BILLS
Patty's plans for systematic housekeeping included a number of small
Russia-leather account books, and she looked forward with some eagerness
to the time when the first month's bills should come in, and she could
present to her father a neat and accurate statement of the household
expenses for the month.
The 1st of February was Sunday, but on Monday morning the postman brought
a sheaf of letters which were evidently bills.
Patty had no time to look at these before she went to school, so she
placed them carefully in her desk, determined to hurry home that
afternoon and get her accounts into apple-pie order before her father
came home. After school she returned to find a supplementary lot of bills
had been left by the postman, and also Mancy presented her with a number
of bills which the tradesmen had left that morning.
Patty took the whole lot to her desk, and with methodical exactness noted
the amounts on the pages of her little books. She and her father had
talked the matter over, more or less, and Patty knew just about what Mr.
Fairfield expected the bills to amount to.
But to her consternation she discovered, as she went along, that each
bill was proving to be about twice as large as she had anticipated.
"There must be some mistake," she said to herself, "we simply _can't_
have eaten all those groceries. Anybody would think we ran a branch
store. And that butcher's bill is big enough for the Central Park
menagerie! They must have added it wrong."
But a careful verification of the figures proved that they were added
right, and Patty's heart began to sink as she looked at the enormous
sum-totals.
"To think of all that for flowers! Well, papa bought some of them, that's
a comfort; but I had no idea I had ordered so many myself. I think bills
are perfectly horrid! And here's my dressmaker's bill. Gracious, how
Madame LaFayette has gone up in her prices! I believe I'll make my own
clothes after this; but the market bills are the worst I don't see how we
_could_ have eaten all these things. Mancy must be a dreadful waster, but
it isn't fair to blame her; if that's where the trouble is, I ought to
have looked after it myself. Hello, Marian, is that you? I didn't hear
you come in. Do come here, I'm in the depths of despair!"
"What's the matter, Patsie? and what a furious lot of bills! You look
like a clearinghouse."
"Oh, Marian, it's perfectly fearful! Every bill is two or three times as
much as I thought it would be, and I'm so sorry, for I meant to be such a
thrifty housekeeper."
"Jiminetty Christmas!" exclaimed Marian, looking at some of the papers,
"I should think these bills _were_ big! Why, that's more than we pay a
month for groceries, and look at the size of our family."
"I know it," said Patty hopelessly. "I don't see how it happened."
"You are an extravagant little wretch, Patty, there's no doubt about it."
"I suppose I am; at least, I suppose I have been, but I'm not going to be
any more. I'm going to reform, suddenly and all at once and very
thoroughly! Now, you watch me. We're not going to have any more fancy
things, no more ice cream from Pacetti's. Why, that caterer's bill is
something fearful."
"And so you're going to starve poor Uncle Fred?"
"No, that wouldn't be fair, would it? The economy ought to fall entirely
on me. Well, I've decided to make my own clothes after this, anyway."
"Oh, Patty, what a goose you are! You couldn't make them to save your
neck, and after you made them you couldn't wear them."
"I could, too, Marian Elliott! Just you wait and see me make my summer
dresses. I'm going to sew all through vacation."
"All right," said Marian, "I'll come over and help you, but you can't
make any dresses this afternoon, so put away those old bills and get
ready for a sleigh ride. It's lovely out, and father said he'd call for
us here at four o'clock."
"All right, I will, if we can get back by six. I want to be here when
papa comes home."
"Yes, we'll be back by six. I expect Uncle Fred will shut you up in a
dark room and keep you on bread and water for a week when he sees
those bills."
"That's just the worst of it," said Patty forlornly. "He's so good and
kind, and spoils me so dreadfully that it makes me feel all the worse
when I don't do things right."
A good long sleigh ride in the fresh, crisp winter air quite revived
Patty's despondent spirits. She sat in front with Uncle Charley, and he
let her drive part of the way, for it was Patty's great delight to drive
two horses, and she had already become a fairly accomplished little
horsewoman.
"Fred tells me he's going to get horses for you this spring," said Uncle
Charley. "You'll enjoy them a lot, won't you, Patty?"
"Yes, indeed--that is--I don't know whether we'll have them or not."
For it just occurred to Patty that, having run her father into such
unexpected expense in the household, a good way to economise would be to
give up all hopes of horses.
"Oh, yes, you'll have them all right," said Uncle Charley, in his gay,
cheery way, having no idea, of course, what was in Patty's mind. "And you
must have a little pony and cart of your own. It would give you a great
deal of pleasure to go out driving in the spring weather."
"I just guess it would," said Patty, "and I'm sure I hope I'll have it."
She began to wonder if she couldn't find some other way to economise
rather than on the horses, for she certainly did love to drive.
Promptly at six o'clock Uncle Charley left her at Boxley Hall, and as she
entered the door Patty felt that strange sinking of the heart that always
accompanies the resuming of a half-forgotten mental burden.
