A CHANGE OF PARTNERS
Their foolish little squabble over, Patty and Kenneth were as good chums
as ever, and they skimmed along in the same satisfied friendliness they
always felt when together.
All too soon, in Kenneth’s opinion, they had traversed half their
journey, and reached the place where it had been arranged that Patty was
to change her companion and give Mr. Hepworth his ride.
The big car was waiting for them as they came along, and, though Kenneth
said “Confound it!” to Patty, under his breath, no one else heard it,
and he exchanged places with Hepworth with a smiling, agreeable
countenance.
The transfer being effected, the two cars started on again.
Patty drove, and Mr. Hepworth watched her with admiration and interest.
“You’re a wonderful child,” he said; “you can do almost anything you
turn your hand to.”
“Indeed, I can’t,” returned Patty; “I can’t paint like Christine.”
“Oh, well, that’s a special talent of hers. Your special talent is your
singing. But I mean you can do all sorts of other things, like guessing
puzzles and running motor cars.”
“Yes, so I can; but don’t forget that, if you hadn’t guessed that last
charade for me, and an unfair one at that, I never should have had this
car. So you see the car is partly yours.”
“Well, I’ll take out my share in going riding with you.”
“Wouldn’t you like to drive it yourself, some day, Mr. Hepworth? You
could take Christine out.”
“Christine! I’d rather take you.”
“Rather take _me_ than Christine Farley?” Patty’s blue eyes opened wide,
and it was plain to be seen that her surprise at this statement was
unfeigned, and by no means a bit of coquetry. But it piqued Gilbert
Hepworth, and he answered, a little shortly:
“You know I would! Why do you pretend otherwise?”
“I don’t know any such thing! Christine is your special friend.”
“And aren’t you my special friend?”
“Why, not exactly;” and Patty’s cheeks dimpled as she smiled. “I’m your
special friend’s daughter. Isn’t daddy your special friend?”
“Yes, of course;” and Mr. Hepworth looked decidedly cross, as he always
did when reminded of the difference of age between himself and Patty,—a
thing which Patty never seemed to forget.
“But just now,” he went on, “you’re so absorbed in your special friend,
Van Reypen, that you have no thought of anybody else.”
“For the land’s sake!” exclaimed Patty; “and that’s an expression I use
only on the strongest provocation! But I’ll tell you something, Mr.
Hepworth,”—and she looked at him squarely,—“when Kenneth Harper was
with me just now, he held me up on account of what he called my
friendship for Mr. Van Reypen! Now, if you’re going to do the same
thing, I give you fair warning, I’ll put you out and I’ll take Philip
Van Reypen in this car! So there, now!”
Mr. Hepworth laughed at the flashing eyes, and the rose-flushed cheeks
that faced him, very much like an angry kitten.
“Forgive us both, Patty,” he said, smiling in spite of himself at the
ridiculous situation. “You see, the truth is Kenneth and I are both
jealous of your new friend. And you’ll probably find that Roger is in
the same unenviable frame of mind.”
“Fiddle-de-dee, and fiddlesticks, and fiddle-strings!” exclaimed Patty;
“you people all make me tired, you do. As you know, I adore all my
friends, and I want them all to adore me, and, when I make new friends,
they’ve all got to adore each other, too, and that’s all there is about
that! But don’t you worry over old Roger. He’s fallen a victim to the
charms of Mona Galbraith. I never was so surprised in my life! You know,
I don’t like that girl very much, and last night, as soon as Roger met
her, they immediately fell into a deep friendship!”
“Why don’t you like her?”
“Oh, she isn’t exactly our sort. She’s a little forward, a little
pushing, and a little lacking in certain varieties of good taste. But
she’s warm-hearted and generous, and, if she had had proper training,
would have been an awfully nice girl.”
“Can’t you help her, Patty?”
“Yes, Mr. Hepworth, I can; but I don’t want to.”
“Why don’t you want to?”
“Only because I’m a horrid thing! I know that, if I begin to help her,
she’ll want to be helped every minute in the day, and I’ll have my hands
full. I suppose I’m lazy and selfish, but I do hate to take that girl’s
bringing-up on my shoulders.”
