A LECTURE
“Patricia,” said Mr. Fairfield, one morning at the breakfast-table.
Patty gave a great jump, clasped her hands to her breast dramatically,
and exclaimed:
“Oh, my gracious goodness! _What_ do you call me that for?”
“Because,” went on her father, “I’m going to lecture you, and I’m in a
very serious mood.”
“Proceed, Mr. Frederick Fairfield, Esquire;” and Patty assumed an
expression of rapt attention and excessive meekness.
“Well, to put it in a few words, I won’t have that young Van Reypen
hanging around here so much!”
“Oh! is that all? Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree! You should
advise him of that fact, not me.”
“Incidentally, as I go along, consider yourself reproved for that awful
bit of slang. But now I’m concerned with this other subject. It won’t be
necessary for me to speak to the young man, for I’m telling you that you
must discourage his attentions somewhat. He comes too often.”
“I think so, too,” agreed Patty, calmly. “But it isn’t me—I, he comes
to see. It’s Nan.”
“Oh, Patty, how silly!” exclaimed Nan, laughing and blushing a little.
“Yes, it is, daddy. Nan encourages him something scan’lous! I don’t
wonder you kick!”
“Object, Patty, not kick.”
“Yes, sir; object is just what I mean.” Patty’s demure air made her
father laugh, but he returned to his theme.
“As you know, child, I like to have you amused and happy, and I like to
have your young friends come to see you. But this chap has already been
here three evenings this week, and it’s only Thursday.”
“That leaves him just three more to come, doesn’t it?” said Patty,
counting on her fingers.
“Indeed, it does not! If he keeps this up, he’ll be forbidden the house
altogether.”
“Oh, what a pity! And he such a nice young man, with rosy cheeks and
curly hair! Father, you’re cruel to your only child!”
“Now, Patty, behave yourself. You’re too young to have a man calling on
you so often, and I really object to it.”
“‘I will be good, dear mother,
I heard a sweet child say,’”
hummed Patty, “and I’ll tell you frankly, my stern parent, that, if
you’ll only let the Van Reypen villain stay by me until I get these
puzzles done, I don’t care if I never see him again after that.”
“Oh, Patty,” cried Nan, “how ungrateful!”
“Ungrateful, perhaps, to that bold, bad young man, but obedient to my
dear, kind, old father.”
When Patty was in this amiably foolish mood, she was incorrigible, so
Mr. Fairfield said:
“All right, my lady. Let him come a few times to work out those
pestilential puzzles, and then I shall hold you to your promise, to cut
his acquaintance.”
“Is he really as bad as all that, father?” asked Patty, in awestruck
tones.
“He isn’t bad at all. He’s a most estimable and exemplary young man. But
I won’t have anybody calling on you three nights in one week, at your
age. It’s out of the question! Kenneth doesn’t.”
“But Ken is so busy.”
“No, it’s because he has some idea of the proprieties.”
“And hasn’t Mr. Van Reypen _any_ idea of the proprieties?” Patty’s eyes
opened wide at this awful suggestion.
“Yes, he has;” and Mr. Fairfield smiled in spite of himself. “Or, he
would have, if you’d let him! It’s all your fault, Patty; you drag him
here, to mull over those idiotic questions!”
“I drag him here! Oh, father, what a rudeness! Well, I simply _must_
have his help on the rest of those puzzles. How would it be if you
engaged him as my assistant, and paid him a salary? Would that help
matters?”
“How many of your precious puzzles are done?”
“Sixty-nine out of the hundred.”
“How many have you solved yourself?”
“About fifty.”
“Then that man did nineteen for you?”
“Yes; and, if he hadn’t, I _never_ could have guessed them! Oh, he _is_
clever!”
“And when do the answers have to be sent in?”
“April first.”
“H’m! an appropriate day! Well, Patty, as your heart is so set on this
thing, carry it through; but don’t ever begin on such a task again. Now,
Mr. Van Reypen may help you, if you wish, but I mean it when I say he
must not come here to call more than twice in one week.”
“All right,” agreed Patty, cheerfully. “May I send him some puzzles to
guess, father?”
“Well, I won’t have you writing to him. Not letters, I mean. But, if you
can’t guess a puzzle, you may send it to him, and I trust you not to let
this permission develop into a correspondence.”
“No, sir; I won’t,” said Patty.
But, after Mr. Fairfield had gone away, the girl turned to Nan, with a
perplexed look.
“Whatever ails father,” she said, “to talk to me like that?”
“He’s right, Patty. You don’t see the difference, but there is a great
difference between your friendship for Kenneth and Roger, which dates
from your schooldays, and your sudden acquaintance with Mr. Van Reypen,
who is older, and who is a far more experienced man of the world.”
“But Mr. Hepworth is a lot older than Mr. Van Reypen, and nobody objects
to his coming here.”
“Mr. Hepworth is an old friend of your father’s, and has always been in
the habit of coming here often.”
“Well, these distinctions are too much for me,” declared Patty. “But I
don’t care a snip-jack about Philip Van Reypen, personally. If I can
just have his help on my thirty-one remaining problems, I’ll cheerfully
bid him farewell forevermore.”
There was no mistaking Patty’s sincerity, and Nan felt decidedly
relieved, for she and her husband had feared that Patty was taking too
deep a personal interest in the attractive young millionaire.
“All right, girlie. Suppose, then, you send him two or three of your
brain-rackers, and ask him to come around, say, on Monday next. That
will convey a gentle hint not to come sooner.”
“That’s a long time,” said Patty, dubiously; “but, if I need to, I can
send him more puzzles before that.”
