A NEIGHBOUR
Two days later the Fairfields went down to Spring Beach.
The intervening day was a busy one. Mr. Fairfield went with Patty to
select her motor car, for some details of equipment and upholstery were
left to her choice. As the car had been built especially for the Prize
Contest, it was a beautiful specimen of the finisher’s art. It was a
Stanhope, of graceful design and fine lines. The body was Royal Blue,
with cushions of broadcloth of the same colour.
Patty was informed she could have any other colour if she wished, but
she said the blue suited her best.
There was a top which could be put up or down at will, wide
skirt-protecting mudguards, and a full equipment of all necessary
paraphernalia, such as storm-apron, odometer, and a complete set of
tools.
Patty had carried with her her flower vase and clock, and the man in
charge agreed to have them fastened in place. The flower vase, he said,
was unusual on a Stanhope, but, when Patty said it _must_ be attached
somewhere, he promised to have it done.
The steering gear was a bar, fitted with a hand grip, and both this and
the controller were exceedingly simple and easily operated.
The demonstrator offered to give Patty a driving lesson then and there,
but Mr. Fairfield preferred that she should be taught by himself, or his
experienced chauffeur, the trusty Miller.
Of course, the men in charge of the salesroom where the car was on
exhibition were greatly interested in seeing Patty, because she was the
winner of the contest. One young man stepped forward with a camera, and
asked the privilege of taking a picture of Patty seated in her own car.
But this Mr. Fairfield would not allow, and, after making the necessary
arrangements about shipping the motor to Spring Beach, he took Patty
away.
“Isn’t it fun, father?” she exclaimed, as she went off with him, her
hands full of descriptive catalogues and circulars, telling of the
marvellous superiority of the Rhodes and Geer cars over all competitors.
“It’s lots more interesting than if you had just bought a car and given
it to me.”
“And lots less expensive, too,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling. “Why,
Patty, girl, that whole affair, as it stands, is worth nearly three
thousand dollars.”
“Goodness gracious! Is it really? I had no idea they were so expensive!
Why, your big car didn’t cost much more than that, did it?”
“But, you see, this Stanhope of yours is a special car, in every way,
and all its fittings and accessories are of the most up-to-date and
extravagant type. You must do all you can for the company, by praising
it to your friends. I don’t think you can do any more than that to
further their interests.”
“Oh, I don’t feel under any obligation to the company. It was a business
enterprise on their part. They offered a prize and I won it. Now we’re
quits. Of course, I shall praise the car to my friends, but only because
it’s such a beauty, and not because I feel that I owe anything to the
company.”
“You are rather a logical young woman, after all, Patty. Sometimes you
seem a feather-headed butterfly, and then again you appear to have sound
sense.”
“A ‘feather-headed butterfly’ sounds pretty, I think. I guess I’ll be
that, mostly.”
“You won’t have to try very hard,” remarked her father.
“But sometimes I have spells of being very serious: for instance, wasn’t
I serious when I tried so hard to earn fifteen dollars in one week?”
“Yes, serious enough; but it was largely your stubborn determination to
succeed.”
“Well, that’s a good trait to have, then. It’s what Mr. Hepworth calls
steadfastness of purpose.”
“Yes; they’re about the same thing. And I’m glad you have it; it’s what
won the car for you.”
“That, and my helpful friends.”
“Oh, the helpful friends were incidental, like text-books or
cyclopædias. I truly congratulate you, Patty, girl, on your real success
in this instance. But I also ask of you not to go into anything of such
a public nature again, without consulting me first.”
“All right, Father Fairfield, I promise.”
And then they were at home again, and the luncheon hour was enlivened by
Patty’s descriptions to Nan of her wonderful new toy.
“Are you going to give it a name, Patty?” Nan asked, after hearing of
its glories.
“Yes; but not until after I’ve used it. I can’t tell, you see, just what
sort of a name it needs until I try it. And, Nan, let’s do a little
shopping this afternoon. I want a new motor-coat, and a few other
trifles, to live up to the appearance of that thing of beauty.”
The shopping was done, some marvellous motor-apparel was purchased, and
then, the next day, the departure from New York was made.
They reached “The Pebbles” in mid-afternoon, and the ocean and sky were
a glowing mass of blue and white and gold.
