“You’re a calamity howler!” cried Helen. “We’re here, and we’re safe and warm, and the pie lady will do quite well for a chaperon, and anybody who grumbles now, is a wet blanket and a pessimist and a catamaran! So, there, now!”
“All right,” Patty laughed; “let me see the elderly dame, and if she passes muster, I’ll stop growling like a bear and be so nice and amiable you won’t know me!”
“I don’t know you when you’re anything but amiable!” declared Philip; “where’s your friend, Herron? Trot her in.”
“She’s dressing,” Herron returned. “She said she must doll up to meet the young ladies – ”
“Did she use that expression?” asked Patty, severely.
“Oh, no! That’s mine. She said she’d put on her other gown, – or something like that.”
“I can’t decide till I see her,” Patty said; “if she’s really all right, we’ll stay. If not, you must take us right home, Phil.”
“Your word is my law. When Patty says go, we all goeth! Whew! how it snows!”
“Never mind the snow,” urged Herron; “no matter what the weather when we four get together! Now, what can we do in the way of high jinks? Anybody want to try the swimming pool?”
“No, thank you!” and Bumble shivered at the thought. “Can we dance anywhere?”
“Not till after lunch,” said Patty. “Dancing in the morning has gone out. Besides, it’s nearly lunch time now. Let’s knit for a while, – and not go jumping about.”
“You’re a dormouse, Patty. You’d rather nod over your knitting needles – ”
“I don’t nod over them! I knit faster than you do! Come on, start at the beginning of your needle, and I’ll race you for five rows.”
The girls settled themselves comfortably by the big fire, and opened their knitting bags.
“Now, I call this fine!” declared Herron; “what’s nicer than to have you girls sit and knit and we men sit and look at you!”
“There’s nothing nicer to look at,” said Helen complacently, “on that we’re all agreed. Now, make yourselves entertaining, and we’ll call it square.”
Pretty Helen’s gay face bent over her khaki-coloured wool, and her needles clicked bravely in an effort to knit faster than Patty. And she did, but it was only a spurt. She dropped a stitch, and exclaimed, “Hold on, Patty, no fair your knitting when I’m picking up this stitch! You wait now!”
“Not so; a dropped stitch in time loses nine! Come on, hare, catch up with this old tortoise!”
Calmly, Patty proceeded with her steadily-moving needles, and again Helen made an hysterical burst of speed and caught up as to distance. But her wool snarled somehow, and Herron, trying to help her, made it worse, and the four hands that tried to untangle it only drew it into tighter knots.
Helen burst out laughing, and awarded Patty the palm.
“It’s always so,” she acknowledged. “I fly at a thing and tumble all over myself, and accomplish just about nothing. Patty goes about it leisurely, and comes in at the last, easily winner, and with a big lot of work to her credit.”
“You flatter me, angel child,” Patty smiled. “I knit because I love to knit, and I get a lot done, because I don’t try to beat everybody else. There, how’s that for a helmet? I rather guess some one of Our Boys will be glad to wear it!”
“I shouldn’t mind myself,” suggested Herron, timidly, and Patty replied at once, “Then you shall have it! I’ll fit it to your head now.”
“You want mine, Philip?” asked Helen, as she industriously “picked back” a few stitches.
“Yes, if I may be allowed to wear out two or three others while yours is in process of construction.”
“Wot rudeness! To think I should live to hear such! Well, just for that I’ll put all the knots inside!”
“They’ll make me think of you!”
“And I’ll put a note in it, – that’s often done.”
“A note of thanks. If the girls did that, it would save many a poor soldier a lot of trouble! He could just sign it and send it off.”
“How unsentimental and ungrateful you are! Why, the boys just love to get notes in their socks and sweaters and then they love to answer them. It’s no hardship, I can tell you! I’ve had the notes!”
“You can’t have had very many, – you’re too young.”
Helen gave him a laughing scowl at this fresh fling at her slow progress and then she threw down her knitting.
