AN ODD DINNER PARTY
A few nights later, Patty invited the two Blaneys to dinner. Nan
wanted to meet Alla, and Mr. Fairfield, too, expressed a desire to see
these new friends of Patty's.
"Me and the two companies is three," said Patty, making up her party,
"and you and Dad are five. Who'd make a good sixth?"
"Only six?" asked Nan. "Why not a big dinner?"
"No; I don't think so. You see, the Blaneys don't fit in with
everybody, and I want them to have a good time."
"Oh, I mean ask their own sort of people."
Patty looked up, quickly. "Now, Nan, don't be unpleasant. You're
implying that their kind of people are not as nice as our kind, and
that hurts my feelinks, and you know it. I want you wid me on
this,--not agin me."
"I am, Patty. I don't mean to be horrid. Well, have six, if you like.
Who else?"
"Chick Channing, I think. He's so adaptable and all-round nice with
everybody. Phil hates the Blaneys, and----"
"Mr. Farnsworth?"
"I don't think he'd like them, either. And,--too,--Bill isn't very
chummy with me lately."
"Why not?"
"Dunno."
"Did you quarrel?"
"Now, Nan, don't ask such leading questions. We didn't exactly
quarrel, and yet again, I suppose we did quarrel,--at least, I did,--he
didn't. I sort of snubbed him, and he took it more seriously than I
meant, if you call that a quarrel. But anyway, he wouldn't stand for
the Blaney crowd, I'm sure of that."
"All right, ask Chick. As you say, he'll chum with anybody. He's a
splendid dinner guest."
Channing accepted the invitation with pleasure, and the party was made
up.
"I don't want anything eccentric or foolish," Patty said to Nan,
regarding the appointments, "but I do want it aesthetic and artistic."
"You can arrange it as you like, dear," Nan said, kindly, and Patty did.
The dining-room was dimly lighted, and the table decoration consisted
of an enormous bronze placque, which Patty took down from the hall
wall. This held a small amount of water, and on it floated three
pansies. The table candles wore deep purple shades, and Nan privately
thought the whole effect dull and gloomy enough, but she said no word
of criticism.
Patty appeared, in a flowing, robe-like costume of pale violet chiffon,
and wore pansies in her hair over each ear.
"Well!" exclaimed her father, as he saw her, "I thought you could wear
any colour, but take my advice, Kiddie, and never brave lavender again!
It makes you look old and sallow."
"Nothing of the sort!" denied Patty. "You're unaccustomed to seeing me
in it, that's all."
Then Channing came, and Patty had to bear his disapproving glances.
"You're an angel in anything," he said, "but you're least angelic in
that mawkish mauve. You look like a member of the Art Students' Union."
Patty didn't mind their chaff, and only smiled good-naturedly, and then
the Blaneys came.
Patty was used to their aesthetic effects, but the others weren't, and
though the greetings were cordial and courteous, the elder Fairfields
needed a moment to recover their poise. But Chick Channing was always
to be depended upon, and he plunged into gay conversation that broke
the ice and did away with all self-consciousness.
Nor was it surprising that the appearance of the brother and sister
should strike an observer as startling. Alla was swathed in
yellowish-brown stuff. Her gown seemed to have no shape or design,
just draperies that wrapped her about in mummy fashion. Long sleeves
came well down over her hands, a high collar rose over her ears, and
the long skirt twined itself round her feet, till she could scarcely
walk. The material was a woolly serge, and no bit of colour or
trimming relieved the severity. She wore no ornament save a hideous
necklace of great, ugly stones, that fell down as far as her knees, and
carried a dilapidated old fan of peacock feathers. Patty had never
seen her look so unattractive, for even in her eccentric garb, she was
usually picturesque. But in this brown thing she was utterly without
charm.
Sam Blaney, too, looked ill-dressed and out of place. He had bowed to
convention to the extent of wearing evening clothes, but they were not
of correct cut, and did not fit well, and he wore an absurd tie of soft
silk, of his favourite light green hue, which gave him the appearance
of a caricature.
However, the two were most affable and agreeable, and their soft, low
voices murmured pleasantries suitable to the occasion.
At dinner the conversation turned on the approaching Christmas
celebration of the Cosmic Centre.
"What a funny name," said Channing. "Sounds like a small village in
New England."
"So it does," returned Sam Blaney, taking the jest in good part. "But
we call our club that modest little name because we think ourselves the
centre of the Universe."
"I always admire self-respect," said Mr. Fairfield, smiling; "I hold
that a man or a club with full appreciation of self-merit can't go far
wrong."
