MAUDE’S CONFIDENCES
Meantime, Patty, in Miss Kent’s parlour, was singing her best. The
scheme appealed to her very strongly. She was glad to assist the kind
and beautiful lady, and moreover, she enjoyed an escapade of any sort,
and this surely was one.
Miss Kent was delighted with her voice, and predicted an ovation for
her. They selected several of Patty’s best songs, and had the
accompanist in to rehearse with her.
“What about dress?” said Patty, after it was positively settled that she
was to sing at the concert.
“I’ll ride over and get you whatever you want,” said Channing, anxious
to be of service.
“Oh, no,” said Miss Kent, “that would be a shame for you to go to all
that trouble. I have a little white tulle gown that can be made just
right in a jiffy. I am a bit taller than Miss Fairfield, but a tuck will
fix that. Now, here’s an important point. You see, the notices and the
programmes all say M’lle Farini will sing. Shall we let it go at that? I
mean, let Miss Fairfield impersonate M’lle Farini, or shall we have an
announcement made at the opening of the concert, that Miss Fairfield is
acting as substitute?”
“I’d rather let it go without the use of my name,” said Patty. “I don’t
know as it would be quite right, but I’d love to let people think I was
the Farini lady. It would be such fun.”
“Well,” said Miss Kent, “let’s just leave it. If we don’t say anything
of course the audience will take it for granted that you are M’lle
Farini. And if any objections are raised, or if it comes out afterward,
I can say that I had to substitute you at the last moment, and there was
no time to have new programmes printed.”
“That will be fine,” Patty declared; “I do love a joke, and this is
really a good one, I think. Yes, let me be M’lle Farini, for one night
only, and if the real owner of that name objects, why, it will be all
over then, and she’ll have to take it out in objecting. But I shan’t
disgrace her, even if I don’t sing as well as she does.”
“But you do, Miss Fairfield,” exclaimed Miss Kent; “she has a fuller,
stronger voice, but yours has more melody and sweetness. You will remain
here over night, of course.”
“Oh, I never thought about that!” and Patty looked a little alarmed. “I
don’t know what Adele will say.”
“Oh, please do. You really must. I have two bedrooms in my suite, and I
can make you very comfortable.”
“Well,” and Patty hesitated; “I’ll have to talk this thing over with
Mrs. Kenerley. I’ll telephone her now, and if she is willing, I will
stay here all night.”
So Patty called up Adele and told her the whole story.
Adele listened, and then she laughed, good-naturedly, and told Patty she
could do as she liked. “I think it’s a harum-scarum performance,” she
said, “but Jim says, go ahead, if you want to. You stay with your new
friend all night. Of course you couldn’t come home after the concert. I
suppose Mr. Channing will stay at that hotel, too. And then he can bring
you home in the morning. What will you wear?”
Patty told her, and then she asked Adele not to tell the others what she
was up to. “I’m afraid they’ll come over,” she said; “and I can carry it
through all right before strangers, but if all you people sat up in
front of me, giggling, I couldn’t keep my face straight, I know; so
don’t tell them till after it’s over.”
“All right, girlie, I will keep your fateful secret locked in my heart
till you bid me speak. Have a good time, and sing your sweetest.”
“Now that’s all right,” and Patty looked enchanted at the prospect of
fun ahead. “I’m going to have the time of my life! You go away now,
Chick, and Miss Kent and I will see about my frock. Shall we meet at
dinner?”
“Yes, I want you two girls to dine with me. Do you know anybody, Maudie,
to make a fourth?”
“No, wait, Chick. I don’t want to dine in public. Nor do I want Miss
Fairfield to be bothered with a company dinner. I’ll tell you a better
plan. She and I will dine alone, here in my little parlour. You get your
dinner downstairs, by yourself, and then, after the concert is over, you
can invite us to supper and we can talk it over.”
Channing acquiesced, and then he went away, not to see them again until
supper time.
“You are so good, Miss Fairfield——”
“Oh, do call me Patty. I like it so much better.”
“I’ll be glad to. And you must call me Maude. It is a perfect Godsend,
your helping me out like this. May I tell you just a little bit about
myself?”
“I wish you would. And I’m so glad I can be of service to you.”
But first they must needs attend to the all-important matter of Patty’s
frock, and sure enough, a white tulle of Maude’s was easily and quickly
altered till it just fitted Patty. It was new and modish, made with full
skirts and tiers of narrow frills. There was no lace or other trimming,
save the soft tulle ruffles, and Maude decreed no jewelry of any sort,
merely a few yellow roses at the belt,—the tiny mignon roses. These she
ordered from the office, and by that time their dinner was served.
