Wanted, a situation! Oh, Patty, you do beat all!”
Then Patty told them of her own surprise when Mrs. Van Reypen told her she would not do as a permanent companion, and they all laughed heartily at the funny description she gave of the scene.
“Never mind,” said her father, “you fulfilled the conditions. A week was the stipulated time, and nothing was said about your outlook for a second week.”
The next night Mr. Hepworth came, and the whole story was told over again to him. He didn’t take it so lightly as the young people had done, but looked at Patty sympathetically, and said:
“Poor little girl, you did have a hard time, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” replied Patty, “though nobody else seems to realise that.”
The kindness in Mr. Hepworth’s glance seemed to bring back to her all those long, lonely, weary hours, and she felt grateful that one, at least, understood what she had suffered.
“It was worth spending that awful week to achieve your purpose,” he went on, “but I well know how hard it was for a home-loving girl like you. And I fancy it was none too easy to find yourself at the beck and call of another woman.”
“No, it wasn’t,” said Patty, surprised at his insight. “How did you know that?”
“Because you are an independent young person, and accustomed to ordering your own times and seasons. So I’m sure to be obedient to another’s orders was somewhat galling.”
“It was so!” and Patty’s emphatic nod of her head proved to Mr. Hepworth that he had struck a true chord.
“And now,” said Mr. Fairfield, “when can I make my offer good? How can we induce the rising young artist to come to the metropolis to seek fame and fortune?”
“It will be difficult,” said Mr. Hepworth, “as she is not only proud and sensitive, but very shy. I think if Mrs. Fairfield would write one of her kind and tactful letters that Miss Farley would be persuaded by it.”
“Why can’t I write a kind and tactful letter?” asked Patty. “It’s my picnic.”
“You couldn’t write a tactful letter to save your life,” said Mr. Hepworth, looking at her with a grave smile.
Patty returned his look, and she wondered to herself why she wasn’t angry with him for making such a speech.
But, as she well knew, when Mr. Hepworth made a seemingly rude speech it wasn’t really rude, but it was usually true.
She knew herself she couldn’t write such a letter as this occasion required, and she knew that Nan could. So she smiled meekly at Mr. Hepworth, and said:
“No, I couldn’t. But Nan can be tactful to beat the band!”
“Oh, Patty!” said her father. “Did you talk like that to Mrs. Van Reypen? No wonder she discharged you!”
“No, I didn’t, daddy; truly I didn’t. I never used a word of slang that whole week, except one day when I talked to Nan over the telephone.”
“Soon you’ll be old enough to begin to think it’s time to stop using it at all,” observed Mr. Hepworth, and again Patty took his mild reproof in good part.
“Well, I’ll write,” said Nan. “Shall I ask Miss Farley to come to visit us? Won’t she think that rather queer?”
“Don’t put it just that way,” advised Mr. Hepworth. “Say that you, as a friend of mine, are interested in her career. And say that if she will come to New York for a week and stay with you, you think you can help her make arrangements for a course in the Art School. Your own tact will dress up the idea so as to make it palatable to her pride.”
“Won’t it be fun?” exclaimed Patty. “It will be almost like adopting a sister. What is she like, Mr. Hepworth? Like me?”
“She is about as unlike you as it is possible for a girl to be. She is very slender, dark, and timid, with the air of a frightened animal.”
“I’ll scare her to death,” declared Patty, with conviction. “I’m sure I shall! I don’t mean on purpose, but I’m so—so sudden, you know.”
“Yes, you are,” agreed Mr. Hepworth, as he joined in the general laughter. “But that ‘suddenness’ of yours is a quality that I wish Miss Farley possessed. It is really a sort of brave impulse and quick determination that makes you dash into danger or enterprise of any kind.”
“And win!” added Patty saucily.
“Yes, and win—after a time.”
“Oh well,” she replied, tossing her head, “Mr. Bruce’s spider made seven attempts before he succeeded. So I think my record’s pretty fair.”
“I think so, too,” said Mr. Hepworth, heartily. “And I congratulate you on your plucky perseverance and your indomitable will. You put up a brave fight, and you won. I know how you suffered under that petty tyranny, and your success in such circumstances was a triumph!”
“Thank you,” said Patty, greatly pleased at this sincere praise from one whom she so greatly respected. “It would have been harder still if I hadn’t had a good sense of humour. Lots of times when I wanted to cry I laughed instead.”
“Hurrah for you, Patty girl!” cried her father. “I’d rather you’d have a good sense of humour than a talent for spatter-work!”
“Oh, you back number!” exclaimed Patty. “They don’t do spatter-work now, daddy.”
“Well, china painting—or whatever the present fad is.”
But Mr. Hepworth seemed not to place so high a value on a sense of humour, for he said, gravely:
“I congratulate you on your steadfastness of purpose, which is one of the finest traits of your character.”
“Thank you,” said Patty, with dancing eyes. “You give it a nice name. But it is a family trait with us Fairfields, and has usually been called ‘stubbornness.’”
“Well,” supplemented her father, “I’m sure that’s just as good a name.”
Chapter XIX.
Christine Comes
With her usual tact and cleverness, Nan managed the whole matter successfully. She wrote to the friends of Mr. Hepworth in the South who were interested in Miss Farley, and they persuaded the girl to go North for a week and see if she could see her way clear to staying there.
As it turned out, Miss Farley had some acquaintances in New York, and when their invitation was added to that of Mrs. Fairfield, she decided to make the trip.
Patty and Nan made ready for her with great care and kindness. A guest room was specially prepared for her use, and Patty adorned it with some of her own pet pictures, a few good casts, and certain bits of bric-à-brac that she thought would appeal to an “art student.”
“If Mr. Hepworth hadn’t said the girl had real talent I’d be hopeless of the whole thing,” said Nan, “for I do think the most futile sort of young woman is the one who dabbles in Art, with a big A.”
“Oh, Christine Farley isn’t that sort,” declared Patty. “I don’t believe she wears her hair tumbling down and a Byron collar with a big, black ribbon bow at her throat. I used to see that sort copying in the art galleries in Paris, and they are hopeless. But I imagine Miss Farley is a tidy little thing and her genius is too real for those near-art effects.”
“Well, then, I’ll put this photograph of the Hermes in here in