A LAST MEETING
Patty and her father looked at several apartments before they found one
which seemed satisfactory in every way. It was necessary that it should
be near the school Patty was to attend, and also conveniently located
with a view to Mr. Fairfield’s daily trips downtown.
Besides this, Mr. Fairfield was particular about the atmosphere of the
hotel. Some they looked into seemed to Patty like gorgeous glittering
palaces, with decorations so rich and ornate as to be almost barbaric.
These Mr. Fairfield came out of as rapidly as he went in, and more than
once Patty cast a longing backward glance at the marble floors and
gilded frescoes which her father seemed to scorn. On the other hand, Mr.
Fairfield was equally ill-pleased with a house which was unattractive in
appearance, or whose furnishings were not tasteful.
Patty almost began to think that her father was too fastidious, and
would never be able to find a place that would exactly suit him.
However, the moment they stepped inside of a certain apartment hotel
named The Wilberforce, Mr. Fairfield’s face showed an expression of
satisfaction, which immediately convinced Patty that they had struck the
right trail at last.
And so it proved, for after looking into several suites of rooms then
vacant, Mr. Fairfield told Patty that if she could feel contented to
take up her abode there, he thought he could.
Patty willingly agreed, for she, too, liked The Wilberforce from the
first.
The hotel faced Central Park, and though not among the largest in the
city, it was more attractively planned than any of the others they had
looked at.
The apartment they liked best was a corner one with windows looking
toward the east and south. The large corner room had a beautiful bay
window, and was so light and sunny that Patty declared it should be
their library.
“Library, sitting-room and general living-room,” said her father,
laughing; “you know, Puss, you can’t have as many rooms at your disposal
in the city as you have in Vernondale. But we’ll have all our books and
favourite belongings in this room, and I’m sure we can make it very
comfortable. Then this smaller room next will be a more formal reception
room for casual callers.”
There were four bedrooms, and Mr. Fairfield insisted that the two
sunniest and pleasantest ones should be assigned to Patty and Grandma
Elliott. The other two, whose windows opened on an airshaft instead of
on the street, were to be Mr. Fairfield’s bedroom and a guest-room.
The whole apartment was very prettily furnished in good taste, and
entirely without that lavish use of bright colours which so often
characterises a hotel.
The library was in green and the little reception-room in pale blue.
Patty’s own room was daintily done up in pink, and though perhaps not
just the colour she would have chosen, it was so fresh and pretty that
she expressed herself perfectly satisfied.
Of course, everything in the way of chairs and tables was amply
provided, but the Fairfields proposed to bring in a quantity of their
own furniture, rugs, pictures and books.
Having decided on the apartment, Mr. Fairfield drew a plan of it so that
when they returned home they might better decide what pieces of
furniture could be accommodated.
Patty flew around from room to room in great delight.
“I’m so used to changing my home,” she said, “that I really feel quite
at home in this apartment already. This library is going to be the
loveliest room in the world. You can have your desk there, and I can
have my little desk here, and we’ll have our big library table in the
middle, just as it is at home. Then we’ll have Grandma’s little
work-table by this window. This big fireplace is perfectly fascinating
and we can bring our brass andirons and fireset. They’re a lot prettier
than these old black iron things. And we can bring a book-case or two,
can’t we, papa?”
“You can bring whatever you like, Chicken; but I wouldn’t advise carting
in many of those heavy things at first, until we’re sure we like the
place well enough to stay all winter. It certainly looks attractive, and
it has been highly recommended to me, but after all it may prove to have
serious disadvantages. So at first we’ll just bring our desks, and some
books and pictures, and a few little trinkets to prettify the rooms, and
then later on, if we like it, we can run back to Vernondale for a few
more things.”
“Yes, that is best, papa,” said Patty; “you always do know what is best.
And now how soon do you suppose we can come in to stay?”
“I think we’ll move next Saturday. I can take a whole holiday that day,
and get you and Grandma safely established here.”
So eager was Patty to select and pack up the things she wanted to take
to the city that she could scarcely wait to get back to Vernondale. It
had been a tiresome day, but as soon as she reached home she quite
forgot her fatigue in the fun of making her selections. Her favourite
pictures were taken from the walls and stood in the hall ready to be
packed. All of her tea-things, a small selection of bric-a-bric, and a
large box of books were added. Then Patty packed her own trunk and her
father’s. Mr. Fairfield looked after the heavier matters, such as rugs
and chairs and the two desks and Grandma’s little work-table.
Altogether, it seemed like a regular moving, and Marian, who came over
in the midst of the excitement, sat down on the box of books and burst
into tears.
“Marian,” said Patty, almost crying herself, “if you don’t stop acting
like that I don’t know what I shall do. I’m rapidly growing homesicker
and homesicker, and now if you commence to weep all over the place I
shall just go to pieces entirely.”
“But you _want_ to go away,” wailed Marian, between her sobs, “you just
_want_ to go, and that’s the worst of it! If you _did_ cry you’d be
nothing but an old hypocrite!”
“I do want to go, but I’m sorry to leave Vernondale, too. Don’t you
suppose I’m fond of all you girls? Don’t you suppose I’ll miss you like
sixty? And don’t you suppose it’s a heap worse for me to go away from
you all than it is for you to have me go? Why, there’s lots of you to
cheer each other up, and there’s only one of me. But what’s the use of
acting like this, anyway? I’ve got to go, and I might as well go
laughing as crying. If _your_ father wanted you to go, you’d go, and _I_
wouldn’t do all I could to make it harder for you by crying from morning
to night.”
