A NEW FRIEND
"Patty," said her father, a week or two later, "Mr. Hepworth has invited
us to a tea in his studio in New York tomorrow afternoon, and if you care
to go, I'll take you."
"Yes, I'd love to go; I've always wanted to go to a studio tea. It's very
kind of Mr. Hepworth to ask us after the way he was treated here."
Mr. Fairfield laughed, but Patty looked decidedly sober. She still felt
very much crestfallen to think that the first guest her father brought
home should be obliged to dine at the hotel, or at a neighbour's. Aunt
Alice had invited them to dinner on that memorable Sunday, and though she
said she had expected to ask the Fairfields anyway, still Patty felt
that, as a housekeeper, she had been weighed in the balances and found
sadly wanting.
According to arrangement, she met her father in New York the day of the
tea, and together they went to Mr. Hepworth's studio.
It gave Patty a very grown-up feeling to find herself amongst such
strange and unaccustomed surroundings.
The studio was a large room, on the top floor of a high building. It was
finished in dark wood and decorated with many unframed pictures and dusty
casts. Bits of drapery were flung here and there, quaint old-fashioned
chairs and couches were all about, and at one side of the room was a
raised platform. A group of ladies and gentlemen sat in one corner,
another group surrounded a punch bowl, and many wise and learned-looking
people were discussing the pictures and drawings.
Patty was enchanted. She had never been in a scene like this before, and
the whole atmosphere appealed to her very strongly.
The guests, though kind and polite to her, treated her as a child, and
Patty was glad of this, for she felt sure she never could talk or
understand the artistic jargon in which they were conversing. But she
enjoyed the pictures in her own way, and was standing in delighted
admiration before a large marine, which was nothing but the varying
blues of the sea and sky, when she heard a pleasant, frank young voice
beside her say:
"You seem to like that picture."
"Oh, I do!" she exclaimed, and turning, saw a pleasant-faced boy of about
nineteen smiling at her.
"It is so real," she said. "I never saw a realer scene, not even down at
Sandy Hook; why, you can fairly feel the dampness from it."
"Yes, I know just what you mean," said the boy; "it's a jolly picture,
isn't it? They say it's one of Hepworth's best."
"I don't know anything about pictures," said Patty frankly, "and so I
don't like to express definite opinions."
"It's always wiser not to," said the boy, still smiling.
"That's true," said Patty, "I only did express an opinion once this
afternoon, and then that lady over there, in a greenish-blue gown, looked
at me through her lorgnette and said:
"Oh, I thought you were temperamental, but you're only an
imaginative realist."
"Now, what could she have meant by that?" said the boy, laughing. "But
you're very imprudent. How do you know that lady isn't my--my sister, or
cousin, or something?"
"Well, even if she is," said Patty, "I haven't said anything
unkind, have I?"
"No more you haven't; but as I don't see anyone just now at leisure to
introduce us, suppose we introduce ourselves? They say the roof is an
introduction, but I notice it never pronounces names very distinctly.
Mine is Kenneth Harper."
"And mine is Patricia Fairfield, but I'm usually called Patty."
"I should think you would be, it suits you to a dot. Of course the boys
call me Ken. I'm a Columbia student."
"Oh, are you?" said Patty. "I've never known a college boy, and I've
always wanted to meet one."
"Well, you see in me a noble specimen of my kind," said young Harper,
straightening up his broad shoulders and looking distinctly athletic.
"You must be," said Patty; "you look just like all the pictures of
college boys I've ever seen."
"And I flattered myself that my beauty was something especial and
individual."
"You ought to be thankful that you're beautiful," said Patty, "and not be
so particular about what kind of beauty it is."
"But some kinds of beauty are not worth having," went on young Harper;
"look at that man over there with a lean pale face and long lank hair.
That's beauty, but I must say I prefer a strong, brave, manly type, like
this good-looking chap just coming toward us."
"Oh, you do?" said Patty. "Well, as that good-looking chap happens to be
my father, I'll take pleasure in introducing you."
"I am glad to see you, sir," said Kenneth Harper, as Patty presented him
to her father, "and I may as well own up that I was just making remarks
on your personal appearance, which accounts for my blushing
embarrassment."
"I won't inquire what they were," said Mr. Fairfield, "lest I, too,
should become embarrassed. But, Patty, my girl, if we're going back to
Vernondale on the six-o'clock train, it's time we were starting."
"Oh, do you live in Vernondale?" inquired Kenneth. "I have an
aunt there. I wonder if you know her. Her name is Daggett--Miss
Rachel Daggett."
