A ROMAN TEA
Patty had decided to have her tea in the garden of the hotel, and a
good-sized portion had been set aside for her use.
Light tables and chairs nestled cosily among the great palms and
tropical plants, and growing flowers made masses of bloom here and
there.
The orchestra, just far enough away to be pleasant, had been engaged
to play at intervals, including some American airs with their other
selections. The collation had been carefully chosen, and after an
inspection of the place to see that everything was satisfactory, Patty
went to dress for the event.
“Do you remember Smarty’s party?” she said, pausing in Nan’s room.
“Whose?”
“Why, there’s a classic poem, something like this:
“‘Smarty
Had a party;
Nobody came
’Ceptin’ Smarty!’
And my tea will be like that! The garden looks lovely, the cakes and
ices are dreams of beauty, and I mean to be a charming hostess; but,
alas, my guests are so few.”
“Who are coming? Every one you know in Rome, I suppose.”
“Yes, but that’s only Flo, and the Van Winkles, and Mr. Homer. Oh, yes,
I asked Mr. Leland, but I don’t know as he’ll come. And Violet asked
leave to bring Milly Mills, some girl she knows, whose mother is an
invalid, so Milly can’t go out much.”
“Well, you’ll have more guests than Smarty had,” said Nan, consolingly.
“And your father and I, and Mr. and Mrs. Valentine, will make a fine
background of elderly respectability.”
“Yes, you’re a fine old Dowager Duchess,” said Patty, smiling at pretty
Nan. “With your roseleaf skin and your turn-up nose. You look more like
a débutante.”
“How foolish you are,” said Nan, blushing and dimpling as she always
did at Patty’s chaffing compliments, which were, nevertheless, sincere.
Patty was getting into her frock, a soft Liberty silk of a lovely pale
green, when an impatient knock came at her door, and before she could
open it, Flo flung it open and fairly rushed in.
“Patty Fairfield,” she cried, “what do you think! That outrageous
Snippy says I can’t go to your tea, because I haven’t done my
practising! She says I can go later, but I must practise for an hour
first. And I won’t do it!”
“I should say not,” cried Patty, in a burst of righteous indignation.
“I never heard of anything so horrid. Of course you’ll coax her around
somehow.”
“Coax Snippy! You don’t know her! You see I went wondering with you all
this morning, and since luncheon I’ve been napping, and now I want to
get ready for the party.”
“And you must. Come, I’ll go with you and try to persuade old Snippy.”
“No, that won’t do any good. But here’s my plan. Once in a great while,
when I feel very dreadfully put out, I turn on her and scare the wits
out of her. Not often, or it would lose all effect,--but I’m going to
do it now. Do, if you like, come with me and see the fun.”
Patty felt a little ashamed at such strenuous measures, but she
followed Flo through the halls.
By the piano in Flo’s sitting-room stood Snippy, a majestic figure of
towering wrath and immovable determination.
“Good-afternoon, Miss Patty,” she said, not uncivilly, but coldly.
“Miss Flo will come to your tea a bit late, as she has her music to do.”
“I’m not going to practise to-day,” remarked Flo, carelessly.
“Yes, Miss Flo, you are. Not a step do you go from this room till your
hour is done.”
Then Flo turned to her governess and looked her straight in the eye.
“Snippy,” she said, in firm, even tones, “I am not going to practise
to-day, nor to-morrow, nor next day, and perhaps never again! Hush,
don’t you speak! I’m going to Patty’s tea, now, _now_, _NOW!_ Do you
hear?” Flo’s voice grew a little louder and she took a step toward
Snippy, and shook a warning forefinger at her. “You have your orders, I
know, but in this case you take orders from me, ME! I wish to dress at
once, and you will lay out my Dresden silk with the pink bows. Now you
_jump!_”
Perhaps it was the explosive way in which she pronounced the last
word, but at any rate Snippy jumped as if she had been shot, and with
a vanquished air went to the wardrobe for Flo’s dress. Patty, overcome
with amusement at the scene, slipped away, lest her presence prove
embarrassing to the conquered spirit.
But she needn’t have feared. Snippy’s nature had a touch of arrogance
and presumption because of her responsible position, and when Flo thus
asserted herself, the stern old lady felt the justice of it and met the
situation bravely.
“Yes, Miss Flo,” she said, “and shall I do your hair with bands or a
fringe?”
So the incident was closed, and never again referred to, and Flo
tranquilly did her practising every day thereafter.
“Isn’t she funny?” said Patty, as the two sat in the garden waiting for
the guests to come.
“Yes, indeed,” said Flo. “I just wanted you to see how she collapses
when I go at her in earnest. But she’s a dear old thing, and I put up
with her domineering usually, because it’s more peaceful to do so.”
Then Violet and Lancaster came, bringing Milly Mills. Patty greeted
the new girl cordially, and sat down beside her for a chat.
“We’re staying at a _pension_,” said Milly; “mother is not well enough
for the life in a hotel. I wish we might live here. You can do anything
you like, can’t you?”
“Why, yes, I suppose so,” said Patty, smiling. “But I never think of it
that way, for I always like anything I do.”
Milly opened her eyes wide.
