to Poland Spring—start tomorrow. And,—listen, now,—if you really
don’t want me to come over to the Farnsworth House, then you must come
over to the Poland Spring House to see me! Get that?”
“Why, Phil, absurd! How could I go alone?”
“You needn’t come alone. Bring a chaperon, or another girl or a crowd of
people if you like, or even a servant, but _come_! That’s all, so
good-night, little girl. Pleasant dreams!”
The telephone clicked as Phil hung up, and with a little gasp, Patty
hung up her receiver and threw herself on a couch to think it over. She
couldn’t help laughing at the coil she was in, for she well knew she
couldn’t go to Poland Spring House, unless with the whole crowd,—or
nearly all of them. She pictured Bill reaching there to be greeted by
Philip Van Reypen! Dear old Bill; after all he had done to make it
pleasant for them, to hurt his feelings or to annoy him in any way,
would be mean. She wished Phil had kept out of it. She wished there
wasn’t any Phil nor any Little Billee, nor—nor—anybody,—and somehow
Patty’s long, brown lashes drooped over her pansy blue eyes,—and, still
robed in her chiffon and lace peignoir, and all curled up on the soft,
spacious couch,—she fell sound asleep.