Patty ran away to her study, and spent the morning working on her
puzzles. It was by no means drudgery, for she enjoyed it all. The
puzzles were of all sorts, from charades and square words, to the most
abstruse problems. She solved several, and four she gave up as
impossible for her ever to guess. These she concluded to send to Mr. Van
Reypen.
But it was more difficult than she anticipated, to compose a note to go
with them.
She had no wish to disobey her father’s commands, even in spirit, and
wanted to write an impersonal letter, such as he would approve.
But, for some reason, she couldn’t accomplish it. Philip Van Reypen was
himself so straightforward, and so quick to see through any subterfuge,
that all the notes she wrote seemed to her artificial and insincere. She
tore them up one after another, and at last, seizing her pen again, she
wrote rapidly:
“DEAR MR. VAN REYPEN:
“It’s no use. I’ve written a dozen notes and torn them up,
trying to imply, or hint politely, what I prefer to say right
out. It seems my parents think you come here too often, and, I
daresay, you think so, too. So, at their command, you’re not to
come again till next Monday. Come at four o’clock, and _don’t_
ask to stay to dinner. I enclose some puzzles that I hope you
can solve. I can’t.
“Sincerely yours,
“PATRICIA FAIRFIELD.”
“There!” said Patty, to herself, as she read it over, “I think that
would do credit to a ‘Young Lady’s Model Letter Writer.’ It tells the
truth without subterfuge, and it certainly does not invite the
correspondence father is so afraid of. Now, I’m not going to touch these
old puzzles again, to-day, or I’ll have brain failure. I think I’ll go
and practise some new songs. Music hath charms to sooth a puzzled
breast.”
So Patty warbled away for an hour or so, in her clear, sweet voice, and
Nan came down to the music room to listen.
“Oh, Patty,” she said, “if you’d put half the time and pains on your
music that you do on those foolish puzzles, you’d be a great singer!”
“Think so, Nannikins? I doubt it.”
“Yes, you would. You have a lovely voice, but it needs more training and
lots of practice.”
“Well, it won’t get it. Life’s too short; and, too, nobody cares for
parlour tricks of a musical nature. I sing well enough to entertain the
Fairfield family, and that’s all I care for.”
“Patty, have you no ambition?”
“Yes; but my ambitions are sensible. If I practised four hours a day,
I’d still have only a small parlour voice,—not a concert voice. And
there’d be four hours a day wasted. And days are _so_ short, anyway. I’m
going to Christine’s this afternoon; do you want the motor?”
“Why, yes; I did expect to make some calls.”
“Oh, well, you can drop me on the way. But, won’t it be fun, Nan, when I
get my own little runabout? I’ll be quite independent of Miller and the
big car.”
“You can’t use it alone in the city.”
“Oh, yes, I could! Just to fly over to Christine’s in the afternoon, or
something like that. Father would kick at first, but he’d soon get used
to it.”
“You do wind that poor man around your finger, Patty.”
“Good thing, too. If I didn’t, he’d wind me around his finger. So, as it
is, I have the best of it. But I’m not at all sure I’ll catch that
runabout, after all. The first of April draweth near, and many of those
silly problems refuse to let themselves be solved.”
“I hope you will get it, after you’ve worked so hard.”
“I hope so, too. But hopes don’t solve anagrams and enigmas.”
“Oh, well, if you don’t get it, there’s always room for you in the big
car. What time do you want to go to Christine’s?”
“About four. She won’t be home till then. Does that suit your plans?”
“Perfectly, my child.”
So, at four o’clock, Nan left Patty at Christine’s new home.
It was not a typical boarding-house, but an apartment occupied by two
elderly people, who had a room to spare, which seemed just right for the
young art student.
Even in the short time she had been there, Christine had done much to
make the plain room more attractive. And Patty had helped, for many of
the comforts that had been added had been her gifts. A growing palm, and
a smaller bowl of ferns looked thrifty and well-kept; and a large jar of
exquisite pink roses gave the place a gala air.
“What lovely roses!” exclaimed Patty, sniffing daintily at one of them.
“Yes, aren’t they?” said Christine. “Mr. Hepworth sent them. He sends
them every week. Isn’t he kind?”
“Yes, but no kinder than he ought to be. Everybody ought to be good to
you, Christine.”
“Why?”
“Oh, because you’re so sweet and good, yourself. And you work so hard,
and you never complain,—and you’re so pretty.”
Patty added the last clause, because her former words brought a pink
glow to Christine’s cheeks, and a shining light to her dark eyes, and
she looked indeed beautiful.
“I do work hard; but, Patty, I’m winning out! I’ve already had some
illustrations accepted by a good magazine; and I’ve orders for two
magazine covers.”
“Fine! Why, Christine, you’ve arrived!”
“Not quite that; but I’m steadily going ahead. I say that quite without
conceit. It’s simply that I’m learning how to use the talent I have.”
“You dear!” cried Patty. “As if any one could imagine _you_ conceited!
And, of course, you’re going ahead,—fast!”
“And, Patty, Mrs. Van Reypen is so good to me. I don’t understand it.
Why, she fairly showers me with kindnesses.”
“I understand it. Mrs. Van Reypen is very eccentric. If she dislikes
people, she can’t be caustic enough to them or about them. But, if she
takes a fancy to any one, then she just adores her. And I’m so glad
she’s taken a fancy to you,—for she surely has.”
“Yes, she has. But sometimes it embarrasses me, for she invites me to
see her so often, or to go to entertainments with her, and I _have_ to
refuse, for I mustn’t neglect my work.”
“Oh, she understands that. You stand by your work, and I know her well
enough to know she’ll respect and admire you all the more for it.”