THE HOUSE PARTY ARRIVES
"Red Chimneys" was in a turmoil. The house party had been invited, and
the house party had accepted their invitations, and all would have been
well had it not been for Aunt Adelaide. Somehow or other she managed to
upset every plan, throw cold water on every pleasure, and acted as a
general wet blanket on all the doings of Patty and Mona.
She was not an over strict chaperon; indeed, she was more than ready to
let the girls do whatever they chose; but she dictated the way it
should be done and continually put forth not only suggestions but
commands directly opposed to the wishes of the young people.
Often these dictates concerned the merest details. If the girls had a
merry luncheon party invited, that was the very day Aunt Adelaide chose
for a special rest-cure treatment, and demanded that the whole house be
kept quiet as a church. On the other hand, if the girls were going off
for the day, that was the occasion Aunt Adelaide felt lonesome, and
declared herself cruelly neglected to be left at home alone.
But it was Mona's nature to submit to the inevitable,--though not
always gracefully. And it was Patty's nature to smooth away rough
places by her never-failing tact and good nature. The greatest trouble
was with the servants. Those who came in contact with the nervous,
fussy lady were harassed beyond endurance by her querulous and
contradictory orders. The cook declared herself unable to prepare Mrs.
Parson's "messes" acceptably, and threatened every other day to leave.
But Patty's coaxing persuasions, and Mona's promise of increased wages
induced her to remain.
Remonstrance with Aunt Adelaide did no good at all. She assumed an air
of injured innocence, asserted her entire indifference to the details
of Mona's housekeeping,--and then, proceeded to interfere just the same.
As far as possible, the girls had arranged the house party without
consulting her; but, even so, she continually offered her advice and
obtruded her opinions until Mona lost patience.
"Aunt Adelaide," she said, when Mrs. Parsons insisted that Patty should
give up the suite of rooms she occupied to some of the arriving guests,
"when Patty came to me I gave her the best rooms, and she's going to
stay in them. I know Mrs. Kenerley is bringing her baby and nurse, and
that's why I gave her rooms on the third floor, that the baby might not
disturb any one."
"It's too high up for the dear child," argued Aunt Adelaide. "I'd like
to have her nearer me."
"You wouldn't, if she's in the habit of crying all night," said Patty.
"I'm quite willing to give up my pretty rooms, but Mona won't let me,
and I never quarrel with my hostess' decisions."
"Meaning, I suppose, that I do," said Aunt Adelaide, querulously. "Of
course, you girls know more than I do. I'm only a poor, old, set aside
nobody. I couldn't expect to be listened to, even when I advise you for
your own good."
Patty well knew that any response to this sort of talk was useless, so
she said, lightly, "We want you mostly for ornament, Aunt Adelaide. If
you'll put on one of your prettiest dresses, and some of that lovely
old lace of yours, and your amethyst jewellery, and be on hand to
welcome our guests this afternoon, Mona and I will relieve you of all
bother about household arrangements."
This mollified Mrs. Parsons somewhat, for she dearly loved to "dress
up" and receive company, so she went away to select her costume.
Patty had been at "Red Chimneys" little more than a week, but already
the influence of her taste could be seen in the household. Some of the
more gaudy and heavy ornaments, which had been provided by a
professional decorator, had been removed, and their places filled by
palms, or large plain bowls of fresh flowers.
The cook's extravagant ideas were curbed, and the meals were now less
heavily elaborate, and the viands more delicate and carefully chosen.
The service was simpler, and the whole household had lost much of its
atmosphere of vulgar ostentation. Mona, too, was improved. Her frocks
were more dainty and becoming, and Patty had persuaded her to wear less
jewellery and ornamentation. Patty had also taught her to wave her hair
in pretty, loose curls that were far more effective than the tight
frizzes she had worn. The plans for the house party were complete, and,
to the girls, entirely satisfactory.
Adele Kenerley had been a school friend of Mona's, and was coming with
her husband and baby girl. Daisy Dow, another of Mona's schoolmates,
was coming from Chicago, and Roger Farrington and two other young men
would complete the party, which had been invited for a week.
Patty had not accomplished all her wishes, without some difficulties.
Several times Mona had balked at Patty's decrees, and had insisted on
following her own inclinations. But by tactful persuasion Patty had
usually won out, and in all important matters had carried the day. It
was, therefore, with honest pride and satisfaction that she looked over
the house just before the arrival of the guests.
