A REAL POEM
"It's simply absurd of you, Patty," said Elise, as they reached home
after the circus, "to let Ray Rose off so easily. She cut up an
awfully mean trick, and she ought to be made to suffer for it."
"Now, now, Elise, it's my own little kettle of fish, and you must keep
out of it. You see, it makes a difference who does a thing. If Ray
Rose were an intimate friend of mine, I should resent her performance
and make a fuss about it. But she is such a casual acquaintance,--why,
probably I shall never see her again after I go away from
Lakewood,--and so I consider it better judgment to ignore her silly
prank, rather than stir up a fuss about it."
"I don't agree with you, you're all wrong; but tell me the whole story.
What did she do?"
"You see, she was determined to do that hoop dance, and the only way
she could think of, to get me out of it, was to get me over to her
house and lock me up there. It was a slim chance I had of getting out,
but I managed it. She called me over by telephone, and then locked me
in her bedroom. How did she get my clothes?"
"Sent a maid over here, saying that you were at her house and wanted
your costume sent over. I thought you were helping her, in your usual
idiotic 'helping hand' way, and I sent the dress and all the
belongings."
"Well, of course, I knew nothing about all that. So, I suppose the
little minx dressed herself and put on the long cloak and walked off.
She is boss in her own home, I know that, and, as I learned later, her
father and mother were out to dinner, so she ordered the servants to
pay no attention to any call or disturbance I might make. I sized it
up, and I felt pretty sure no screaming or yelling or battering at the
door would do any good, so I pondered on a move of strategy. But I
couldn't think of anything for a long time, and had just about made up
my mind to spend the evening there, when I made one desperate attempt
and it succeeded. I wrote a note to Sarah to come over there and say
she had to give me a certain medicine at that hour, or I would be ill.
And I told her to wear a thick veil and a long cloak. She did all
this, and I just slipped into her cloak and hat and veil and came out
the door in her place, leaving her behind. They thought it was Sarah
who came out, of course."
"Fine! Patty, you're a genius! How did you get the note to Sarah?"
"Tied it to Ray's hairbrush and threw it at the feet of a young man who
was going by. On the outside I wrote, 'Please take this quickly to
Sarah Moore at George Farrington's,' and gave the address. I added,
'Hurry, as it is a matter of tremendous importance!' And I'd like to
know who that young man was."
"Where's the hairbrush?"
"Sarah brought it back with her, and left it where it belongs. I knew
it might be broken or lost, but I could have replaced it, so I took
that chance. And nothing else seemed just right to throw."
"But, Patty, it was an awful thing for Ray to do to you."
"Oh, don't fuss, Elise. Consider the circumstances. I had given her
permission, in a sort of way, to keep me from that stunt if she could,
and she had said, 'If I do, remember you said I might.' So you see,
she was within her rights, in a way, and beside, I tell you I don't
want to stir up a hornets' nest about it. The incident is beneath
notice; and, do you know, I can't help admiring the girl's daring and
ingenuity."
"Oh, you'd admire a Grizzly Bear, if he succeeded in eating you up!
You're a good-natured goose, Patty."
"Maybe. But I know the difference between a foolish prank and a real
offence, that must be resented. You're the goose, Elise, not to see
how silly it would be to raise a row against a girl who means nothing
to me, and whom I shall never see again after this visit is over."
"All right, Pattikins, have it your own way. Ray Rose is a sort of law
unto herself, and she has lots of friends who would take her part."
"It isn't that, exactly. If I wanted to raise the issue, I'm sure my
side of the matter would be the side of right and justice. But it
isn't worth my time or trouble to take it up. And, then, I did tell
her to go ahead and outwit me, if she could, so there's that on her
side. Now, Elise, about going home. I must go soon, for I want to be
in New York a week before the wedding, and you do, too."
"Yes, I do. Suppose we stay down here for the skating party day after
tomorrow, and then go to New York the day after that."
"I think so. Your mother will be going up about then, and the days
will fairly fly until the fifteenth. It seems funny to think of Roger
being married, doesn't it? He's such a boy."
"I know it. Mona seems older than he, though she isn't."
"A girl always seems older than a man, even of the same age. I want to
have 'a shower' for Mona before the wedding."
"Oh, Patty, a shower is so--so----"
"So chestnutty? I know it. But Mona wants it. Of course she didn't
say so right out, but I divined it. It isn't that she wants the
presents, you know, but Mona has a queer sort of an idea that she must
have everything that anybody else has. And Lillian Van Arsdale had a
shower, so Mona wants one, and I'm going to give it for her."