Nan’s well-trained servants had the house open and ready for them, and
Patty flew up the steps and into the great hall with a whoop of delight.
“Isn’t it great, Nan! Isn’t it fine! More fun than travelling abroad or
touristing through Sunny It.! For, you see, this is our own home and we
own it!”
“Patty, your enthusiasm will wear you out some day. Do take it more
quietly.”
“Can’t do it! I’m of a nervous temperament and exuberant disposition,
and I have to express my thinks!”
The big hall was in reality a living-room. It extended straight through
the house, with wide doors at either end. It had alcoves with cushioned
seats, a huge fireplace, deep-seated windows, and from one side a broad
staircase curved upward, with a landing and balcony halfway.
The wicker furniture was well-chosen and picturesque, besides being very
comfortable and inviting.
“Just as soon as I can get a few things flung around, it will be
perfect,” announced Patty. “At present, it’s too everlastingly
cleared-up-looking.”
She tossed on a table the magazines she had bought on the train, and
flung her long veil over a chair back.
“There, you see!” she said. “Watch that veil flutter in the
seabreeze,—our own seabreeze, coming in at our own front door, and then
tell me if ‘The Pebbles’ is a success!”
“Yes; and, unless you shut that door, you’ll have a most successful cold
in your head,” observed her father. “It’s May, to be sure, but it
doesn’t seem to be very thoroughly May, as yet.”
So Patty shut the door, and then, opening the piano, she sang “Home,
Sweet Home,” and then some gayer songs to express her enthusiasm.
Her own rooms, Patty concluded, were the gem of the house. From her
balcony, on which she proposed to sleep, she had not only a wide view of
the sea, but an attractive panorama of the beautiful estates along the
shore. A hammock was slung between two of the pillars, and, throwing
herself into this, with an Indian blanket over her, Patty swayed gently
back and forth, and indulged in daydreams of the coming summer. An hour
later, Nan found her still there.
“Come to tea, Patty,” she said; “we’re having it indoors, as the wind is
rising.”
“Yes, it’s breezing up quite some;” and Patty looked out at the waves,
now so darkly blue as to be almost black.
She followed Nan downstairs to the hall, and looked approvingly at the
tea-table, set out near the blazing wood-fire.
“Lovely!” she cried. “I believe I am chilly, after all. But the air is
fine. Buttered muffins, oh, goody! Father, the table bills will be a lot
bigger down here than in the city.”
“I daresay; but I won’t begrudge them, if you will put some more flesh
on that willowy frame of yours. You’re not strong, Patty, and I want you
to devote this summer to building yourself up physically. No study, not
much reading, no ‘Puzzle Contest’ work. Just rest, and exercise
moderately, and spend most of your time out-of-doors.”
“Why, daddy dear, your plans and specifications exactly suit me! How
strange that our ideas should be the same on this subject! You see, with
my new Stanhope, I’ll be out-of-doors all day, and, as I propose to
sleep in the open, I’ll be out-of-doors all night. Can I do more?”
“I’m not sure about this sleeping outside. You must never do it on damp
or foggy nights.”
“Now, father, the sanitariums advise it for everybody—every night.
Well, I’ll agree not to sleep out in a thunderstorm, for I’m scared to
death of them.”
“And you mustn’t begin it yet, anyway. It’s too cold. Wait until June,
and then we’ll see about it.”
“All right, I’ll agree to that. Why, somebody’s coming up the front
walk! Nan, here comes our first caller. Wow! She’s a dasher!”
In a few moments, Jane, the new parlour maid, admitted the visitor, and
she came in with a self-important flutter.
“How do you do?” she said, cordially. “I’m Miss Galbraith,—Mona
Galbraith, your next-door neighbour. At least, we live in the house with
red chimneys, two blocks down, but there’s no house between us.”
“How do you do, Miss Galbraith,” said Nan, rising to greet the guest,
and followed by the others.
“You see,” went on the young woman, volubly, after she had accepted the
seat offered by Mr. Fairfield, “I thought I’d just run right in,
informally, for you might feel a bit lonesome or homesick this first
day. So many people do.”