She had herself superintended the arrangement of the beautiful flowers
for which the Galbraiths' garden was famous, and she had, in a moment
of victory, persuaded Mona to put the men servants into white duck
instead of their ornate, gilt-braided livery, and the maids into white
linen uniforms.
"In this weather," she said, "let's make our keynote 'coolness,' and
your guests will have a better time than if we overpower them with your
winter splendour."
Mona began to see that coolness and splendour were rarely compatible,
but she was also beginning to see things as Patty saw them, so she
agreed. The girls had not dared to advise Aunt Adelaide as to costume,
for just so sure as they advised something, that contradictory lady
would be sure to insist on something else.
"But I think I'd better coax her to wear that purple satin," said Mona,
"for if I don't, she'll surely put it on, and if I do, she won't!"
"Wait and see," said Patty. "I took pains to hang her lavender crepe de
chine right in the front of her wardrobe, and I hope she'll let her
eagle eye light on that, and seek no further!"
"Patty, you're a born conspirator. I hope you'll marry a foreign
diplomat, and help him manage his international intrigues."
"Oh, I could manage the intrigues and the diplomat both, I expect."
"I'm sure you could! Now, let's fly and get dressed. The Kenerleys will
come soon and I'm crazy to see Adele's darling baby."
Soon after, the girls going downstairs in their fresh, light summer
frocks, were much pleased to see that Patty's ruse had succeeded. Aunt
Adelaide was gracefully posed in a veranda chair, wearing the lavender
gown, a collar of fine old lace, and her amethyst necklace. She looked
gentle and charming, and seemed in high good humour.
"I hope you like this gown," she said. "I hesitated a long time, but
finally chose it because it matched my necklace."
"It's lovely," said Patty, enthusiastically; "and it suits you awfully
well. Look, Mona, there they come!"
Another moment, and a rosy-cheeked young matron flew into Mona's arms
and greeted her after the most approved manner of reunited school
friends.
"You dearest old thing!" she cried. "You haven't changed a bit, except
to grow better looking! And, Mona, here's my husband,--Jim, his name
is,--but HERE'S the baby!"
A nurse stepped forward, bringing a mite of humanity, who was laughing
and waving her little fat arms, as if delighted to be of the party.
"What an angel of a baby!" cried Mona, taking the smiling infant in her
arms. "And a solid angel too," she added, as the child proved more
substantial than she had appeared.
"Yes; she's nearly two years old, and she weighs exactly right,
according to the best schedules. She's a perfect schedule baby in every
way."
Then the small piece of perfection was handed over to what was probably
a schedule nurse, and general introductions followed.
Patty liked the Kenerleys at once. They were breezy and pleasant
mannered, and had an affable way of making themselves at home.
"Mona," said Mr. Kenerley,--"I shall have to call you that, for I doubt
if my wife has ever even mentioned your last name to me, and if she
has, I have forgotten it,--Mona, how long does one have to be a guest
at 'Red Chimneys' before he is allowed to go for a dip in that tempting
looking ocean I perceive hard by?"
"Oh, only about ten minutes," said Mona, laughing at his impatience.
"Do you want to go now, alone, or will you wait until later? Some men
are coming soon who would probably join you for a swim. I expect Bill
Farnsworth."
"DO you! Dear old Bill! I haven't seen him for years. But he's so big,
he'd take up all the surf,--I think I'll go on by myself. And I know
you girls have lots of gossip to talk over--so, I'll see you later."
Jim Kenerley set off for the Galbraith bathing pavilion, easily
discernible by its ornate red chimneys, and Mona turned to have a good
old-fashioned chat with Adele.
"Why, where is she?" she exclaimed, and Aunt Adelaide petulantly
explained that Patty and Adele had gone to look after the baby. "Pretty
poor manners, I call it, to leave me here all alone. It never occurred
to them that I'd like to see the baby, too!"
"Never mind, Aunt Adelaide, you'll have lots of time to see that baby.
And, of course, Adele wants to go to her rooms and get things arranged.