“You do?” she said. “Well, I _never_ like anything I do.”
“What an awful way to live!” exclaimed Patty. “Do you dislike
everything on principle?”
“No, but most things are so horrid.”
“Rome isn’t.”
“Oh, yes, it is. It’s hot and dirty, and jammed full of stupid old
ruins.”
Milly looked so utterly disgusted that Patty felt like laughing, but
controlled the inclination.
“You come with us, some day,” she said. “Come with our Wonderers’ Club,
and we’ll show you ruins that are not stupid.”
“I’d love to go,” said Milly, “I like you because you’re so happy. I’m
never happy.”
“Then you’re a goose,” said Patty, gaily. “But I’ll engage to give you
a few happy hours, see if I don’t.”
“Well, she _is_ a terror,” thought Patty, as she turned away to greet
some others who were coming in. “I’ll have to study her out; so far,
she’s all fuss and fret, but she must have some good traits. How do you
do, Mr. Leland. This is awfully kind of you, to come to my little tea.
Won’t you sit here by Miss Mills?”
It was a mischievous impulse that made Patty put the distinguished Mr.
Leland to entertain fretful Milly, but to her surprise the two were
soon chatting pleasantly.
“I thought she must be some good,” said Patty to herself, with a
feeling of satisfaction at her own insight.
“Seeing a green whisk of femininity among the bosky glades, he quickly
made his way thither.”
When Patty heard this speech in a high-pitched monotone, she knew at
once who had come, and turning, with a glad smile, she held out both
hands to Floyd Austin.
“You dear boy,” she cried, “I’m so glad to see you!”
“You dear girl,” he responded, “I’m so glad you’re glad. My word! but
we’re gay and festive, aren’t we? Are you always so gorgeously social
as this?”
“No, this is a special occasion to get us all acquainted, and
afterward, we’re to be just plain, everyday chums.”
“I see; and who is the elderly youth talking to the pretty crosspatch?”
Patty fairly giggled at his quick and apt descriptions.
“Elderly youth is just the right term for Mr. Leland,” she said, “but
how _did_ you know that pretty Milly Mills is--well, not exactly of a
sunny disposition?”
“Oh, I can tell by the lines of her thumbs,” said Floyd, nonsensically.
“But, tell me, how does your own sunny disposition thrive in Rome? Dost
like the pictures?”
“I do like the pictures,” said Patty, with a little sigh, “if there
weren’t so many millions of ’em.”
“Yes, there are some few, but then you need see only one at a time.”
“But it’s the same theme over and over. I get so tired of Saint
Sebastian and his arrows, and Susannah, and that everlasting Thorn
Extractor.”
“He isn’t a picture.”
“No, it would be a pleasant change if he were.”
“It would be a pleasant change and a wise plan, too, if they set the
Thorn Extractors to picking the arrows out of Saint Sebastian.”
“Indeed it would! And if they’d tie old Susannah to a tree, she
wouldn’t look so silly as she usually does.”
“I fear your art instincts are frivolous. Come over here, Caddy, and
hear Young America talk art.”
Caddy Oram, who had come in with Floyd, but had paused to speak to Nan,
now came to greet Patty.
“Aren’t you properly awed by the art galleries?” he asked.
“I was, at first,” said Patty, truthfully, “but now, I’m so used to
being awed that it doesn’t bother me so much.”
“That’s the worst of it,” said Caddy, “one does get used to being awed
in Italy.”
“But that’s the best of it,” declared Patty; “if I kept on being as
awed as I was the first few days, I’d be having nervous prostration
now.”
“I say, here comes old Homer,” cried Floyd, as Peter came around a palm
and joined them.
Then there was more greeting and hand-shaking and the boys clapped
each other on the shoulder, and at last the young people all drifted
together, and Patty thought it a good time to propose that the
newcomers should join the club.
“It isn’t a regular club,” she explained, “because it has no
regulations. We call it the Wonderers.”
“I wonder why,” put in Austin.
“Then you can be a member,” returned Patty, promptly; “you’ve
qualified!”
“I’ll be a member too,” said Caddy Oram. “I’m the best wonderer you
ever saw. I can wonder at anything.”
“Well, you’re all members,” said Patty, “and you can go on the
wonder-wanders when you like and stay home when you like. Now to-morrow
morning the club is going to St. Peter’s, and if there’s time, we may
wander into the Vatican. To be sure St. Peter’s is flubdubby, but----”
“What!” interrupted Peter Homer, in amazement.
Patty dimpled roguishly.
“Yes,” she went on, “as architecture, the interior is pure flubdub.”
At this Homer went off in peals of laughter, and Mr. Leland, who was
conversing with Mr. Fairfield, overheard, and gave an appreciative nod
at Patty.
“You’re right,” Peter said, at last, “quite right! But how did you know
it?”
“Oh,” said Patty, laughing, “I’m a born architect.”
“You must be!” said Peter, still smiling, “‘flubdub’ indeed!”
“Now to proceed with our plans,” said Patty. “All who will go wondering
with us to-morrow morning, open your mouth wide and say ‘Ah!’ which is
our club motto.”