"I know just how thieves and defaulters and forgers feel," she said to
herself, as she took off her wraps. "I haven't exactly stolen, but I've
betrayed a trust, and that's just as bad. I wonder what papa will say?"
At dinner Patty was subdued and a little nervous.
Mr. Fairfield, quick to notice anything unusual in his daughter, surmised
that she was bothered, but felt sure that in her own time she would tell
him all about it, so he endeavoured to set her at her ease by chatting
pleasantly about the events of his day in the city, and sustaining the
burden of the conversation himself.
But after dinner, when they had gone into the library, as they usually
did in the evening, Patty brought out her fearful array of paper bugbears
and laid them before her father.
"What are these?" said Mr. Fairfield cheerily. "Ah, yes, I see. The 1st
of the month has brought its usual crop of bills."
"I do hope it isn't the usual crop, papa; for if they always come in like
this, we'll have to give up Boxley Hall and go to live in the
poor-house."
"Oh, I don't know. We haven't overdrawn our bank account yet Whew!
Pacetti's is a stunner, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Patty, in a meek little voice.
"And Fisher & Co. seem to have summed up quite a total; and Smith's
flower bill looks like a good old summer time."
"Oh, papa, please scold me; I know I deserve it. I ought to have looked
after these things and kept the expenses down more."
"Why ought you to have done so, Patty? We have to have food, don't we?"
"Yes; but, papa, you know we estimated in the beginning, and these old
bills come up to about twice as much as our estimate."
"That's a fact, baby, they do," said Mr. Fairfield, looking over the
statements with a more serious air. "These are pretty big figures to
represent a month's living for just you and me and our small retinue of
servants."
"Yes; and, papa, I think Mancy is rather wasteful. I don't say this to
blame her. I know it is my place to see about it, and be careful that
she utilises all that is possible of the kitchen waste."
Patty said this so exactly with the air of a _Young Housekeeper's Guide_
or _Cooking School Manual_, that Mr. Fairfield laughed outright.
"Chickadee," he said, "you'll come out all right. You have the true
elements of success. You see where you've fallen into error, you're
willing to admit it, and you're ready to use every means to improve in
the future. I'm not quite so surprised as you are at the size of these
bills; for, though we made our estimates rationally, yet we have been
buying a great many things and having a pretty good time generally. I
foresaw this experience at the end of the month, but I preferred to wait
and see how we came out rather than interfere with the proceedings; and
another thing, Patty, which may comfort you some, is the fact that I
quite believe that some of these tradespeople have taken advantage of
your youth and inexperience and padded their bills a little bit in
consequence."
"But, papa, just look at Madame LaFayette's bill. I don't think she
ought to charge so much."
"These do seem high prices for the simple little frocks you wear; but
they are always so daintily made, and in such good taste, that I think
we'll have to continue to employ her. Dressmakers, you know, are
acknowledged vampires."
"I like the clothes she makes, too," said Patty, "but I had concluded
that that was the best way for me to economise, and I thought after this
I would make my own dresses."
"I don't think you will, my child," said Mr. Fairfield decidedly. "You
couldn't make dresses fit to be seen, unless you took a course of
instruction in dressmaking, and I'm not sure that you could then; and you
have quite enough to do with your school work and your practising. When
did you propose to do this wonderful sewing?"
"Oh, I mean in vacation--to make my summer dresses."
"No; in vacation you're to run out of doors and play. Don't let me hear
any more about sewing."
"All right," said Patty, with a sigh of relief. "I'm awfully glad not to,
but I wanted to help somehow. I thought I'd make my green cloth costume
for Diana in the play."
"Yes, that would be a good thing to begin on," said Mr. Fairfield.
"Broadcloth is so tractable, so easy to fit; and that tailor-made effect
can, of course, be attained by any well-meaning beginner."
Patty laughed. "I know it would look horrid, papa," she said, "but as I
am to blame for all this outrageous extravagance, I want to economise
somewhere to make up for it."
"And do you call it good proportion to buy a great deal too much to eat
and then go around in botchy, home-made clothes to make up for it?"
"No," said Patty, "I don't believe it is. What can I do? I want to do
something, and I don't--oh, papa, I _don't_ want to give up those horses
that you said you'd buy."
"Well, we'll fix it up this way, Patty, girl; we'll just pay off all
these bills and start fresh. The extra expense we'll charge to experience
account--experience is an awfully high-priced commodity, you know--and
next month, while we won't exactly scrimp ourselves, we'll keep our eye
on the accounts and watch them as they progress. As I've told you before,
my darling, I don't expect you to become perfect, or even proficient, in
these things all at once. You will need years of experience before the
time can come when your domestic machinery will run without a flaw, if,
indeed, it ever does. Now, never think of these January bills again. They
are things of the past. Go and get your play-book, and let me hear you
speak your piece."