“Can’t do any more, now. I’ve come to the place to cast on, and I forget how many, and I left my paper of directions at home, and – ”
“All right, come with me, and let’s go and hurry up our chaperon lady,” said Herron, rising.
“Yes, do,” urged Patty, who was in nervous anxiety about that matter.
“Patty’s in a pucker!” sang Helen, “like little Tommy Tucker!
What shall she eat? War bread and butter!
How shall she eat it, without a chaperon?
Put her in a padded cell and let her eat alone!”
Helen’s foolishness never annoyed Patty, and so she bade the two ambassadors proceed with their errand and Helen and Mr. Herron went off.
“Trust me, Patty,” said Philip, after the others had left the room, “it will be all right. The snow is lighter now; and we’ll go home directly after luncheon. I don’t want you to be disturbed, and I do understand, – you know I do!”
“Yes, I know it,” Patty replied.
CHAPTER VII
A QUEER CHAPERON
When Mrs. Doremus was introduced, Patty’s thoughts ran somewhat like this:
“Nice old lady; apple-cheeked, white-haired and quiet-mannered. A little shy, but well-bred and kindly. Old-fashioned dress, – or, rather it looks so, because it’s so long. Why, it almost touches the floor. But, she’s all right, and her big, tortoise-rimmed glasses give her quite an air of distinction.”
Helen, on the other hand, paid little attention to the chaperon, save to greet her pleasantly and thank her for her presence.
The five went to the Club dining-room for luncheon. There were a few others at various tables, but no one with whom the girls were acquainted.
“I’m fairly brimming with happiness,” Helen announced; “I’ve always longed to be at a big country club in winter, and I’ve never achieved it before.”
“It’s winter, all right,” said Herron, looking out at the steady snowfall. “But the palms and flowers make this seem like an oasis of summer, screened in.”
“Awful pretty room,” and Helen looked round contentedly, as she finished her grape fruit. “And of a just-right temperature. I’d like to stay here a week.”
“You may get your wish,” and Mrs. Doremus smiled at her, “if this snow keeps on, I don’t see how you can go back to the city today.”
“Oh, my goodness!” cried Patty, “don’t say such a thing! Remember, Phil, when we were snowbound at that queer old house in the country?”
“Do I remember! Why, we had the time of our sweet young life up there! I never ate such chicken pie!”
“Nor I. And those two quaint old ladies were a whole show themselves.”
“Oh, this storm isn’t going to be so very bad,” Herron said; “I think it’s lessening now. We’ll go down this afternoon, all right, all right. I think, Miss Fairfield, you’re anxious to get a letter from somebody!”
Patty blushed prettily. “Well, perhaps I am. I came away before mailtime, you know.”
“But you had one yesterday,” Helen told, “a big, fat one! That ought to last you for a while!”
“But that was yesterday! I want today’s bulletin.”
“Aha! A letter every day?”
“Yes, Mr. Herron, that’s the way engaged people keep alive, when separated by this cruel war!”
“Never mind letters now,” begged Van Reypen, “let’s forget everybody who isn’t here.”
“And are you engaged to a soldier, my child?” Mrs. Doremus asked of Patty. The old lady had a low, gentle voice, and though she said little, she had a delightful manner and a smile that betokened a keen sense of humour.
“Yes, to Captain Farnsworth; but he isn’t exactly a soldier. I mean, he doesn’t expect to fight. He is an expert mining engineer, and his country seems to find a lot of work for him, without sending him to the front.”
“Bill Farnsworth, the Westerner!”
“Yes; do you know him?”
“No; not at all. But I saw something about him in the paper, – ”
“You did! Oh, what was it? I’m interested, of course, in anything pertaining to him or his work.”
“I can’t seem to remember; I can’t exactly place it; but I recollect seeing his name. And are you, too, engaged to an enlisted man, Miss Barlow?”
“No,” said Helen, “but I hope to be.”