“No,” said Patty, smiling, “we’re not lonesome or homesick, but it was
nice of you to come to see us in this neighbourly fashion. Have a
muffin, won’t you?”
“Indeed, I will; what delicious muffins! Did you bring your servants
with you?”
“Some of them,” said Nan. “We’re simple people, and haven’t a large
retinue.”
“Well, we have,” said Miss Galbraith. “And I’m at the head of the whole
bunch. Just father and I; we live alone, you know. Will you come to see
us? Come to dinner, soon, won’t you?”
“We’ll see about it,” said Nan, who scarcely knew how to take this
self-possessed and somewhat forward young person.
Miss Galbraith wore a costume of embroidered white linen, but the
embroidery was too elaborate, and the style of the gown rather extreme.
She wore a long gold chain, with what Patty afterward called half a peck
of “junk” dangling from it. There were a lorgnette, a purse, a cardcase,
a pencil, a vinaigrette, a well-filled key-ring, and several other
trifles, all attached to the chain, and Miss Galbraith played with the
trinkets incessantly.
“I hope we’ll be real good friends,” she said, earnestly, to Patty. “I
want an intimate friend awfully, and I like your looks.”
As Patty couldn’t honestly return the compliment, she said nothing in
reply. Miss Galbraith’s personal appearance was comely, and yet it was
not of the type with which Patty was accustomed to be friendly. Her
sandy hair was too much curled and puffed, piled too high on her head,
and held with too many jewelled pins; while her rather large hands
showed too many rings for a young girl.
Her high-heeled, white shoes were too tight for her, and her easy
attitudes and frank speech were too informal for a first call on
strangers.
“Of course, we shall be friends,” said Nan, with just enough absence of
enthusiasm in her tones to convey to a sensitive mind her reservations.
But Miss Galbraith hadn’t a sensitive mind.
“Dear Mrs. Fairfield,” she said, effusively, “how good you are! I see
you have the neighbourly instinct. Isn’t it nice that we’ll all be down
here together for the whole summer? Do you swim, Miss Fairfield? and do
you love to dance?”
“Yes,” began Patty, “but——”
As she hesitated, Mr. Fairfield came to his daughter’s rescue.
“To be frank, Miss Galbraith,” he said, “I am trying to keep my daughter
rather quiet this summer. I want her to exercise only moderately, and I
must positively forbid much dancing, and late hours, and all that sort
of thing.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” returned the visitor; “nobody keeps very late
hours at Spring Beach. Well, I must run away now,—and I give you fair
warning! If you don’t come and return my call soon, I’ll come straight
over here and return it myself!”
She shook a playful finger at Patty, and, after voluble leave-takings,
she went away, tripping down the walk with the satisfied air of one who
has accomplished her object.
“Well!” said Patty, with an air of utter exasperation.
“_Well!_” exclaimed Nan.
Mr. Fairfield smiled grimly.
“It’s our own fault,” he said. “We should have enquired as to the
character of the neighbours before we bought the house.”
“How soon can you sell it, father?” asked Patty. “One more visitation
like that would give me nervous prostration! Mona! Mona, indeed! I never
saw a Mona before, but I might have known they were like that.”
“But can’t you really stay here?” asked Mr. Fairfield, in alarm.
“Nonsense, daddy, of course we can! Do you think I’d let myself be
dispossessed by a mere Mona? No, sir; Nan and I can manage her.”
“I don’t quite see how,” said Nan, thoughtfully. “She’s that impossible
sort. Oblivious to manner, impervious to hints. Patty, she’s dreadful!”
“Of course she is, Sweet Nancy. She isn’t our sort. But I’ll attend to
her. I don’t know how, just yet, but I’ll find out. She’s a problem to
be coped with, a difficulty to be overcome. But did you ever see such a
gown? There was just enough embroidery on it for three self-respecting
frocks. And her hair! Looked like the wax ladies’ coiffures in the
hair-store windows!”
“Don’t make rude personal remarks, Patty, girl.”
“Oh, father, as if one could be rude to an object like that! Well,
people dear, let’s put her out of our minds and hearts for the rest of
to-day, anyway. I won’t have the birthday of ‘The Pebbles’ spoiled by a
slight incident like that. Forget it!”
And so the impossible Miss Galbraith was voluntarily ignored.