BIG BILL FARNSWORTH
"How are you?" exclaimed a voice as hearty as the kiss, and Patty, with
a wild spring, jumped from the encircling arms, and turned to face a
towering giant, who, she knew at once, must be Mr. Farnsworth.
"How DARE you!" she cried, stamping her foot, and flashing furious
glances, while her dimpled cheeks burned scarlet.
"Whoopee! Wowly-wow-wow! I thought you were Mona! Oh, can you EVER
forgive me? But, no, of course you can't! So pronounce my doom! Shall I
dash myself into the roaring billows and seek a watery grave? Oh, no,
no! I see by your haughty glare that is all too mild a punishment!
Then, have me tarred and feathered, and drawn and quartered and ridden
on a rail! Send for the torturers! Send for the Inquisitioners! But,
remember this! I didn't know I was kissing a stranger. I thought I was
kissing my cousin Mona. If I had known,--oh, my dear lady,--if I had
KNOWN,--I should have kissed you TWICE!"
This astonishing announcement was doubtless induced by the fact that
Patty had been unable to resist his wheedlesome voice and frank,
ingenuous manner, and she had indulged in one of her most dimpled
smiles.
With her face still flushed by the unexpected caress, and her golden
curls still rumpled from the baby's mischievous little fingers, Patty
looked like a harum-scarum schoolgirl.
"Be careful," she warned, shaking a finger at him. "I was just about to
forgive you because of your mistake in identity, but if you make me
really angry, I'll NEVER forgive you."
"Come back, and ALL will be forgiven," said the young man,
mock-dramatically, as he held out his arms for a repetition of the
scene.
"This is your punishment," said Patty, gaily, paying no attention to
his fooling. "You are not to tell of this episode! I know you'll want
to, for it IS a good joke, but I should be unmercifully teased. And as
you owe me something for--for putting me in a false position----"
"Delightful position!" murmured the young man.
"You owe me SOMETHING," went on Patty, severely, "and I claim your
promise not to tell any one,--not even Mona,--what you did."
"I WON'T tell," was the fervent reply. "I swear I won't tell! It shall
be OUR secret,--yours and mine. Our sweet secret, and we'll have
another some day."
"What!"
"Another secret, I mean. What DID you think I meant? Any one is liable
to have a secret,--any two, I mean. And we might chance to be the two."
"You're too big to talk such nonsense," and Patty ran a scornful eye
over the six feet three of broad and weighty masculinity.
"Oh, I KNOW how big I am. PLEASE don't rub THAT in! I've heard it ever
since I was out of dresses. Can't you flatter me by pretending I'm
small?"
"I could make you FEEL small, if I told you what I really thought of
you."
"Well, do that, then. What DO you think of me?"
"I think you very rude and--"
"You don't think any such thing,--because you KNOW I mistook you for
Mona, and it's not rude to kiss one's cousin."
"Is she your cousin? She never told me so."
"Well, her grandfather's stepdaughter's sister-in-law married my
grandmother's second cousin twice removed."
"Oh, then you're not very nearly related."
"No; that's why we don't look more alike. But, do you know my name? Or
shall I introduce myself?"
"I fancy you're Big Bill Farnsworth, aren't you?"
"Yes,--but DON'T call me big, PLEASE!"
"No, I'll call you Little Billee. How's that?"
"That's lovely! Now, what may I call you?"
"Miss Fairfield."
The big man made an easy and graceful bow. "I am delighted to meet you,
Miss Fair--Fair, with golden hair. Pardon me, I've a terrible memory
for names, but a good reserve fund of poetry."
"Miss Fairfield, my name is. Pray don't forget it again."
"If you're so curt, I shall think it's a Fairfield and no favour!
You're not mad at me, are you?"
"Certainly not. One can't get mad at an utter stranger."
"Oh, I don't think people who kiss people can be classed as utter
strangers."
"Well, you will be, if you refer to that mistake again! Now, remember,
I forbid you ever to mention it,--to me, or to any one else. Here comes
Mona."
Mona and Daisy Dow appeared in the doorway, and seeing Bill, made a
dash at him. The young man kissed Mona heartily, and as he did so, he
smiled at Patty over Mona's shoulder. He shook hands with Daisy, and
soon the three were chatting gaily of old school days.
Then Roger Farrington came. Not all of Patty's New York friends had
liked Mona, but Roger had always declared the girl was a fine nature,
spoiled by opulent surroundings. He had gladly accepted the invitation
to the house party, and came in anticipation of an all-round good time.
"Hooray! Patty! Here's me!" was his salutation, as he ran up the steps.
"Oh, Roger!" cried Patty, and she grasped his hand and showed unfeigned
gladness at seeing him. Patty was devoted to her friends, and Roger was
one of her schoolday chums. Mona came forward and greeted the new
guest, and introduced him to the strangers.
"Isn't this just too downright jolly!" Roger exclaimed, as he looked at
the sea and shore, and then brought his gaze back to the merry group on
the veranda. "Haven't you any chaperon person? Or are we all kids
together?"