“Quite right! Next to serving one’s country, is being the helpmeet of one who does. Have you, – ah, – selected – ”
“No, my selective draft hasn’t yet been made,” and Bumble’s jolly little face smiled broadly; “you see, there are so many fascinating men in the service, – indeed, ’most any man is fascinating in uniform.”
“I wear uniform,” said Herron.
“I know, but lots of others do, too, and every time I meet a new one I lose my heart to him.”
“I fear me you’re a sad coquette, Miss Barlow,” and the chaperon beamed on her.
“I am a coquette,” Helen admitted, calmly, “but not at all a sad one! Indeed, I’m as merry as a grig. Why, I get letters from lots of the boys in camp. Miss Fairfield is content with only one correspondent, while I have a dozen! I just adore to get their letters, and to send them things, and to write to them. The war is terrible, but it does give one some new and pleasant experiences. And I don’t feel it my duty to lament all the time. My mission is cheering people up and cheering soldiers on.”
“I make no doubt you’re a grand success at it, too. And some day you’ll decide to send all your letters to the same address, as Miss Fairfield does. Where is Mr. Farnsworth now, may I ask?”
“In Washington,” Patty replied.
“And is he coming to New York soon?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure.” Patty spoke a little coldly, for Bill had cautioned her over and over again, never on any account to tell any one of his plans or to repeat anything he might write, which concerned military matters or might give war information of any sort.
“How you must long to know! I don’t mean definitely, of course, but can’t you hope to see him soon?”
An insistent tone in Mrs. Doremus’ voice caused Patty to look up quickly, and she saw the keen eyes regarding her intently through the big glasses.
But though the old lady’s interest might have been a bit strong for such short acquaintance, Patty was too polite to resent that, and she laughed and said, “It’s impossible to tell, with a soldier boy. One can only hope, – one may not expect.”
“That’s a philosophical attitude, my dear, and does you credit. Is Captain Farnsworth in the Engineers’ Camp?”
“Yes,” said Patty, this time with decided shortness; “how very nice this sweetbread is! I’ve always been so fond of them. But one oughtn’t to serve them on a sweetless day, ought one?”
“Oh, Patty, what a silly joke!” chided Helen. “You mean a meatless day!”
“Both ought to be barred,” smiled Patty; “also they ought not to be served on a breadless day!”
“It looks as if they wouldn’t be served at all any more,” said Herron; “let’s gather these sweetbreads while we may!”
“And perhaps the war will soon be over, and then we can eat what we like,” Helen suggested. “It will be over soon, you know, because of the eagles.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yes, it’s a true omen. You know down at Beverly, New Jersey, long ago, – oh, during the Revolution, – ”
“Is this a real honest-to-goodness, once-upon-a-time story?” asked Van Reypen.
“Yes, it is.”
“Then I move we move to the sun-parlour, and have our coffee there. We’ll take our coffee, – sugarless, if Patty says so, – and then we can hear the story, and then we must see about going home.”
“Fine,” Patty agreed. “Will you join us in this desperate scheme, Mrs. Doremus?”
“Don’t think you must, if you’re busy,” interposed Herron. “I’m sure the ladies will excuse you if you have duties to attend to.”
“I haven’t,” returned the chaperon, calmly. “I’ll be glad to have the coffee and the story, if I am permitted.”
“Surely,” said Helen, jumping up, “come along, Mrs. Doremus; you and I will pick out the sunniest spot. Philip, bring Patty; and Mr. Herron, will you order the coffee served there?”
Helen slipped her arm through that of the grey-haired lady, and they walked away together.
Philip detained Patty as she was about to follow.
“Queer old party,” he said, very low.
“Who? Mrs. Doremus? I rather like her.”
“Well, I don’t! Be careful what you say before her, and we must get away as soon as we can.”
“Why, Phil, what do you mean?”
“Nothing particular. Only, don’t let Helen persuade you to stay all the afternoon. It’s nearly three now, and we must get away by four, at latest.”