"All right. What kind?"
"Dunno yet, but something strikingly novel and original. I shall set
my great intellect to work on it at once, and invite the people by
notes from here, before I go back to New York."
"All right, my lady, but if you don't get to bed now, you'll be pale
and holler-eyed tomorrow, and that will upset your placid vanity."
"Wretch! As if I had a glimmer of a trace of a vestige of that deadly
sin!"
The girls were very busy during the last few days of Patty's stay in
Lakewood. There were many matters to attend to in connection with the
approaching wedding. Also, Patty had become a favourite in the social
circle and many parties were made especially for her.
And the day before their departure, Elise gave a little farewell tea,
to which were bidden only the people Patty liked best.
The Blaneys were there, and, capturing Patty, Sam took her from the
laughing crowd and led her to a secluded alcove of the veranda. It was
a pleasant nook, enclosed with glass panes, and filled with ferns and
palms.
"Sit thee down," said Blaney, arranging a few cushions in a long low
wicker chair.
"I'm glad to," and Patty dropped into the seat. "I do think teas are
the limit for tiring people out."
"You oughtn't to waste yourself on teas. It's a crime," and Blaney
looked positively indignant.
"What would be the proper caper for my indefatigable energy?"
"You oughtn't to be energetic at all. For you, just to _be_, is
enough."
"Not much it isn't! Why, if I just be'd, and didn't do anything else,
I should die of that extreme bored feeling. And, it isn't like you to
recommend such an existence, anyway."
"I shouldn't for any one else. But you, oh, my lily-fair girl, you are
so beautiful, so peerless----"
"Good gracious, Mr. Blaney, what has come over you?" Patty sat up
straight, in dismay, for she had no intention of being talked to in
that vein by Sam Blaney.
"The spell of your presence," he replied; "the spell of your
beauty,--your charm, your----"
"Please don't," said Patty, "please don't talk to me like that! I
don't like it."
"No? Then of course I'll stop. But the spell remains. The witchery
of your face, your voice----"
"There you go again! You promised to stop."
"How can I, with you as inspiration? My soul expands,--my heart beats
in lilting rhythms, you seem to me a flame goddess----"
"Just what is a flame goddess?" interrupted Patty, who wanted to
giggle, but was too polite.
"I see your soul as a flame of fire,--a lambent flame, with tongues of
red and yellow----"
And now Patty did laugh outright. She couldn't help it. "Oh, my soul
hasn't tongues," she protested. "I'm sure it hasn't, Mr. Blaney."
"Yes," he repeated, "tongues, silent, untaught tongues,--but with
unknown, unvoiced melodies that await but the torch of sympathy to
sound, lyrically, upon the waiting air."
"Am I really like that? Do you think I could voice lyrics, myself? I
mean it,--write poetry, you know. I've always wanted to. Do you think
I could, Mr. Blaney?"
"I know it. Unfolding one's soul in song is not an art, as some
suppose, to be learned,--it is a natural, irrepressible expression of
the inner ego, it is a response to the melodic urge----"
"Oh, wait a minute, you're getting beyond me. What do all these things
mean? It's so much Greek to me."
"But you want to learn?"
"Yes; that is, I'm interested in it. I always did think I'd like to
write poetry. But I don't know the rules."
"There are no rules. Unfetter your soul, take a pencil,--the words
will come."
"Really? Can you do that, Mr. Blaney? Could you take a pencil,
_now_,--and just write out your soul, and produce a poem?"
Patty was very much in earnest. Sam Blaney looked at her, the eager
pleading face urged him, the blue eyes dared a refusal, and the
hovering smile seemed to doubt his ability to prove his own proposition.
"Of course I could!" he replied. "With you for inspiration, I could
write a poem that would throb and thrill with the eternal heart of the
radiance of the soul's starshine."
"Then do it," cried Patty; "I believe you, I thoroughly believe you,
but I want to see it. I want the poem for myself. Give it to me."
Slowly Blaney took a pencil and notebook from his pocket. He sat
gazing at her, and Patty, fairly beaming with eager interest, waited.
For some minutes he sat, silent, almost motionless, and she began to
grow restless.
"I don't want to hurry you," she said, at last, "but I mustn't stay
here too long. Please write it now, Mr. Blaney. I'm sure you can do
it,--why delay?"
"Yes, I can do it," he said, "but I want to get the highest, the
divinest inspiration, in order to produce a gem worthy of your
acceptance."