Loud “ahs!” came from every throat, and the trip was decided upon.
“I’m president of the club,” went on Patty, “and Mr. Homer is guide,
philosopher, and friend. The rest of you can be any officers you
choose. It’s nicer to elect ourselves than each other.”
“So it is,” agreed Floyd Austin, “I’ll be treasurer.”
“That’s an easy office,” observed Patty, “as we have no dues of any
sort. Mr. Homer just pays for everything, and then afterward we pay him
back.”
“Simple methods _are_ the best,” agreed Austin. “Still, I’ll be
treasurer, and then, if any money matters do happen, I can look after
them.”
“I shan’t seek any office,” said Cadwalader Oram. “I’ll let it seek me.
Probably one will hunt me up in a day or two.”
“I’m sure of it,” said Patty. “You’re more apt to find your right niche
that way.”
“You talk as if I were a statue. Perhaps I’ll find my niche waiting for
me in the Vatican.”
“Well, don’t be a Thorn Extractor,” said Patty, “or I won’t even look
you up in the catalogue. What will you be, Milly?”
“I’ll be another president,” said Milly, unexpectedly. “I can’t bear to
play second fiddle.”
“Good!” said Patty. “Let’s all us girls be presidents, and then the
boys can be all the other officials.”
So it was agreed that they should all meet next morning at nine o’clock
for a visit to St. Peter’s.
“Unless we start early,” said Patty, “we’ll never get there.”
“How bright of you to see that,” said Lancaster, admiringly; “and I
say, everybody must bring postcards.”
“I can’t; I’m saving mine,” said Floyd Austin.
“Saving them! What for?” asked Violet.
“To make a bed quilt,” he replied gravely; “they make a lovely one. You
tie them together at the corners you know, with bits of tiny ribbon.”
“What a goose you are,” said Patty, laughing; “you’re just foolish
enough for our club. Save your postcards then,--you can look over mine.”
“And mine,” said Flo. “I’ve a bigger pack even than Patty.”
“I’ve something better than postcards,” said Floyd, as he produced a
small, thin, red book. “Have any of you seen this?”
None of them had, so Floyd explained.
“It’s a little panorama sort of thing,” he said, as he exhibited its
pages, “with pictures of all the Roman places of interest. But the
beautiful part of it is the description of each sight. It is evidently
written by an Italian, whose linguistic lore is limited. You see on
each page is an English paragraph, and also the same information in
German, French and Italian. Listen, I’ll read you the note about the
Piazza of St. Peter’s. ‘This majestic place of elliptical form with the
vast front of the Cathedral and the imposing Cupola, masterpiece of
Michelangelo that it appears to elevate itself to the Heaven, forms
with the two round porticos in four rows of columns all what here is of
more sumptuous. For enjoying the most fine panorama it must go until
to the Cupola of St. Peter. By the summit of this monument the town
is extending under our eyes with all its remarkable buildings. Not so
far there is the Tiber. This historical river on dragging along slowly
its waters, divides the city into two unequal parts. In front, by a
side we see the Alban mountains, of Tivoli, of the Sabine, and by the
other, the sea that with its sweetness seems that our weakened eyes are
reposing for the view of so much beauties.’”
“Oh, I say, Floyd,” broke in Peter Homer, “are you reading that as it
is?”
“Yes, truly,” said Austin. “Isn’t it great! Just listen to this: ‘On
the right of the majestic place is elevated the Vatican that is a whole
of palaces containing all what can be of more rich in the world.’”
“It’s perfectly delicious,” said Patty, as soon as she could for
laughing. “I must have one of those books.”
“I’ll give each of the club members one,” said Floyd. “They’re
cheap little affairs, the postcard men sell them; but the pictures
are really good, and you never heard anything so funny as the
descriptions.”
“Indeed they are funny,” agreed Peter. “We’ll each carry a copy
wherever we go. Read us a little more.” But just then tea was served,
and the young people turned their attention to that interesting episode.
Floyd Austin sauntered over and took a seat beside Milly Mills.
“Delightful music, isn’t it?” he said, with intent of opening a
conversation, and as the orchestra was really a fine one, he expected
the girl to agree.
“I hate music while I’m eating,” was the surprising response, and Floyd
looked at the girl to see if she were jesting.
But Milly’s discontented face showed that her remark, however ill-timed
and ill-tempered, was sincerely meant. “Do you, now?” said good-natured
Floyd. “What a pity! You must be bothered to death here.”
“Oh, I don’t live here. I wish I did. I live in a most uninteresting
place. Isn’t Miss Fairfield lovely?”
“She certainly is,” said Floyd, looking at laughing Patty, as a
pleasant contrast to this pouting girl. “She’s so sunny and happy.”
“Yes; she must have everything she wants.”
“Do you know, I think she’d be sunny if she didn’t have everything she
wanted.”
“Well, then, it’s because she happens to be of that disposition,” and
Milly sighed, as if that settled the matter.
As Floyd didn’t consider it his place to lecture a comparative stranger
on the ethics of contentment, he changed the subject and talked of
lighter matters. And so infectious was his own merry disposition, that
he made Milly forget her discontent and smile so gaily that she was
really charming.