As they sat enjoying the few but well-chosen dishes that Maude had
selected, she told Patty somewhat of her life, and Patty listened with
interest.
“I have to support myself, my mother and a crippled sister,” Maude said,
“and I had ambition to become a great actress. But after a fair trial, I
found I could be at best only a mediocre actress. I found, however, that
I had talent for organizing and arranging entertainments, and I
concluded I could make more money that way than on the stage. So I took
it up as a regular business, and I have succeeded. But this year has not
been a very good one. I’ve had some misfortunes, and twice I didn’t get
the money due me, because of dishonest assistants. And, I tell you
truly, Patty, if I had lost five or six hundred dollars tonight, it
would have been a hard blow. You have saved me from that, and I bless
and thank you. Do you realize, little girl, what you are doing for me?”
“I’m so glad I can. Tell me about your sister.”
“Clare? Oh, she is the dearest thing! She never has walked, but in spite
of her affliction she is the happiest, cheeriest, sweetest nature you
ever saw. I love her so, and I love to be able to get little delicacies
and comforts for her. See, here is her picture.”
Patty took the case and saw the portrait of a sweet-faced girl, little
more than a child.
“She is a dear, Maude. I don’t wonder you love her. Oh, I’m so glad I
happened over here today. Do you know Bill Farnsworth?”
“I met him once or twice the same winter I met Chick Channing. Mr.
Farnsworth seemed very stiff and sedate. Chick is much more fun.”
“Chick is gayer, but Bill is an awfully nice man.”
“I was with a vaudeville troupe that year. It wasn’t very nice,—hard
work and small pay. It was my last attempt on the stage. If I couldn’t
be a big and fine actress I didn’t want to be any at all. So I’m glad I
gave it up for this sort of work. This season is about over now, and I
shall have entertainments in New York this winter. I’ve lots of
influential patrons, and I hope for success. But I shall never forget
your heavenly kindness in helping me out tonight. Now, perhaps, we had
better be getting dressed.”
Patty made a careful toilette, for she wanted to look her best, and she
succeeded. The soft dainty white tulle was exceedingly becoming, and she
had done her hair the prettiest way she knew. Maude’s slippers were the
least bit loose, but they looked all right, and Patty refused a loan of
a pair of long white gloves.
“They’re not wearing them with evening gowns this season,” she said,
“and I hate them, anyhow.”
“You’re right,” and Maude surveyed her critically. “Your arms are
lovely,—so soft and dimpled. You are more effective without gloves.”
Through the opening numbers of the concert, Patty sat in the ante-room
waiting her turn. She was not nervous or apprehensive, and when the time
came, she walked out on the platform and bowed gracefully, with a
cordial little smile.
She was to sing almost exactly the selections of M’lle Farini. But she
had substituted others in one or two instances, and, of course, for
encores, she could make her own choice.
And there were plenty of encores. Patty’s sweet voice charmed by its
sympathy and grace, rather than by volume. And it made a very decided
hit with the audience. They applauded continuously until Patty was
forced to respond a second and a third time, after each of her numbers.
Channing, sitting in the audience, heard people saying, “Who is this
Farini? I never heard of her before. Her voice is a little wonder!”
Miss Kent was delighted with Patty’s success. She had felt sure the
hearers would like Patty’s music, but she did not expect such unanimous
approval nor such enthusiasm.
Four times Patty was announced to sing, and as each was encored at least
once, it made a good many songs. At the last appearance she was very
tired, but she bravely endeavoured not to show it. She went through the
number beautifully, but the deafening applause made it impossible for
her not to give them one more.
“I can’t,” said Patty, as Maude came to her with entreaties. “I’m all
in, as the boys say. Oh, well, I’ll sing one more little thing. No
accompaniment at all, please, Maude.”
Then Patty returned to the platform and when the enthusiastic welcome
ceased, she sang very softly a little cradle song. The haunting
sweetness of the notes and the delicate languor of Patty’s tired voice
made an exquisite combination more effective even than her other work.
She finished in a pure, fine minor strain, and with a little tired bow,
walked slowly from the stage.
Then the house went wild. They clapped and shouted brava! and demanded
more. But the concert was over; Miss Kent made a little speech of
thanks, and the footlights went out. Reluctantly, the people rose from
their seats, but hung around, hoping to get a glimpse of M’lle Farini.
[Illustration: Patty’s sweet voice charmed by its sympathy]
“It isn’t so much her voice,” Chick overheard somebody say, “as the way
she has with her. She’s charming, that’s what she is, charming!”
“We can’t have supper in the dining-room,” Maude said, laughingly, to
Channing. “Patty would be mobbed. Those people are just lying in wait
for her.”
