THE CLEVER GOLDFISH
FINANCIALLY, Patty came out just even on her 'white work,' for though the
woman paid Nan the dollar for the dozen finished garments, she deducted
the same amount for the wrongly placed sleeves.
She also grumbled at the long machine stitch Patty had used, but Nan's
patience was exhausted, and giving the woman a calm stare, she walked out
of the shop.
"It's perfectly awful," she said to Patty, when relating her adventure,
"to think of the poor girls who are really trying to earn their living by
white work. It's all very well for you, who are only experimenting, but
suppose a real worker gets all her pay deducted!"
"There's hardly enough pay to pay for deducting it, anyway," said Patty.
"Oh, Nan, it is dreadful! I suppose lots of poor girls who feel as tired
and lame as I do this morning, have to go straight back to their
sewing-machine and run it all day."
"Of course they do; and often they're of delicate constitutions, and
insufficiently nourished."
"It makes me feel awful. Things are unevenly divided in this world,
aren't they, Nan?"
"They are, my dear; but as that problem has baffled wiser heads than
yours, it's useless for you to worry over it. You can't reform the
world."
"No; and I don't intend to try. But I can do something to help. I know I
can. That's where people show their lack of a sense of proportion. I know
I can't do anything for the world, as a world, but if I can help in a few
individual cases, that will be my share. For instance, if I can help this
Christine Farley to an art education, and so to a successful career, why
that's so much to the good. And though father has set me a hard task to
bring it about, I'm going to do it yet."
"Your father wouldn't have set you such a task if you hadn't declared it
was no task at all! You said you could earn your living easily in a dozen
different ways. Already you've discarded two."
"That leaves me ten!" said Patty, airily. "Ten ways of earning a living
is a fair show. I can discard nine more and still have a chance."
"All right, Patsy. I'm glad you're not disheartened. And I suppose you
are learning something of the conditions of our social economy."
"Gracious, Nan! How you _do_ talk! Are you quite sure you know what you
mean?"
"No, but I thought you would," said Nan, and with that parting shot, she
left the room.
It was late in the afternoon before Patty dawdled downstairs.
Her shoulders and the back of her neck still ached, but otherwise she
felt all right again, and her spirits had risen proportionately.
About four o'clock Kenneth called, bringing a mysterious burden, which he
carried with great care.
He knew of Patty's scheme, and though he appreciated the nobility of her
endeavour, he could not feel very sanguine hopes of her success.
"You're not cut out for a wage-earner, Patty," he had said to her; "it's
like a butterfly making bread."
"But I don't want to be a butterfly," Patty had pouted.
"Oh, I don't mean butterfly,--as so many people do,--to represent a
frivolous, useless person. I have a great respect for butterflies,
myself. And you radiate the same effect of joy, happiness, gladness, and
beauty, as a butterfly does when hovering around in the golden sunshine
of a summer day."
"Why, Ken, I didn't know you were a poet. But you haven't proved your
case."
"Yes, I have. It's your mission in life to be happy, and so to make
others happy. This you can do without definite effort, so stick to your
calling, and let the more prosaic people, the plodders,--earn wages."
"Let me earn the wages of my country, and I care not who makes it smile,"
Patty had rejoined, and there the subject had dropped.
To-day, when he arrived, carrying what was evidently something fragile,
Patty greeted him gaily.
"I'm not working to-day," she said; "so you can stay 'most an hour if you
like."
"Well, I will; and if you'll wait till I set down this precious burden,
I'll shake hands with you. I come, like the Greeks, bearing gifts."
"A gift? Oh, what is it? I'm crazy to see it."
"Well, it's a gift; but, incidentally, it's a plan for wage-earning. If
you really want to wage-earn, you may as well do it in an interesting
way."
"Yes," said Patty, demurely, for she well knew he was up to some sort of
foolery. "My attempts so far, though absorbing, were not really
interesting."
"Well, this is!" declared Kenneth, who was carefully taking the tissue
papers from his gift, which proved to be a glass globe, containing two
goldfish.
"They are Darby and Juliet," he remarked, as he looked anxiously into the
bowl. "I am so tired of hackneyed pairs of names, that I've varied these.
But, won't you send for some more water? I had to bring them with only a
little, for fear I'd spill it, and they seem to have drunk it nearly all
up."
"Nonsense! they don't drink the water; they only swim in it."
"That's the trouble. There isn't enough for them to swim in. And yet
there's too much for them to drink."
Patty rang for Jane, who then brought them a pitcher of ice water.
Kenneth poured it in, but at the sudden cold deluge, Darby and Juliet
began to behave in an extraordinary manner. They flew madly round and
round the bowl, hitting each other, and breathing in gasps.