You and I will wait here for the next arrivals. Laurence Cromer is due
about now. He's an artist, you know, and he'll think you're a picture
in that exquisite gown." Much mollified at these remarks, Aunt Adelaide
rearranged her draperies, called for another cushion, had a screen
lowered, and sat slowly waving a small fan, in expectance of the
artist's admiration. And perhaps the artist might have given an
admiring glance to the picturesque lady in lavender had it not happened
that just as he came up the veranda steps Patty appeared in the
doorway. Her pink cheeks were a little flushed from a romp with the
baby, a few stray curls had been pulled from their ribbon by baby's
chubby hands, and the laughing face was so fair and winsome that
Laurence Cromer stood stock-still and gazed at her. Then Mona
intercepted his vision, but after the necessary introductions and
greetings, the young artist's eyes kept wandering toward Patty, as if
drawn by a magnet.
Young Cromer was a clever artist, though not, as yet, exceedingly
renowned. He advertised his calling, however, in his costume and
appearance. He wore white flannels, but he affected a low rolling
collar and a soft silk tie. His hair was just a trifle longer than
convention called for, and his well-cut features were marred by a
drooping, faraway expression which, he fondly hoped, denoted
soulfulness.
Patty laughed gaily at him.
"Don't stare at me, Mr. Cromer," she said, saucily. "Baby May pulled my
hair down, but I have the grace to be ashamed of my untidiness."
"It's exquisite," said Cromer, looking at her admiringly; "a sweet
disorder in the dress."
"Oh, I know that lady you quote! She always had her shoestrings untied
and her hat on crooked!"
Cromer looked amazed, as if a saint had been guilty of heresy, and
Patty laughed afresh at his astonished look.
"If you want to see sweet disorder in dress, here's your chance," cried
Mona. "Here comes Daisy Dow, and she's one who never has her hat on
straight, by any chance!"
Sure enough, as a big car whizzed up under the porte-cochere, a girl
jumped out, with veils flying, coat flapping, and gloves, bag, and
handkerchief dropping, as she ran up the steps.
"Here I am, Mona!" she cried, and her words were unmistakably true.
Daisy Dow was from Chicago, and she looked as if she had blown all the
way from there to Spring Beach. She was, or had been, prettily dressed,
but, as Mona had predicted, her hat was awry, her collar askew, and her
shoelace untied.
The poetical idea of "a sweet disorder in the dress" was a bit overdone
in Daisy's case, but her merry, breezy laugh, and her whole-souled joy
at seeing Mona again rather corresponded with her disarranged finery.
"I'm all coming to pieces," she said, apologetically, as she was
introduced to the others. "But we flew along so fast, it's a wonder
there's anything left of me. Can't I go and tidy up, Mona?"
"Yes, indeed. Come along with me, Daisy. They're all here now, Patty,
except Bill and Roger. You can look after them."
"All right, I will. I don't know Mr. Bill, but that won't matter. I
know Roger, and of course the other one will be the gentle Bill."
"'Gentle' is good!" laughed Mona. "Little Billy is about six feet eight
and weighs a ton."
"That doesn't frighten me," declared Patty, calmly. "I've seen bigger
men than that, if it was in a circus! Skip along, girls, but come back
soon. I think this house party is too much given to staying in the
house. Are you for a dip in the ocean before dinner, Mr. Cromer?"
"No; not if I may sit here with you instead."
"Oh, Aunt Adelaide and I are delighted to keep you here. All the guests
seem to run away from me. I know not why!"
Naughty Patty drew a mournful sigh, and looked as if she had lost her
last friend, which look, on her pretty, saucy face, was very fetching
indeed.
"I'll never run away from you!" declared Mr. Cromer, in so earnest a
tone that Patty laughed.
"You'd better!" she warned. "I'm so contrary minded by nature that the
more people run away from me the better I like them."
"Ah," said Laurence Cromer, gravely; "then I shall start at once. Mrs.
Parsons, will you not go for a stroll with me round the gardens?"
Aunt Adelaide rose with alacrity, and willingly started off with the
young artist, who gave not another glance in Patty's direction.
"H'm," said Patty to herself, as the pair walked away. "H'm! I rather
like that young man! He has some go to him." She laughed aloud at her
own involuntary joke, and stood, watching Aunt Adelaide's mincing
steps, as she tripped along the garden path.
As Patty stood thus, she did not see or hear a large and stalwart young
man come up on the veranda, and, smiling roguishly, steal up behind
her. But in a moment, she felt herself clasped in two strong arms, and
a hearty kiss resounded on her pink cheek.