A BUBBLE BURST
One afternoon, about a week later, Philip Van Reypen called at the
Fairfields home in New York. Being informed that Patty was out, he asked
to see Mrs. Fairfield, and Nan received him in the library.
“So sorry Patty isn’t here,” she said, as she greeted him cordially.
“She’ll be sorry, too.”
“Perhaps it’s just as well,” returned Philip. “I’d like a little talk
with you. Look here, Mrs. Nan, has Patty said anything to you about
going on the stage?”
“Unless you mean a Fifth Avenue stage, she certainly has not,” and Nan
smiled at the idea.
“No, don’t laugh, it’s serious. You know I met the crowd coming down
from Maine, at Boston, and I was with them one evening. Well, they
talked,—jestingly, it’s true,—but they talked about Patty being in
light opera some time,——”
“Why, Philip, how perfectly ridiculous! It was entirely a joke, of
course.”
“I don’t think so. It seems, as near as I can make out, that Farnsworth
put her up to it.”
“Bill Farnsworth! Oh, I can’t think he would.”
“Well, Patty herself said to me that Farnsworth said she was
good-looking enough, and then, somehow, she got mixed up with a
singing-person of some sort, who used to be an actress. Farnsworth knew
her in San Francisco, I believe. And she infatuated Patty to such an
extent that——”
“I never heard such nonsense! Why hasn’t Patty told me all this?”
“That’s just the point. If there were nothing to it, she would have told
you. That’s why I fear she has taken the notion seriously.”
“I can’t think it yet. I’ll ask her when she comes home.”
“I’m not sure that would be wise. Why don’t you wait, and see if she
does anything in the matter. Elise Farrington said that a manager had
asked to see Patty regarding the subject.”
“A manager!” Nan fairly gasped. “Why, this is awful! What would her
father say?”
“But wait a minute, let’s look at the thing rationally. You know how
susceptible Patty is to a new idea or a new influence. I think this
ex-actress had bewitched the child, and to chide her would only make her
more determined to stand by her new friend. Why not deal more
diplomatically. Watch Patty, and if she does anything queer or
inexplicable, follow it up, and see what it means. Of course, you know,
Mrs. Nan, that I’m actuated only by honest interest in Patty’s welfare.”
“Oh, I know that, Philip; and I’m very glad you came to me with this
story first. Perhaps it won’t be necessary to speak of it to Mr.
Fairfield, at least, not yet. He’s busy, and a little bothered just now
with some business matters; and if I could straighten out this
foolishness without letting it worry him, I’d be glad.”
“We’ll do it,” and Phil spoke heartily. “We’ll save that little goosie
from herself. Of course, you know, I worship the ground she walks on,
and I’m going to win her yet. You think I’ve a chance, don’t you?”
“I don’t see why not, Phil. There’s nobody I’d rather see Patty marry
than you, but she is determined she won’t listen to such a thing yet.
She says she has too much fun being a belle, to tie herself down to any
one man. And perhaps she is right. She’s only twenty, and while that’s
quite old enough to marry, if she wants to, yet it’s young enough to
wait a while if she prefers.”
“I quite agree to that. It’s only that I want to be on the spot when she
does make up her mind to marry. Of course she will, eventually.”
“Of course. And you have every chance. Now, as to this other matter, do
you think Mr. Farnsworth instigated the idea?”
“I gathered that from different things that were said. And the actress
person was his friend. And I know that he took Patty over to Poland
Spring House to see her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Kent,—Maude Kent. They call her Maudie.”
“Queer Patty hasn’t mentioned her. I agree with you, that looks as if
she took the thing seriously.”
“Oh, perhaps not,” and Philip rose to go. “It may be I exaggerate the
danger. But I’m so fearful of that capricious nature of hers,—you never
can tell what whim she’ll fly at next.”
“That’s true, and I’m so much obliged to you for putting me on my
guard.”
Nan said nothing to her husband on this subject, but she watched Patty
more carefully. She was clever enough not to let the supervision be
apparent, but it was unremittent.
However, nothing transpired to rouse her suspicions in any way. Patty
was her own gay, sunny self, planning all sorts of gaieties and
employments for the winter season. She had by no means given up or
neglected her club, that was for the purpose of giving pleasure to
shop-girls or other working women, and she thought up plans for raising
money for that philanthropic purpose.
She kept up her membership in the Current Events Club and in the Musical
Society to which she belonged, and she showed no undue interest in the
new light operas that were successively put upon the stage. She attended
most of these, but she had always had a liking for them and that did not
seem to Nan a special indication of histrionic intent.
But one evening, as the three Fairfields sat at dinner, Patty was called
to the telephone. She left the table and after a time returned with
sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks.
“Dear people,” she said, smiling at her parents, “I’ve a surprise to
spring on you. Will you be astounded to learn that your foolish little
Patty had a chance to make good in the world? To have a career that will
mean fame and celebrity.”
Nan almost choked. An icy hand seemed to clutch at her throat. The hour
had struck, then. And with all her watchfulness she had not succeeded in
preventing it!