"Well, don't wait longer for that. Give me your second best, if need
be,--only write something. I've always wanted to see a real, true poet
write a real true poem. I never had a chance before. Now, don't dare
disappoint me!"
Patty looked very sweet and coaxing, and her voice was earnestly
pleading, not at all implying doubt of his ability or willingness.
Still Blaney sat, thoughtfully regarding her.
"Come, come," she said, after another wait, "I shall begin to think you
can't be inspired by my presence, after all! If you are, genius ought
to burn by this time. If not, I suppose we'll have to give it up,--but
it will disappoint me horribly."
The blue eyes were full of reproach, and Patty began to draw her scarf
round her shoulders and seemed about to rise.
"No, no," protested Blaney, putting out a hand to detain her, "a
moment,--just a moment,--stay, I have it!"
He began to scribble rapidly, and, fascinated, Patty watched him.
Occasionally he glanced at her, but it was with a faraway look in his
eyes, and an exalted expression on his face.
He wrote fast, but not steadily, now and then pausing, as if waiting
for the right word, and then doing two or three lines without
hesitation. Finally, he drew a long sigh, and the poem seemed to be
finished.
"It is done," he said, "not worthy of your acceptance, but made for
you. Shall I read it to you?"
"Yes, do," and Patty was thrilled by the fervour in his tones.
In the soft, low voice that was one of his greatest charms, Blaney read
these lines:
"I loved her.--Why? I never knew.--Perhaps
Because her face was fair; perhaps because
Her eyes were blue and wore a weary air;--
Perhaps . . . perhaps because her limpid face
Was eddied with a restless tide, wherein
The dimples found no place to anchor and
Abide; perhaps because her tresses beat
A froth of gold about her throat, and poured
In splendour to the feet that ever seemed
Afloat. Perhaps because of that wild way
Her sudden laughter overleapt propriety;
Or--who will say?--perhaps the way she wept."
The lovely voice ceased, and its musical vibrations seemed to hover in
the air after the sound was stilled.
"It's beautiful," Patty said, at last, in an awed tone; "I had no idea
you could write like that! Why, it's real poetry."
"You're real poetry," said Blaney, simply, as he put the written paper
in his pocket.
"No, no," cried Patty, "give it to me. It's mine. You made it for me
and it's mine. Nobody ever made a real poem for me before. I want it."
"Oh, nonsense, you don't want it."
"Indeed I do. I must have it."
"Will you promise not to show it to anybody?"
"'Course not! I'll show it to everybody!"
"Then you can't have it. I'm sensitive, I admit, but I can't bear to
have the children of my brain bruited to the world----"
"I haven't a notion what bruited means, but I promise you I won't do
that. I'll keep it sacredly guarded from human eyes, and read it to
myself when I'm all alone. Why, Mr. Blaney, it's a wonderful poem.
I've simply got to have it, and that's all there is about that!"
"I give it to you, then, but don't,--please don't show it to the
hilarious populace. It is for you only."
"All right. I'll keep it for me only. But I haven't half thanked you
for it. I do appreciate it, I assure you, and I feel guilty because I
underrated your talent. But perhaps it is because I saw you do it,
that I care so very much for it. Anyway, I thank you."
Patty held out her hand in genuine gratitude, and, taking it gently,
Blaney held it a moment as he said, "I claim my reward. May I come to
see you in New York?"
"Yes, indeed, I'll be awfully glad to have you. And Alla must come,
too. I'll make a party for you as soon as the wedding is over. Will
you be at that?"
"At the reception, yes. And I shall see you there?"
"Of course. I say, Mr. Blaney, why don't you write a wedding poem for
Miss Galbraith? She'd love it! She wants everything for her wedding
that can possibly be procured."
"No. A poem of mine cannot be ordered, as from a caterer!"
"Oh, forgive me! I didn't mean that. But, I thought you might write
one, because I asked you."
"No, Miss Fairfield. Anything you want for yourself, but not for
others. A thousand times no! You understand?"
"Yes, of course. I oughtn't to have asked you. But I'm so delighted
with this poem of mine, that I spoke unthinkingly. Now, I must run
away; Elise is beckoning frantically, and I daresay the guests are
taking leave of me, and I'm not there! Good-bye, Mr. Blaney, until we
meet in New York. And thank you more than I can say for your gift,
your ever-to-be treasured gift."
"It is my privilege to have offered it and for me to thank you for the
opportunity."