“I don’t blame you altogether, Patty;” and Gilbert Hepworth smiled at
her gravely, yet kindly. “But don’t you exaggerate a little bit? I know
what you mean. I saw last night what insistent ways Miss Galbraith has,
and I know her demands on your time and attention would be incessant.
But, Patty, think how much you have!—not only worldly goods, but love
and care and protection and interested sympathy. Isn’t it your duty to
do what you can for this strange girl, thrown so definitely in your
way?”
“She _is_ in my way,” said Patty, pouting; “very much so!”
“And do you realise,” went on Mr. Hepworth, very seriously now, “that,
just because of all this love and praise and appreciation you receive,
you run a pretty strong chance of becoming selfish and self-centred?”
“Mr. Hepworth! I do believe you are lecturing me!”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. I’ve done it before, and never has it
failed to produce a good effect. I’m very fond of you, Patty, as you
know perfectly well; and I cannot bear to see your sunny and generous
nature spoiled by indolence or thoughtlessness on your part. Now I’m
going to drop this lecture right straight now. I’ve said all that is
necessary, and I know it has sunk in your heart deeply, as I intended it
to. And I know that you will overcome your dislike and disinclination
for the work, but that you will honestly and definitely try to do all
you can for that girl, and be all you can to her.”
For a moment Patty was silent, and then she said, in a low voice: “You
are right, Mr. Hepworth, as you always are. I understand all you have
said, and all you have meant, and I make you no promises; but I promise
myself to do all I can for Mona Galbraith, to help her in the way she
needs help.”
“That’s my little trump!” exclaimed Mr. Hepworth, in a voice which
betrayed a thrill of real emotion, and then he quickly changed the
subject and called Patty’s attention to a picturesque bit of landscape
in the middle distance.
The rest of their ride they chatted in a lighter key, with no reference
to duty, and, when they reached the Country Club, they were both
laughing merrily as they joined the rest of the party.
“I’m as hungry as a hunter!” cried Patty, springing from her car. “I
wish I’d brought Mr. Hepworth’s luncheon basket, well filled, along with
me.”
“You’ll have luncheon enough, Puss,” said her father, “and, as we’re a
little later than I expected, we’ll have it served right away.”
The Country Club House was an elaborate one, with broad verandas and
large, high-ceilinged halls and rooms. The walls bore the usual
decorations of antlers and other trophies of the chase, and the
appointments were luxurious and comfortable.
Patty had never been to just such a place before, and was interested in
it all.
“Can’t we become members, father?” she asked, as its plan and scope were
explained to her.
“Next year, perhaps, my dear. But this summer we’ll content ourselves
with coming over here occasionally, by the courtesy of my friends.”
Luncheon was served in a small dining-room, which they had quite to
themselves. The viands were most attractive and proved more than
acceptable to the hungry motorists.
After luncheon, they wandered about the beautiful grounds, and some of
them went for a row on the lake, while some others had a short game of
tennis.
Patty had such a good time that she was sorry when her father called
them to go home.
“We just fly from one kind of fun to another!” exclaimed Elise, as they
made ready to start. “Mayn’t I ride home with you, Patty?”
“No, no, Miss Farrington,” said Philip Van Reypen, overhearing her;
“it’s my turn to ride with Miss Fairfield. We’re going to put you and
Mr. Harper in the roadster, with Mr. Hepworth behind to see that you
don’t fall out.”
As usual, Mr. Van Reypen’s audacity carried the day; and, too, Elise had
no objections to driving home with Kenneth. This left Roger and
Christine to go in the big car with the two elder Fairfields, and the
arrangement was fairly satisfactory all around.
But, as Patty and Mr. Van Reypen were about to start, Roger came up to
speak to them.
“You must play fair and square, Patty,” he said. “You divvied up the
ride, coming over, and you must do the same, going back. You take Mr.
Van Reypen as far as that halfway place, and then you’ve got to exchange
him for me.”
“All right, Roger, I will; it’s only fair that all you boys should have
a spin with Camilla in turn.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Philip Van Reypen, as they sped away. “I don’t
think you need to change partners on this short trip.”