“It perfectly wonderful,” Patty was rattling on, “you can hardly believe
it,—I hardly can, myself, but I’m going to be a great singer.”
“You’re that now, Kiddie,” said her father, who had no idea of what lay
back of this introduction.
“Yes, but more than that! Oh, Nan, it’s too glorious! Daddy, what _do_
you think? I’m going to sing in light opera!”
“You’ve often done that,” he returned, thinking of her amateur
performances. “One of your favourite Gilbert and Sullivan ones, or more
modern this time?”
Patty laughed happily. “You don’t get it yet, Dadsy. I mean in a real
opera, on the real stage.”
“What! Just say that again! My old ears must be failing me.”
“I’m going to be a real prima donna! On the stage of a real theatre!”
“Not if I see you first. But elucidate this very extraordinary
statement.”
“I will.” But even as she began to speak, Patty caught sight of Nan’s
face, and the lack of sympathy, nay, more, the look of positive
disapproval she saw there, made her pause a moment. Then she went on, a
little defiantly, “I suppose it will strike you queer at first, but
you’ll get used to it. Why, Dads, I found out, while I was up in
Maine——”
“Down in Maine,” corrected her father.
“Well, any old way to Maine, but I discovered that I have a voice! and
more, I have a knack, a taste, a talent, even, for the stage. And,—I’m
going to devote my life to it.”
“Devote your life to it!” And Mr. Fairfield’s tone was scathing. “If
you’re so anxious for a life of devotion, I’ll put you in a convent. But
on the stage! Not if the Court knows herself!”
Patty smiled tolerantly. “I was afraid you’d talk like that at first. It
shall now be my duty and my pleasure to make you change your intelligent
mind. Nan, you’ll help me, won’t you?”
Patty asked this with some misgiving, for Nan did not look entirely
helpful.
“Help you to go on the stage?” was the smiling retort, for Nan quickly
decided to keep the discussion in a light key, if possible. “Yes,
indeed, after some reputable physician has signed a certificate of your
lunacy,—but _not_ while you’re in your right mind.”
“Now, Nancy, don’t go back on me! I depend on you to talk father over,
though he won’t need much argument, I’m sure.”
“Look here, Patty,” and her father spoke seriously; “tell me just what
you’re driving at.”
“Only this, Dad. I’ve a chance to go on the stage in a new light opera
and I want to go.”
“Whose opera?”
“Do you mean the composer?”
“I do not. I mean the manager or owner, or whoever is getting you mixed
up with it.”
“Well, the manager is Mr. Stengel——”
“Stengel! Why, Patty, he’s a—a _real_ manager!”
“That’s what I said,” and Patty beamed at him. “And he is coming here
tonight to see me,—to see _us_ about it.”
“Coming here!”
“Yes, don’t be so overcome. You didn’t know your little goose girl would
turn out a swan, did you?”
“But there’s a misapprehension somewhere. You see, Mr. Stengel is _not_
coming here tonight.”
“Yes, he is, I’ve just telephoned that he might.”
“You telephoned Stengel!”
“Well, not directly to him, but I told my friend, Miss Kent, that she
might bring him.”
“Who? What friend?”
“Miss Kent. I met her up—down in Maine. She’s a musical—oh, Daddy
Fairfield, _don’t_ look as if you’d been struck by lightning!”
“But I have, and I’m trying to crawl out from under the débris. Now the
first thing you do, my child, you fly back to that telephone, and call
off that little engagement for this evening. Tell your Maine friend that
circumstances over which you have _no_ control make it impossible for
you to receive her and the illustrious manager this evening.”
“But, Father,——”
“At once, Patty, please.”
Mr. Fairfield spoke in a tone that Patty had not heard since she was a
little girl, but she well remembered it. She rose without a word and did
as she was bid.
“Be very gentle with her, Fred,” Nan murmured, as soon as Patty was out
of hearing.
“I will,” and Mr. Fairfield flashed a glance of amused understanding at
his wife. “Did you know about this thing?”
“Only vaguely. I’ll tell you some other time. But quash the scheme
decidedly, won’t you?”
“_Rather!_”
Patty came back, her face a little flushed, her lips a little pouting,
but quite evidently ready for the fray.
“I did as you told me, Father,” she began, “but I think you’ll be sorry
for the stand you’ve taken.”
“Perhaps so, girlie, but I don’t want my sorrow to interfere with my
digestion. So let’s drop the whole subject till after dinner.”
It had always been a rule in the Fairfield household never to discuss
unpleasant subjects at table. So Patty tacitly agreed and during the
rest of the meal there was only gay conversation on light matters.
“Now, then,” said Mr. Fairfield, when dinner was over, and the three
were cosily settled in the pleasant library, “tell me over again and
tell me slow.”
And so, quietly, but still with that air of determination, Patty told
about Maude Kent, and the concert at Poland Spring and how Mr. Stengel
was interested and wanted to see her with a view to starring her in
light opera.
Mr. Fairfield sighed, for he foresaw no easy task in trying to persuade
his wilful daughter to his own point of view.