"The water's too cold," cried Patty.
"Of course it is," said Kenneth; "get some hot water, won't you?"
Patty ran herself for the hot water, and returned with a pitcher full.
"Don't you want a little mustard?" she said, giggling. "I know they've
taken cold. A hot mustard foot-bath is fine for colds."
"And that is very odd, because they haven't any feet," quoted Kenneth, as
he poured the hot water in very slowly.
"Do you want a bath thermometer?" went on Patty.
"No; when they stop wriggling it's warm enough. There, now they're all
right."
Kenneth set down the hot water pitcher and looked with pride on the two
fish, who had certainly stopped wriggling.
"They're awful quiet," said Patty. "Are you sure they're all right? I
think you've boiled them."
"Nothing of the sort. They like warmth, only it makes them sort of----"
"Dormant," suggested Patty.
"Yes, clever child, dormant. And now while they sleep, I'll tell you my
plan. You see, these are extra intelligent goldfish,--especially Juliet,
the one with a black spot on her shoulder. Well, you've only to train
them a bit, and then give exhibitions of your trained goldfish! You've no
idea what a hit it will make."
"Kenneth, you're a genius!" cried Patty, meeting his fun halfway. "It's
lots easier than white work. Come on, help me train them, won't you? How
do we begin?"
"They're still sleepy," said Kenneth, looking at the inert fish. "They
need stirring up."
"I'll get a spoon," said Patty, promptly.
"No, just waggle the water with your finger. They'll come up."
Patty waggled the water with her finger, but Darby only blinked at her,
while Juliet flounced petulantly.
"She's high-strung," observed Kenneth, "and a trifle bad-tempered. But
she won't stand scolding. Let's take her out and pet her a little."
"How do you get her out? With a hook and line?"
"No, silly! You must be kind to them. Here, puss, puss, puss! Come,
Jooly-ooly-et! Come!"
But Juliet haughtily ignored the invitation and huddled in the bottom of
the bowl.
"Try this," said Patty, running to the dining-room, and returning with a
silver fish server.
This worked beautifully, and Kenneth scooped up Juliet, who lay quietly
on the broad silver blade, blinking at them reproachfully.
"She's hungry, Ken; see how she opens and shuts her mouth."
"No; she's trying to talk. I told you she was clever. I daresay you can
teach her to sing. She looks just as you do when you take a high note."
"You horrid boy! But she does, really. Anyway, let's feed them. What do
they eat?"
"I brought their food with me; it's some patent stuff, very well
advertised. Here, Julie!"
Gently slipping Juliet back into the water, Ken scattered some food on
the surface.
Both fish rose to the occasion and greedily ate the floating particles.
"That's the trouble," said Ken. "They have no judgment. They overeat, and
then they die of apoplexy. And, too, if they eat too much, you can't
train them to stand on their tails and beg."
"Oh, will they learn to do that? And what else can we teach them?"
"Oh, anything acrobatic; trapeze work and that. But they're sleepy now;
you fed them too much for just an afternoon tea. Let's leave them to
their nap, and train them after they wake up."
"All right; let's sit down and talk seriously."
"Patty, you're always ready to talk seriously of late. That's why I
brought you some Nonsense Fish, to lighten your mood a little."
"Don't you worry about my mood, Ken; it's light enough. But I want you to
help me earn my living for a week. Will you?"
"That I will not! I'll be no party to your foolishness."
"Now, Ken," went on Patty, for she knew his "bark was worse than his
bite," "I don't want you to do anything much. But, in your law office,
where you're studying, aren't there some papers I can copy, or something
like that?"
"Patty, you're a back number. That 'copying' that you mean is all out of
date. In these days of typewriters and manifold thigamajigs, we lawyers
don't have much copying done by hand. Except, perhaps, engrossing. Can
you do that?"
"How prettily you say 'we lawyers,'" teased Patty.
"Of course I do. I'm getting in practice against the time it'll be true.
But if you really want to copy, buy a nice Spencerian Copy-book, and fill
up its pages. It'll be about as valuable as any other work of the sort."
"Ken, you're horrid. So unsympathetic."
"I'm crool only to be kind! You must know, Patty, that copying is out of
the question."
"Well, never mind then; let's talk of something else."
"'Let's sit upon the ground and tell strange stories of the death of
kings.'"
"Oh, Ken, that reminds me. You know my crystal ball?"
"I do indeed; I selected it with utmost care."
"Yes, it's a gem. Perfectly flawless. Well, I'll get it, and see if we
can see things in it."
Patty ran for her crystal, and returning to the library held it up to the
fading sunlight, and tried to look into it.
"That isn't the way, Patty; you have to lay it on black velvet, or
something dark."