“’Deed I will!” declared Patty. “I’ve had enough of being scolded
because I don’t play fair. Now when we get to that halfway place, you
know where I mean, that tumble-down house with the vines all over it,
I’m going to put you out and take Roger in.”
“All right,” said Philip, humbly. “But you won’t do it until we do reach
the tumble-down old house, will you?”
“No, I won’t,” agreed Patty.
After a while, Philip asked that he be allowed to drive, and, as Patty
was quite willing to be an idle passenger, they changed seats.
“I’m sorry that I have to call you Miss Fairfield,” said Philip,
resignedly, as they were once more spinning along. “It’s so formal it
takes away all the pleasure of our conversation.”
“Too bad,” said Patty, demurely; “but do you know I rather like
formality, Mr. Van Reypen.”
“I’m glad you do, Miss Fairfield. It’s a charming day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mr. Van Reypen; delightful,” returned Patty, and then the
conversation lagged.
“I want to tell you something,” said Patty, suddenly. “I don’t feel
quite honest, and I want to ’fess up.”
“What is it, Miss Fairfield?”
“Why, it’s just this. You know this morning, when Kenneth delayed you,
and you lost our race?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I asked him to delay you, on purpose.”
“You did? You little rascal! Why, that was downright dishonesty! Aren’t
you ashamed of yourself?”
“Yes, I am,” said Patty, hanging her head, and looking like a lovely
penitent. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“No, I never can!” Van Reypen’s tone was very stern, and Patty was
amazed at the serious way he took what she thought was a joke.
“Oh, truly! can’t you forgive me?”
“No! I _never_ shall!” and he glared into Patty’s upturned face with an
expression so savage that it suddenly dawned on Patty that he was
fooling, after all!
With a beseeching glance and a drooping curve to her lips, Patty then
murmured, in low tones, “Can’t you ever forgive me,—Philip?”
“Patty! Of course I can! And there’s nothing to forgive, you little
rogue! But now you’re going to call me Philip, all the time, aren’t
you?”
“I thpothe I am,” said Patty, foolishly, and in an idiotic tone, and
then they both giggled.
“And now can you be entertaining?” asked Patty, briskly; “and not just
sit up and remark that it is a charming day?”
“But the day is more charming than ever!” declared Philip. “And I must
emphasise the fact.”
“But, goodness gracious me! wherever is that halfway place? Have we
passed the tumble-down old house with vines clambering all over it?”
“No, we haven’t passed it yet,” said Philip, innocently.
“We ought to reach it soon,—I’m sure it’s time.”
“How complimentary you are! Does the way seem so long?”
“It doesn’t seem so long, but it seems strange. I don’t remember these
houses. Did we pass them on the way over?”
“You must have been so busy driving the car you didn’t see them.”
“Nonsense! I’ve never been this way before in my life! You’ve taken the
wrong road, and you’ve done it on purpose,—Philip!”
“So I have, Patty! At least it’s a different road, but it isn’t a wrong
road. It’s just as direct to ‘The Pebbles’ as the other road, but it has
the advantage of not passing by the clambering house with the
tumble-down vines!”
“Oh, you’ve done it, so we’d slip Roger!”
“Of course I did! Clever of me, wasn’t it? Oh, you haven’t the entire
monopoly of clever ideas, if you _did_ mend your motor car with
chocolate!”
Philip was gleefully chuckling at his successful ruse, and, when Patty
realised that she couldn’t help herself, she laughed, too.
“Roger won’t mind, anyway,” she said; “he’s such a good-natured old
duck. And I’ll make it up to him by taking him out for the whole day
to-morrow, on a picnic with my new lunch basket. I’ve been wanting to
try that lovely basket, and see if it will carry a picnic for two.”
Philip’s face suddenly lost its jovial smile. “There’ll _be_ a ‘picnic
for two,’ if you cut up any such trick as that! And you and young
Farrington will see what kind of a picnic I mean! Why, Patty, you’re
hostess of this house party of yours. You can’t desert all your other
guests,—and go skylarking off with only one of them.”
“Unless it’s you,” said Patty, with a demure glance at him.
“Yes, unless it’s me,” said Philip, smiling broadly.