“All right, Phil, but I never knew you to look so scared. Why?”
“Don’t fuss, Patty; go ahead and join the crowd; but remember not to answer personal questions.”
Patty wondered what had come over Philip’s mind, but she thought no more about it, rather glad than otherwise, that he was determined to go home so early.
They crossed the big foyer, and across a chair there, was a fur stole of Patty’s which she had left there in case of need while in the house. She picked it up, exclaiming: “Why, here’s my fur! I might have forgotten it!”
“Lend it to me, won’t you, if you’re not wearing it?” asked Mrs. Doremus. “I feel a bit chilly, – but, perhaps you do too?”
“Oh, no; I’m warm as toast. Use it, by all means. Let me put it round you.”
Patty draped the long stole round the shivering shoulders, and Mrs. Doremus said, apologetically, “I’m not really cold, but I take precaution for fear of rheumatism.”
“Certainly,” Patty acquiesced, and then the coffee tray was brought and Patty did the honours.
“Sugar?” she asked of the chaperon.
“One, please; and may I be excused for a few moments? I’ve just thought of an order I meant to give, and the gaiety of our little party made me forget it. I don’t mind if my coffee gets a little cool, – I like it better so.”
Mrs. Doremus went off toward the housekeeping quarters, and the others made merry over their coffee cups.
“I don’t see why you want to start right off, Philip,” Helen demurred. “I think it’s going to stop snowing just about now.”
“Do you, my child?” said Van Reypen, serenely; “be that as it may, we stand not on the order of our going, but go at once, – instanter, – immejit, – all-in-a-hurry, – so soon as your coffee is despatched.”
“But why?” and Helen pouted.
“Yours not to put that direct question. Yours not to make remarks. Yours but to get into your befurments and hie away to town.”
“I’m not at all sure we can make it,” said Herron, pouring himself another cup of the rich brown beverage.
“Oh, yes, you can,” and the cheery voice of Mrs. Doremus sounded in the doorway. “This my cup? Fine! I like it a lot better not so blooming hot!”
Patty looked up suddenly, for the lapse into slang made her think that the pastry cook had been on her guard at lunch time, and had now fallen back to what must be her usual diction.
The old lady was smiling, and as she took her cup and sat down near the girls, Patty felt a sudden aversion.
But she reproached herself for such a feeling toward one who had not only been kind and polite but had helped them out of a real predicament.
By way of salving her conscience, she assumed a kinder manner, and gently readjusted the fur stole.
“What a dear girl you are!” said Mrs. Doremus, in a burst of admiration. “I don’t wonder Little Billee loves you.”
Patty stared at her in astonishment.
“You do know Captain Farnsworth, then!” she exclaimed, “or how would you know he is called that by his intimate friends?”
The chaperon looked confused.
“I think I have heard you call him that since you’ve been here.”
“Indeed you haven’t! I never speak of him that way to strangers!”
“Come, come, Patty, don’t get wrathy!” said Philip, smiling at the lifted chin and tossed head.
“No, I won’t,” and Patty realised her own foolishness. “Forgive me, Mrs. Doremus, I suppose I’m a silly young thing. But you see, I’ve never been engaged before and I’m a little fussy about it!”
“Oh, that’s all right, young folks ought to be like that. My, when I was engaged, I flew off my head if anybody so much as looked at my young man!”
“It couldn’t have been so very long ago,” smiled Patty, who had suddenly come to the conclusion that Mrs. Doremus was not so very old, and was, doubtless, prematurely grey-haired.
“Oh yes, many and many a year. But memory is still green, and the sight of young lovers makes my mind turn back, as to a well-remembered page.”
Again, Patty caught the strange inflection, as if Mrs. Doremus’ words were not quite sincere.
“Come, girls,” said Philip, “as you’ve finished your coffee, let’s be thinking about starting.”