"Oh, do you? Well, here's a dark mat on this table. Try that."
They gazed intently into the ball, and though they could see nothing,
Patty felt a weird sense of uncanniness.
Ken laughed when she declared this, and said:
"Nothing in the world but suggestion. You think a Japanese crystal
_ought_ to make you feel supernatural, and so you imagine it does. But it
doesn't any such nonsense. Now, I'll tell you why I like them. Only
because they're so flawlessly perfect. In shape, colour, texture,--if you
can call it texture,--but I mean material or substance. There isn't an
attribute that they possess, except in perfection. That's a great thing,
Patty; and you can't say it of anything else."
"The stars," said Patty, trying to look wise.
"Oh, pshaw! I mean things made by man."
"Great pictures," she suggested.
"Their perfection is a matter of opinion. One man deems a picture
perfect, another man does not. But a crystal ball is indubitably
perfect."
"Indubitably is an awful big word," said Patty. "I'm afraid of it."
"Never mind," said Kenneth, kindly, "I won't let it hurt you."
Then the doorbell rang, and in a moment in came Elise and Roger.
"Hello, Ken," said Elise. "We came for Patty to go skating. Will you go,
too?"
"I can't go to-day," said Patty, "I'm too tired. And it's too late,
anyway. You stay here, and we'll have tea."
"All right, I don't care," said Elise, taking off her furs.
The quartette gathered round the library fire, and Jane brought in the
tea things.
Patty made tea very prettily, for she excelled in domestic accomplishments,
and as she handed Kenneth his cup, she said, roguishly, "There's a perfect
cup of tea, I can assure you."
"Perfect tea, all right," returned Ken, sipping it, "but a cup of tea
can't be a perfect thing, as it hasn't complete symmetry of form."
"What are you two talking about?" demanded Elise, who didn't want Ken and
Patty to have secrets from which she was excluded.
"Speaking of crystal balls," said Patty, "I'll show you one, Elise; a big
one, too! Get Darby and Juliet, won't you please, Ken?"
Kenneth obligingly brought the glass globe in from the dining-room, where
they had left the goldfish to be by themselves.
"How jolly!" cried Elise. "And what lovely goldfish! These are the real
Japanese ones, aren't they?"
"Yes," said Patty, smiling at Ken. "Being Japanese, they're perfect of
their kind. Make them stand on their tails and beg, Kenneth."
"Oh, will they do that?" said Elise.
"Only on Wednesdays and Saturdays," said Kenneth, gravely. "And on
Fridays they sing. To-day is their rest day."
"They look morbid," said Roger. "Shall I jolly them up a bit?"
"Let's give them tea," said Elise, tilting her spoon until a few drops
fell into the water.
"You'll make them nervous," warned Patty, "and Juliet is high-strung,
anyway."
Then Nan came in from her afternoon's round of calls, and then Mr.
Fairfield arrived, and they too were called upon to make friends with
Darby and Juliet.
"Goldfish always make me think of a story about Whistler," said Mr.
Fairfield. "It seems, Whistler once had a room in a house in Florence,
directly over a person who had some pet goldfish in a bowl. Every
pleasant day the bowl was set out on the balcony, which was exactly
beneath Whistler's balcony. For days he resisted the temptation to fish
for them with a bent pin and a string; but at last he succumbed to his
angling instincts, and caught them all. Then, remorseful at what he had
done, he fried them to a fine golden brown, and returned them to their
owner on a platter."
"Ugh!" cried Nan, "what a horrid story! Why do they always tack
unpleasant stories on poor old Whistler? Now, I know a lovely story about
a goldfish, which I will relate. It is said to be the composition of a
small Boston schoolchild.
"'Oh, Robin, lovely goldfish!
Who teached you how to fly?
Who sticked the fur upon your breast?
'Twas God, 'twas God what done it.'
Isn't that lovely?"
"It is, indeed," agreed Kenneth. "If that's Boston precocity, it's more
attractive than I thought."
"But it doesn't rhyme," said Elise.
"No," said Patty; "that's the beauty of it. It's blank verse, as the
greatest poetry often is. Don't go yet, Elise. Stay to dinner, can't
you?"
"No, I can't stay to-night, Patty, dear. Will you go skating to-morrow?"
Patty hesitated. She wanted to go, but also she wanted to get at that
"occupation" of hers, for she had a new one in view.
She was about to say she would go skating, however, when she saw a
twinkle in her father's eye that made her change her mind.
"Can't, Elise," she said. "I've an engagement to-morrow. Will telephone
you some day when I can go."
"Well, don't wait too long; the ice will be all gone."
Then the young people went away, and Patty went thoughtfully upstairs to
her room to dress for dinner.