“Patty, dear,” he said, “do you remember when you were a little girl, I
gave you a lecture on proportion?”
“I do, Daddy, and I’ve never forgotten it!”
“Well, put it in practice now, then. Can’t you see that it is out of all
proportion to think of an ignorant, untrained girl like you stepping all
at once into the rôle of a successful prima donna?”
“But more experienced people than you think I can.”
“No, they don’t, dear. This manager knows your limitations, he knows you
have no stage lore or experience, and if he wants you, it is only
because of your dainty and charming personality, and because there is a
certain prestige in the fact of a society girl going on the stage. But,
as soon as the novelty was over, he would fling you aside like a
worn-out glove.”
“How do you know? You never were a manager?”
“Patty, men of experience in this world don’t have to adopt a profession
to know many salient points regarding it. I shall have to ask you to
take my word that I do know enough of managers and their ways to know my
statement is true. Nor are the managers altogether wrong. It is their
business to get performers who interest the public, and they have a
right to use their efforts toward that end. But I don’t want my daughter
to be sacrificed to their business acumen. Now, will you drop this wild
scheme without further argument, or shall we thresh it out further?”
“Why, I’ve no intention of dropping it, Dad,” and Patty looked amazed at
the idea.
“Oh, Lord, then I suppose we must go through with the farce. All right,
go back to the telephone and have the Stengel man come, right here and
now.”
“May I? Oh, Dadsy, I knew you’d give in!”
“Give in nothing! I want to show you what a little ninny you are.”
“Wait a minute,” said Nan, as Patty rose and walked toward the telephone
table; “suppose we don’t ask Mr. Stengel, at first,—but just have Miss
Kent come and tell us about it.”
“Good!” agreed Mr. Fairfield. “She can’t come alone,—Patty, tell her
we’ll send the car for her. I’d like to go straight ahead with this
interesting matter.”
So Patty telephoned and Maude Kent said she would come. The car was
despatched and in a tremor of impatience Patty waited for her friend’s
arrival.
The elder Fairfields made no further allusion to the subject, but talked
on other matters till the guest was announced.
Maude Kent bustled in, and greeted Patty effusively, kissing her on both
cheeks. She acknowledged introduction to the other two with gay
cordiality, and seated herself in the middle of a sofa, flinging open
her satin evening wrap. She wore a light-coloured gown, with a profusion
of lace and a great deal of jewelry. Patty looked at her a little
surprised, for she gave a different impression from the girl she had
seen before. She couldn’t herself quite define the difference, but Maude
seemed less refined, louder, somehow, here in the Fairfield home, than
she had in the big hotel.
And Patty wished she would act more reserved and less chatty and
familiar.
“You see, Mr. Fairfield,” Maude ran on, “we just _must_ have our Patty
in the profesh. We need her, and I assure you she’ll make good.”
“In just what way, Miss Kent?” asked Fred Fairfield, his keen eyes
taking in the visitor’s every move.
“Oh, she can sing, you know; and she’s a looker, all right; and she has
charm—oh, yes, decided charm.”
“And is this enough, you think, to assure Mr. Stengel’s giving her, say,
a ten-year contract as a prima donna?”
“Well, hardly that!” and Maude laughed, heartily. “You men will have
your little joke. But he would give her a good place in the chorus to
start with, and doubtless Patty would work up. Oh, yes, she could work
up, I feel sure. Patty is not afraid of hard work, are you, dearie?”
“And it is as a chorus girl that Mr. Stengel wishes to engage Patty?”
Fred Fairfield’s voice was quiet, but his eyes shot gleams of
indignation.
“Why, yes, Mr. Fairfield; she couldn’t expect a higher position at
first.”
“And would she be assured of having it in time?”
“If she caught on with the public,—or, if Mr. Stengel took a liking to
her personally——”
“That will do, Miss Kent. I’m sure you will forgive me if I decline to
pursue this subject further. My daughter most certainly will not go into
any venture of Mr. Stengel’s, or accept any other position on the stage.
The incident is closed.”
There was something in Fred Fairfield’s face that forbade the indignant
rejoinder Maude Kent was about to make. And it was with a sudden
accession of dignity that she rose to her feet and drew her wrap about
her.
“Very well,” she said; “it is closed. As a matter of explanation, let me
say that my interest in the thing is a legitimately financial one. Mr.
Stengel gives me a fair commission on the young ladies I persuade to
join his chorus. As I am self-supporting, this means something to me.
Moreover, I am personally fond of Miss Fairfield, and I am sorry not to
have achieved the triumph of her consent. But since it is impossible, I
can only bid you all good evening.”
With the air of an offended queen, Maude Kent swept from the room, and
the Fairfield chauffeur took her back to her home.
“Patty, you everlasting little goose!” said Fred Fairfield as he took
his daughter in his arms, “forget it! There’s no harm done, and nobody
need ever know how foolish you were. Your bubble’s burst, your air
castle is in ruins, but your old father is still here to look after you,
and laugh with you over your ridiculous schemes. Now, forget this one
and start another!”