"And Cosmic Centre is so very expressive," said Channing. "I don't see
how you could have well found anything more inclusive."
"Mrs. Fairfield calls you the Cosmickers," put in Patty, smiling at Nan.
"And a very good name," agreed Alla. "Cosmickers sounds a bit like
picknickers, and often that's what we are."
"What is your real end and aim?" asked Mr. Fairfield, seriously.
"Advancement of beauty and appreciation of art," replied Alla, looking
thoughtful and a little affected.
"Interpretation of beauty," amended her brother. "We endeavour to
imbue our souls with the highest and best emotions and to discard and
disown all that is merely conventional and formal in life or in
thought."
"Meaning the outward and ordinary signs of clothes and manners?" said
Chick.
Patty detected the chaffing note in his voice, but his tone was grave
and respectful, and after a quick glance at him, Blaney replied, "Yes,
and the inner graces of poesy and music of the soul."
"In fact, you use your soul instead of your mind or brain," Chick
continued, and now Patty gave him an imploring glance, meant to beg him
not to guy the Cosmic principles.
But Alla had no thought of Chick's insincerity. "That is it," she
said. "We use our souls for everything, even physical processes. One
of our geniuses is inventing a dance for Miss Fairfield. Appreciating
her genius for dancing, he is making a masterpiece in which she can
dance with her soul----"
"Put her whole sole in her dancing," said Chick, with enough emphasis
to point his jest.
"Yes," went on Alla, unmoved, though Mr. Fairfield nearly choked as he
watched her intent face, "just that. Unless one does use one's soul it
becomes rusted and useless."
Her face was drawn with intensity, her lifted hand shook a long slender
forefinger at Chick, and that urbane young man had just about all he
could do to preserve his gravity.
But he went calmly on. "Do you know," he said, "I sometimes think my
soul is a bit rusty."
"Very likely," said Sam Blaney, who didn't like to be long out of the
conversation. "Suppose you join our coterie and get the rust removed.
Nor am I joking, Mr. Channing. Many there be who laugh at our
earnestness, but only because of their own ignorance."
"I dare say that is so," put in Fred Fairfield, in sincere tones;
"that's why I'm specially interested in knowing just what you do to
tinker up a rusty soul. Pardon my rude diction, but I am not aesthetic
myself. However, I am deeply interested."
"I feel sure you are, Mr. Fairfield," and Alla gave him a soulful
glance; "and though it is not easy I will try to give you a hint of our
methods."
"Let me tell him, Alla," insisted Sam, and he waved her to silence with
a gesture of his long, white hand. "You see, sir, it is not often we
meet such a receptive nature as you kindly show, and I am but too glad
to gratify your most justifiable curiosity and Interest."
"Me, too," cried Chick. "Pray don't leave me out. I truly want to
know what will clean the rust off my soul."
Again Patty besought him by urgent glances to beware of offending her
guests, but Chick shook his head, indicating there was no danger. Nor
was there. Though Mr. Fairfield and Channing both were consumed with
merriment at the idea of their rusty souls, the Blaneys were quite in
earnest and proceeded to dilate on their favourite subjects.
"Once under the influence of our atmosphere and our beliefs," avowed
Blaney, "your soul expands and flowers out like a star!"
"Oh, how beautiful!" breathed Chick, with such a rapt expression, that
Patty had to put up her napkin quickly to hide her smile.
"Yes," said Alla, "my brother says wonderful things. His own soul is
ineffably sweet."
"It must be!" and Chick looked at Blaney with an adoring gaze that
nearly sent Nan into convulsions.
Patty was scared, for if Chick kept this up the Blaneys must realise
his intent and would be mortally offended.
"How near Christmas is getting," she interrupted, blithely, determined
to change the subject. "Have you all your gifts ready, Alla?"
"Patty," said Chick, reprovingly, "how can you introduce commonplace
subjects just now? I'm learning to remove rust stains from my dingy
old soul. By the way, how would it do to scour one's soul with the
sands of time?"
"Beautiful!" cried Sam. "Wonderful! What imagery! I wish I had
said that!"
"You may, as often as you like," granted Chick, politely. "I'll be
proud if you'll accept it. Among unrusted souls, there should be no
give and take. My thoughts are yours. I am honoured."
"You are a delight," said Alla, calmly, looking at Chick, who blushed
at this unexpected compliment. "I have never met any one so quickly
responsive, so immediately _simpatica_."
"Except me," cried Patty. "You said I was that. Simp--what--d'ye call
it? Now there are two of us, Chick."