"We have two chaperons," announced Patty, proudly. "One, you may see,
just down that rose path. The lady in trailing lavender is our house
chaperon, Mrs. Parsons. The impressive looking personage beside her is
an artist of high degree. But our other chaperon,--ah, here she comes!
Mrs. Kenerley."
Adele Kenerley appeared then, looking very sweet and dainty in her
fresh summer frock, and laughingly expressed her willingness to keep
the house party in order and decorum.
"It won't be so very easy, Mrs. Kenerley," said Roger. "My word for it,
these are wilful and prankish girls. I've known Miss Fairfield for
years, and she's capable of any mischief. Miss Galbraith, now, is more
sedate."
"Nonsense!" cried Patty. "I'm the sedate one."
"You don't look it," observed Mona. "Your hair is a sight!"
"It is," said Laurence Cromer, coming up and catching the last remark;
"a sight for gods and men! Miss Fairfield, I beseech you, don't do it
up in fillets and things; leave it just as it is, DO!"
"Indeed I won't," said Patty, and she ran away to her own room to put
her curly locks in order. She was quite shocked at the mirrored picture
of tousled tresses, and did it all up a little more severely than
usual, by way of amends.
"May I come in?" and Daisy Dow, after a quick tap at the door, walked
in, without waiting for an answer.
"What lovely hair!" she exclaimed, as Patty pushed in more and more
hairpins. "You're a perfect duck, anyway. I foresee I shall be terribly
jealous of you. But I say, Patty,--I MAY call you Patty, mayn't
I?--don't you dare to steal Big Bill Farnsworth away from me! He's my
own particular property and I don't allow trespassing."
There was an earnest tone underlying Daisy's gay words that made Patty
look up at her quickly. "Are you engaged to him?" she asked.
"No,--not exactly. At least, it isn't announced. But--"
"Oh, pshaw, don't trouble to explain. I won't bother your big adorer.
But if he chooses to speak to me, I shan't be purposely rude to him. I
like boys and young men, Miss Dow, and I like to talk and play and
dance with them. But I've no SPECIAL interest in any ONE, and if you
have, I shall certainly respect it,--be sure of that."
"You're a brick, Patty! I was sure you were the minute I laid my two
honest grey eyes on you. But you're 'most too pretty for my peace of
mind. Bill adores pretty girls."
"Oh, don't cross bridges before you come to them. Probably he'll never
look at little me, and if he should, I'll be too busy to see him. There
ARE others, you know."
Reassured by Patty's indifference, Daisy vowed her everlasting
friendship and adoration, and the two went downstairs arm in arm.
The veranda presented a gay scene--afternoon tea was in progress, and
as some of the Spring Beach young people had dropped in, there were
several groups at small tables, or sitting on the veranda steps and
railings.
"I've saved a lovely seat for you," said Laurence Cromer, advancing to
Patty; "just to show you that I'm of a forgiving nature."
"Why, what have I done to be forgiven for?" asked Patty, opening her
blue eyes wide in surprise.
"You've spoiled your good looks, for one thing. You HAD a little head
sunning over with curls, and now you have the effect of a nice little
girl who has washed her face and hands and neatly brushed her hair."
"But one can't go around like Slovenly Peter," said Patty, laughing, as
she took the wicker chair he placed for her.
"Why not, if one is a Pretty Peter?"
"Oh, pshaw, I see you don't know me very well. I never talk to people
who talk about me."
"Good gracious, how can they help it?" "Well, you see, I'm accustomed
to my girl and boy friends, whom I've known for years. But here,
somehow, everybody seems more grown up and societyfied."
"How old are you?"
"It's my impression that that's a rude question, though I'm not sure."
"It isn't, because you're not old enough to make it rude. Come, how
old?"
"Nineteen, please, sir."
"Well, that's quite old enough to drop boy and girl ways and behave as
a grown-up."
"But I don't want to," and Patty's adorable pout proved her words.
"That doesn't matter. Your 'reluctant feet' have to move on whether
they wish to or not. Are you bashful?"
"Sorta," and Patty put her finger in her mouth, with a shy simper.
"You're anything but bashful! You're a coquette!"
"Oh, no!" and Patty opened her eyes wide in horror. "Oh, kind sir,
DON'T say THAT!"
But Cromer paid no heed to her words; he was studying her face. "I'm
going to paint you," he announced, "and I shall call it 'Reluctant
Feet.' Your head, with its aureole of curls; your wide eyes, your baby
chin--"
"Oh, Roger!" cried Patty, as young Farrington came toward her. "What DO
you think? Mr. Cromer is going to paint a picture of my head and call
it 'Reluctant Feet'! He says so."
"Yes," said Cromer, unconscious of any absurdity; "Miss Fairfield is a
fine subject."
"That's better than being called an object," said Roger, joining them,
"and you DID look an object, Patty, when I arrived! Your wig was all
awry,--and--"
"You haven't a soul for art?" said Cromer, looking solemnly at Roger.