"Indeed I do know her," said Patty. "She is my next-door neighbour."
"Is she really? How jolly! And don't you think she's an old dear? I'm
awfully fond of her. I run out to see her every chance I can get, though
I haven't been much this winter, I've been digging so hard."
"She _is_ a dear," said Patty. "I've only seen her once, but I know I
shall like her as a neighbour."
"Yes, I'm sure you will, but let me give you a bit of confidential
advice. Don't take the initiative, let her do that; and the game will be
far more successful than if _you_ make the overtures."
Patty smiled. "Miss Daggett told me that herself," she said; "in fact,
she was quite emphatic on the subject."
"I can well believe it," said Kenneth, "but I'm sure you'll win her
heart yet."
"I'm sure she will too," said Mr. Fairfield, with an approving glance at
his pretty daughter; "and whenever you are in Vernondale, Mr. Harper, I
hope you will come to see us."
"I shall be very glad to," answered the young man, "and I hope to run out
there soon."
"Come out when we have our play," said Patty; "it's going to be
beautiful."
"What play is that?"
"We don't know yet, we haven't decided on it."
"I know an awfully good play. One of the fellows up at college wrote it,
and so it isn't hackneyed yet."
"Oh, tell me about it," said Patty. "Papa, can't we take the next later
train home?"
"Yes, chick, I don't mind if you don't; or, better still, if Mr. Harper
can go with us, I'll take both of you children out to dinner in some
great, glittering, noisy hotel."
"Oh, gorgeous!" cried Patty. "Can you go, Mr. Harper?"
"Indeed I can, and I shall be only too glad. College boys are not
overcrowded with invitations, and I am glad to say I have no other for
to-night."
"You'll have to telephone to Emancipation Proclamation, papa,"
said Patty, "or she'll get out all the bell-ringers, and drag the
river for us."
"So she will," said Mr. Fairfield. "I'll set her mind at rest the
first thing."
"That's our cook," explained Patty.
"It's a lovely name," observed Kenneth, "but just a bit lengthy for
every-day use."
"Oh, it's only for Sundays and holidays," said Patty; "other days we
contract it to Mancy."
Seated at table in a bright and beautiful restaurant, Patty and her new
friend began to chatter like magpies while Mr. Fairfield ordered dinner.
"Now tell me all about your friend's play," said Patty, "for I feel sure
it's going to be just what we want"
"Well, the scene," said Kenneth, "is on Mount Olympus, and the characters
are all the gods and goddesses, you know, but they're brought up to date.
In fact, that's the name of the play, 'Mount Olympus Up to Date.' Aurora,
you know, has an automobile instead of her old-fashioned car."
"But you don't have the automobile on the stage?"
"Oh, no! Aurora just comes in in her automobile rig and talks about her
'bubble.' Mercury has a bicycle; he's a trick rider, and does all sorts
of stunts. And Venus is a summer girl, dressed up in a stunning gown and
a Paris hat. And Hercules has a punching-bag--to make himself stronger,
you know. And Niobe has quantities of handkerchiefs, dozens and dozens of
them; she's an awfully funny character."
"Oh, I think it would be lovely!" said Patty. "Where can we get
the book?"
"I'll send you one to-morrow, and you can see if you like it; and then if
you do, you can get more."
"Oh, I'm sure the girls will all like it; and will you come out to see
it?"
"Yes, I'd be glad to. I was in it last winter. I was Mercury."
"Oh, can you do trick work on bicycles?"
"Yes, a little," said Kenneth modestly.
"I wish you'd come out and be Mercury in our play."
"Aren't you going ahead rather fast, Patty, child?" said her father.
"Your club hasn't decided to use this play yet."
"I know it, papa, and of course I mean if we _do_ use it; but anyway, I'm
president of the club, and somehow, if I want a thing, the rest of the
girls generally seem to want it too."
"That's a fine condition of affairs that any president might be glad to
bring about. You ought to be a college president."
"Perhaps I shall be some day," said Patty.
The dinner hour flew by all too quickly. Patty greatly enjoyed the
sights and sounds of the brilliant, crowded room. She loved the lights
and the music, the flowers and the palms, and the throngs of gaily
dressed people.
Kenneth Harper enjoyed it too, and thought he had rarely met such
attractive people as the Fairfields.
When he took his leave he thanked Mr. Fairfield courteously for his
pleasant evening, and promised soon to call upon them at Boxley Hall.
They reached home by a late train, and Patty went up to her pretty
bedroom, with her usual happy conviction that she was a very fortunate
little girl and had the best father in the world.