“But I want to,” cried Patty. “I’ve done the work, now I want the fun.
Let’s have supper there. They won’t really come up and speak to me, when
they don’t know me.”
“Won’t they!” said Maude. “But indeed you shall have supper wherever you
like. You deserve anything you want. Come on, Chick, it’s to be just as
Patty says.”
So to the supper-room they went, and there Patty became the observed of
all. At first, she didn’t mind, and then it became most embarrassing.
She could hear her name mentioned on all sides, and though it was always
coupled with compliments, it made her uncomfortable to be so
conspicuous.
“Though of course,” she said gaily, “they’re not talking about me, but
about M’lle Farini. Well, I’m pretty hungry, Chick. Maude made me eat a
light dinner, as I was going to sing. Now I want to make up. Can I have
some bouillon, and some chicken _à la_ king, and some salad, and some
ice cream?”
“Well, well, what a little gourmande! Why, you’d have nightmare after
all that!”
“No, I wouldn’t. I’m fearfully hungry. Honest I am.”
So Patty had her selection, and though she ate little of each course,
she took small portions with decided relish.
“I feel like a new lady!” she declared when she had finished. “Is there
dancing? Can I have a turn? I don’t want to go to bed yet.”
“Of course you can dance,” said Maude. “But you must remain M’lle Farini
for the evening. Can you remember?”
“’Course I can. It’ll be fun. Besides, I’m only going to have one trot
with Chick and then I’ll go by-by, like a good little girl.”
But, as might have been expected, after her one dance, Patty was
besieged by would-be partners, clamouring for an introduction. The
manager of the hotel was bribed, cajoled, and threatened in the various
efforts of his guests to get introductions to Patty and to Miss Kent.
“Just one or two,” Patty whispered to Maude, and so two or three young
men won the coveted presentation, and Patty was urged to dance.
But this she refused. She wanted to chat a little with these strangers,
but she didn’t care to dance with men so lately made acquainted.
Channing acted as bodyguard, and his close inspection would have barred
out any one he did not altogether approve of. But they were a nice class
of men, polite and well-bred, and they were entertaining as well. Patty
had a right down good time, and not the least part of the fun was the
masquerading as another.
“You are staying here long, M’lle Farini?” asked Mr. Gaunt, an
attractive man of musical tastes.
“No,” Patty replied, “I have to leave early in the morning. I’m due to
sing at another hotel tomorrow night.”
“Ah, a near-by house?”
“Not very. Do you sing, Mr. Gaunt?”
“Yes, baritone. I’d like to sing with you. I’ve an idea our voices would
blend.”
“I’m sure they would. I love to sing duets. But,” and pretty Patty
looked regretful, “it cannot be. We will never meet again.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I feel it. But tomorrow I’m going to have my fortune told. If the seer
says anything about our future meeting, then I’ll look for you later
on.”
“If the seer is a true soothsayer, and no fake, he can’t help telling
you we will meet again; because it is a foregone conclusion.”
“Then I shall expect you and look forward to the meeting,” and Patty
held out her hand to say good-night, for it was after midnight, and
Maude was making signs for her to come with her.
But just then a clerk came toward them with a puzzled face. “There’s a
telephone call for a Miss Fairfield,” he said; “and the speaker says
she’s here with Mr. Channing. Are you Mr. Channing, sir?”
“Yes,” said Chick. “It’s all right. M’lle Farini has occasion to use
different names in her profession. Which booth?”
“This way, sir.”
Channing, beckoning to Patty, followed the man, and whispered to her to
take the message, as it must be from some of the Freedom Castle people.
Patty went into the booth, and to her surprise was greeted by Philip Van
Reypen.
“Well,” she exclaimed, a little annoyed, “is this a habit? Do you expect
to call me up every night at midnight?”
“Now, Pattykins, don’t get mad. I called you up to apologize for what I
said last night. I take this hour, ’cause I know you’re all wrapped up
in people all day, and only at night do you have a moment to waste on
me, and I _must_ tell you how sorry I am that I was rude to you.”
“Rude, how?”
“Why, telling you I was coming up there whether you asked me or not. You
don’t want me to, do you?”
“No, Phil, since you ask me plainly, I _don’t_. Not but that _I’d_ like
to see you, but I’m here on Bill Farnsworth’s invitation, and since he
didn’t ask you,——”
“Yes, I know. And it’s all right. I don’t want to butt in where I’m not
asked. And I’m sorry I called you up, if it bothered you. And——”
“All right, Phil. Now if you’ve any more to say, can’t you write it? For
I’m just going to bed. Good-night.” And Patty hung up the receiver.