"We are all _simpatica_," said Nan, who, like Patty, began to fear
Chick's chaff would yet offend the guests. And then, she determinedly
led the conversation away from soulful matters and talked of current
events and casual subjects that had no aesthetic significance.
But it was difficult to keep the Blaneys off their favourite themes and
hard to quell the fun of the irrepressible Chick.
And so, Nan was rather relieved when at a surprisingly early hour the
two aesthetes took their leave.
"Oh, Piccalilli blossoms!" cried Chick, when they were fairly out of
hearing, "did you ever see anything like that! Where did you unearth
them, Patty? The lady one, especially! Wow, but she's a five-reel
scream!"
"Stop that, Chick; I think you're real mean! You made me enough
trouble at the dinner table, and you needn't make fun of my friends
behind their backs."
"But Patty, such backs! I mean, such friends! Oh, I didn't think I
could restrain my laughter till they went away from here,--but I
managed to do so. Souls! Rusty souls! Wowly-wow-wow!"
"Chick, stop it. I tell you, I won't have it!"
"I'll stop in a minute, Patty. Let me laugh a minute, or I'll explode.
I say, Mrs. Fairfield, did you ever see anything like the lady's robe!
I don't often notice costumes of the fair sex, but that was a hummer
from Humville."
"Don't, Chick," said Nan, noticing Patty's quivering lip; "they're
Patty's friends, and I'd rather you wouldn't ridicule them."
"I'd rather not myself, honest, Mrs. Fairfield, I'd rather not, but
what can you do when they come running up, begging to be ridiculed?"
"They didn't," declared Patty. "Nobody would have thought of
ridiculing them, Chick, if you hadn't. They talked a lot of wisdom
that you couldn't assimilate, and you're envious of their superior
minds, that's what ails you."
"Patty, Patty," said her father, laughing outright at this, "my dear
child, are you really so infatuated with those people that you believe
what you're saying?"
"Of course, I am. I don't expect you to understand them, Father,
you're older, and belong to another generation."
"Good gracious, Patty," cried Nan, gasping, "do you think your father
is too old to understand that drivel?"
"I do," said Patty, calmly, "and you are too, Nan. It takes the modern
viewpoint, the young soulsight to apprehend the beauty of vision, the
vast--vast----"
"Horizon," suggested Chick, kindly.
"Yes, horizon," said Patty; "how did you know, Chick?"
"Oh, horizons are always vast. Deeps are vasty. Nothing much else is
vast, except once in a while a distance. So I felt safe in chancing
the horizon."
"Oh, Chick, you are the funniest thing!" said Nan, who was shaking with
laughter at Patty's chagrin. "But," and her voice suddenly became
serious, "I won't stand for your nonsense. I range myself on Patty's
side. These people were our guests. I forbid any slighting allusions
to them. Their ways may not be our ways, but if they are Patty's
friends they are my friends."
The warm, sincere ring of Nan's voice went to Patty's heart, and she
smiled again.
"Good for you, you old trump!" she exclaimed, looking gratefully at
Nan. "Now, Dad, you come over, and I can manage Chick, myself."
Patty was in gay good humour again, and she perched on the arm of her
father's chair, as she proceeded to win him over.
"You know I can't resist your blandishments, my angel child," he said,
as Patty caressed his handsome iron-grey hair, "but I must admit your
Cosmickers have no message for me."
"That's just it," cried Patty, triumphantly. "I knew it! They have no
message for you, because you don't understand their language,
you're--Dad, I hate to say it,--but, you're too old!"
And with a kiss on his frowning forehead, Patty ran to the piano, and
began to play "Silver Threads Among the Gold," to a rag-time
improvisation of her own.
"Oh, Pattibelle," cried Chick, "what would your vast-horizoned friends
say if they could hear you playing ragtime! I'm sure a lemon-coloured
nocturne or a flaming fugue would be nearer their idea of melody."
"Play us a fox-trot, Nan," said Patty, jumping up, and in another
minute, as Nan obligingly acquiesced, Patty and Chick were dancing
gaily up and down the room.
"Forgive me, Patty," said Chick, as they danced out into the hall, "I
wouldn't offend you or your friends for worlds, but they--well, they
struck me funny, you see."
"They're not funny, Chick. They're the real thing. You can't see it,
I know, and neither can Dad or Nan, but I do."
"All right, Patty. Go into it if you like. I don't believe it will
hurt you. And like the measles, the harder you have it, the sooner
you'll get over it, and you'll never have it but once. By the way,
they invited me to their Christmas racket,--and I'm going!"