"No, I haven't an artful soul, I fear. How are you getting along,
Patty, down here without your fond but strict parents?"
"Getting along finely, Roger. Aunt Adelaide plays propriety, and Mona
and I keep house."
"H'm, I'm 'fraid I scared off our long-haired friend," said Roger, as
Cromer rose and drifted away. "Never mind, I want to talk to you a
little myself. I say, Patsy, don't you let these men flatter you till
you're all puffed up with pride and vanity."
"Now, Roger, AM I that kind of a goose?"
"Well, you're blossoming out so, and getting so growny-uppy looking,
I'm 'fraid you won't be my little Patty-friend much longer."
"'Deed I shall! Don't you worry about that. How do you think Mona is
looking?"
"Fine! Lots better than when I saw her in May. She dresses better,
don't you think?"
"Yes, I guess she does," said Patty, demurely, with no hint as to WHY
Mona's appearance had improved. "She's an awfully nice girl, Roger."
"Yes, I always said so. And you and she help each other. Sort of
reaction, you know. What do we do down here?"
"Oh, there are oceans of things planned. Parties of all sorts, and
picnics, and dances, and motor trips, and every old thing. How long can
you stay?"
"I'm invited for a week, but I may have to go home sooner. Isn't that
Western chap immense?"
For some ridiculous reason, Patty blushed scarlet at the mere mention
of Mr. Farnsworth.
"What the--oh, I say, Patty! You're not favouring him, are you? Why,
you've only just met him to-day, haven't you?"
"Yes, certainly; I never saw him before. No, I'm not favouring him, as
you call it."
"Then why are you the colour of a hard-boiled lobster? Patty! quit
blushing, or you'll burn up!"
"Don't, Roger; don't be silly. I'm NOT blushing."
"Oh, no! You're only a delicate shade of crimson vermilion! Well, if
you want him, Patty, I'll get him for you. Do you want him now?"
"No! of course I don't! Do be still, Roger! And stop that foolish
smiling! Well, then, I'm going to talk to Adele Kenerley."
Patty ran away from Roger, who was decidedly in a teasing mood, and
seated herself beside the pretty young matron.
"Such a GOOD child," Mrs. Kenerley was saying; "she NEVER cries, and
she's SO loving and affectionate."
"Oh, she's a heavenly baby!" cried Mona, in raptures of appreciation,
and then along came the baby's father, fresh from his ocean dip.
"You must choke off my wife," he said, smiling, "if she gets started on
a monologue about that infant prodigy! She can keep it up most of the
hours out of the twenty-four, and go right over it all again next day!"
"And why not?" cried Mona. "SUCH a baby deserves appreciation. I can
hardly wait till to-morrow to wake her up and play with her."
"She's a good enough kiddy," said the proud young father, trying to
hide his own enthusiasm.
"Now, Jim," cried his wife, "you know perfectly well you're a bigger
idiot about that child than I am! Why, would you believe, Mona--"
"There, there, Adele, if you're going to tell anecdotes of my parental
devotion, I'm going to run away! Come on, Farnsworth, let's go for a
stroll, and talk over old times."
The two men walked off together, and the party generally broke up. Most
of them went to their rooms to rest or dress for dinner, and Patty
concluded that she would grasp the opportunity to write a letter to
Nan, a task which she enjoyed, but rarely found time for.
"The house party is upon us," she wrote, "and, though they're really
very nice, they ARE a little of the west, westy. But there's only one
girl, Daisy Dow, who's MUCH that way, and I rather think I can manage
her. But already she has warned me not to interfere with her young man!
As if I would!"
Just here, Patty's cheeks grew red again, and she changed the subject
of her epistolary progress.
"The baby is a perfect darling, and her parents are very nice people.
TERRIBLY devoted to the infant, but of course that's to be expected.
Roger is a comfort. It's so nice to have an old friend here among all
these strangers. Oh, and there's an artist who, I know, spells his art
with a big A. He wants to paint me as 'Cherry Ripe' or something, I
forget what. But I know his portraits will look just like magazine
covers. Though,--I suppose I AM rather of that type myself. Oh, me! I
wish I were a tall, dark beauty, with melting brown eyes and midnight
tresses, instead of a tow-headed, doll-faced thing. But then, as the
poet says, 'We women cannot choose our lot.' I'm in for a good time,
there's no doubt about that. We've parties and picnics and pageants
piled up mountain high. So if I don't write again very soon, you'll
know it's because I'm a Social Butterfly for the time being, and these
are my Butterfly Days. Aunt Adelaide is rather nicer than when I last
wrote. She gets on her 'company manners,' and that makes her more
amiable."
"My goodness gracious!"
This last phrase was spoken aloud, not written, for the low, open
window, near which Patty sat writing, was suddenly invaded by a
laughing face and a pair of broad, burly shoulders, and Big Bill's big
voice said, "Hello, you pretty little poppet!"