The logic of these remarks seemed to impress Marian, for she stopped
crying, and said: “I suppose I am a horrid old thing to act so, and I am
going to stop, at least until after you’re gone, and then I’m going to
cry all I want to.”
“Do,” said Patty, “have a real good time and cry all day, and every day,
if you like. But now come on and help me pack my photographs.”
Marian was as good as her word. She cried no more, and though her
demeanour was not exactly hilarious, she ceased wearing a reproachful
air, and went around helping Patty with a loving good-will.
The last few days before their departure Patty and Mr. Fairfield spent
at the Elliotts’ home.
The trunks and boxes had all been sent away, and Boxley Hall was shut up
and securely barred and fastened.
The servants had found other situations. Mancy was going to live at Miss
Daggett’s, though the good-natured coloured woman was not all sure of
her ability to stay with that sharp-tongued lady.
Pansy was to live with the Elliotts, and Mr. Fairfield had promised her
that if under his sister’s tuition she became a competent waitress she
should come the next year to live in the city house of the new Mrs.
Fairfield. Pansy was delighted at this prospect, for she had become
devotedly attached to the Fairfields, and, moreover, was a great admirer
of the lovely Miss Allen.
The day before Patty was to leave Vernondale the Tea Club had a farewell
meeting at Marian’s.
“You know, Patty,” said Elsie Morris, “that you’ll still have to be
president of the Club. We utterly refuse to let anyone else have that
position.”
“But that’s perfectly silly,” protested Patty; “it would be much more
sensible for me to be an honourable or honorary ex-president, and you
put in somebody else to rule the Club this winter.”
“Pooh,” said Ethel Holmes, “don’t flatter yourself you ruled this Club!”
“No,” said Patty, laughing, “or if I did rule them, they overruled me.
You’re a fractious lot, and it’s far from being an easy task to be your
president. However, as I want you to have somebody to keep you straight
during my absence, I’m going to propose my cousin Marian for the office
of president.”
This proposal was most favourably received, and Marian was unanimously
elected president of the Tea Club, until such time as Patty should
return to Vernondale. For the girls, one and all, refused to admit that
Patty was going away permanently. They chose to assume that she was
merely going to New York for the winter, and implicitly believed that
the summer months would see her again established at Boxley Hall.
“And very likely we _shall_ return,” said Patty. “Nobody can foretell
what my father is going to do, and nobody can stop him when he once
decides what he is going to do. I certainly never dreamed he was going
to marry Nan, until he told me so himself.”
“Aren’t you glad about it?” asked Helen Preston.
“Yes, indeed,” exclaimed Patty; “I’m as happy as can be about it. I just
love Nan, and it will be just like having a sister. I wish they’d get
married right away, only then I suppose we wouldn’t have Grandma Elliott
with us this winter, and I’d be sorry about that. Now remember, girls,
just as soon as we get settled at The Wilberforce you’re all to come in
some Saturday. Papa says not to come for tea, because it makes you so
late getting home, but to come for luncheon, and he’ll take us all to
the matinée afterward.”
There was a general chorus of glee at this, for the girls were well
acquainted with the kind and genial Mr. Fairfield, and his invitation
meant a delightful treat.
“I do think your father is lovely,” said Polly Stevens, “and I think
you’re going to have beautiful times in the city this winter. I really
quite envy you.”
“But I wish you weren’t going,” said Christine Converse; “I don’t see
how the Tea Club can get along at all without you.”
“But I shall often come out to the Tea Club meetings,” said Patty; “of
course I shall often come out to Marian’s to stay a day or two, and if
I’m here on Saturday I can come to the Club, and whenever you have an
evening entertainment I’ll come out for that.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Marian, brightening a little; “and you
can come out to our house for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and New Year’s
Day, and all the holidays, can’t you?”
“Yes,” said Patty, smiling; “except the ones you come in to spend with
me.”
As this brighter outlook had greatly decreased Marian’s aspect of
hopeless gloom, the girls all began to wax more merry, and soon they
were all joking and laughing in true Tea Club style.
Each one had brought a parting gift for Patty and the presentations were
made with jesting speeches.
Elsie Morris brought a well-filled court-plaster case, for, as she
explained, Patty was sure to be knocked down and run over every day by
automobiles and trolley cars, and the healing strips would prove
beneficial.
Laura Russell brought her a tiny fern growing in a flower pot, in order
that she might have some green thing to remind her of the country.
“Oho,” said Ethel Holmes, “I’m going to give you a dozen green things to
remind you of the country,” and Ethel produced her gift, which was
nothing more nor less than a humorous sketch of the twelve girls of the
Tea Club. Ethel was clever at drawing, and the group was well
caricatured. Instead of drawing the faces, she had pasted in tiny
photographs of the girls’ features, and, moreover, had realistically
bedecked their hats with tiny feathers and microscopic bows of real
ribbon. Neckties and hair-ribbons were also pasted into place, until the
whole affair was a most comical representation of the Club members.
Patty was delighted and declared she would have this work of art framed
and conspicuously hung in her new home.