“I don’t want to go!” protested Helen; “it’s perfectly lovely here, and we can just as well stay an hour longer as not. Can’t we, Mr. Herron?”
“So far as I am concerned, yes. But, unless you start soon, you may find the roads impassable, and be obliged to remain here over night.”
“Oh, I’ve the idea!” Helen cried, “you men go back to town, and leave us girls here to stay the night with Mrs. Doremus! I do think that would be fine! You’d take care of us, wouldn’t you?”
She turned her bright, coaxing face to the apple-cheeked old lady, with mute appeal.
To her surprise, Mrs. Doremus was suddenly afflicted with a hard coughing spell. She choked and nearly strangled, growing red in the face, and gasping for breath.
Herron jumped up and quickly led her from the room, with some hasty words about fresh air.
Van Reypen looked angry and a bit puzzled, but Patty was deeply concerned for the old lady’s comfort.
“Let me go, too,” she exclaimed, rising, “she needs me, – not Mr. Herron.”
“Sit down, Patty,” Philip ordered, somewhat gruffly. “Stay where you are. There are plenty of women servants to look after her.”
“But she’s so nice, Phil! Too nice to have only servants’ care.”
“Sit down, I tell you. You can’t go to her. Remember, Patty, you’re not a member of this Club.”
“Oh, that’s so,” and Patty sat down.
“All right,” said Herron, returning; “she just choked a little, that’s all. And she has chronic throat trouble, so it rather strangled her. She sends you her adieux, and begs to be excused from further appearance.”
“Why, of course,” said Patty, “she mustn’t think of returning. And we’re going now, anyhow. Stop your nonsense, Helen, and come, let’s get our coats.”
“Don’t wanna!”
“I know you don’t, you old goose, but you must.” Patty took her cousin’s arm and led her off to the cloak-room.
“Be goody-girl,” Herron called after her, “and we’ll stop at any place you like for afternoon tea.”
“Oh, will you?” and Helen brightened up suddenly. “At the Sunset Tea-room?”
“Yes, wherever you say.”
The sleigh came to the door, – horses prancing, bells jingling, and the driver cracking his whip, in true old-time style.
“Oh, wait a minute,” Patty cried, as they were about to get in, “where’s my stole? Mrs. Doremus still has it! I’m so glad I remembered.”
“I’ll get it,” volunteered Herron. “You others wait here.”
He was gone so long that Philip suggested Mrs. Doremus had decamped with the fur.
“Was it valuable, Patty?”
“Yes; that is, it’s a perfectly good piece of kolinski.”
“Better make up your mind to order another. Something tells me you’ll never see that particular animal again.”
“How silly, Phil, of course I will. They don’t have kleptomaniacs in a Club like this.”
“People of acquisitive tendencies are to be found everywhere. However, here comes Herron with the pelt, but he looks as if he’d had to fight for it!”
Sure enough, Herron appeared, greatly ruffled. His face was red, his eyes glowering, and his whole aspect that of a man who has been through a war of words.
“All right,” he said, with a very evident effort to seem at ease, “here’s your fur cape, – or whatever you call it.”
“Stole,” corrected Philip.
“No it wasn’t!” cried Herron. “Mrs. Doremus had mislaid it, in her excitement, and couldn’t remember for the moment where it was. But she found it at once.”
He put the fur round Patty’s neck, and assisted her into the sleigh in silence.
“Something’s up!” that astute young woman remarked to herself. “I must find out about it, – that is, if it concerns me, and I pretty much think it does.”
But she was far too canny to ask questions of Herron then. She chatted gaily and smiled brightly, telling herself the while, that there could be nothing really wrong.
The snow had almost ceased falling, and before they had gone more than a mile, the sun came straggling through the clouds, as it sometimes does when anxious to finish off a snowstorm quickly.
And Helen was delighted, for she knew that meant they would stop at her favourite tea-room, and she could have the chocolate and sweet cakes which were her beloved though “forbidden fruit.”