but my ambitions are sensible. If I practised four hours a day, I’d still have only a small parlour voice,—not a concert voice. And there’d be four hours a day wasted. And days are so short, anyway. I’m going to Christine’s this afternoon; do you want the motor?”
“Why, yes; I did expect to make some calls.”
“Oh, well, you can drop me on the way. But, won’t it be fun, Nan, when I get my own little runabout? I’ll be quite independent of Miller and the big car.”
“You can’t use it alone in the city.”
“Oh, yes, I could! Just to fly over to Christine’s in the afternoon, or something like that. Father would kick at first, but he’d soon get used to it.”
“You do wind that poor man around your finger, Patty.”
“Good thing, too. If I didn’t, he’d wind me around his finger. So, as it is, I have the best of it. But I’m not at all sure I’ll catch that runabout, after all. The first of April draweth near, and many of those silly problems refuse to let themselves be solved.”
“I hope you will get it, after you’ve worked so hard.”
“I hope so, too. But hopes don’t solve anagrams and enigmas.”
“Oh, well, if you don’t get it, there’s always room for you in the big car. What time do you want to go to Christine’s?”
“About four. She won’t be home till then. Does that suit your plans?”
“Perfectly, my child.”
So, at four o’clock, Nan left Patty at Christine’s new home.
It was not a typical boarding-house, but an apartment occupied by two elderly people, who had a room to spare, which seemed just right for the young art student.
Even in the short time she had been there, Christine had done much to make the plain room more attractive. And Patty had helped, for many of the comforts that had been added had been her gifts. A growing palm, and a smaller bowl of ferns looked thrifty and well-kept; and a large jar of exquisite pink roses gave the place a gala air.
“What lovely roses!” exclaimed Patty, sniffing daintily at one of them.
“Yes, aren’t they?” said Christine. “Mr. Hepworth sent them. He sends them every week. Isn’t he kind?”
“Yes, but no kinder than he ought to be. Everybody ought to be good to you, Christine.”
“Why?”
“Oh, because you’re so sweet and good, yourself. And you work so hard, and you never complain,—and you’re so pretty.”
Patty added the last clause, because her former words brought a pink glow to Christine’s cheeks, and a shining light to her dark eyes, and she looked indeed beautiful.
“I do work hard; but, Patty, I’m winning out! I’ve already had some illustrations accepted by a good magazine; and I’ve orders for two magazine covers.”
“Fine! Why, Christine, you’ve arrived!”
“Not quite that; but I’m steadily going ahead. I say that quite without conceit. It’s simply that I’m learning how to use the talent I have.”
“You dear!” cried Patty. “As if any one could imagine you conceited! And, of course, you’re going ahead,—fast!”
“And, Patty, Mrs. Van Reypen is so good to me. I don’t understand it. Why, she fairly showers me with kindnesses.”
“I understand it. Mrs. Van Reypen is very eccentric. If she dislikes people, she can’t be caustic enough to them or about them. But, if she takes a fancy to any one, then she just adores her. And I’m so glad she’s taken a fancy to you,—for she surely has.”
“Yes, she has. But sometimes it embarrasses me, for she invites me to see her so often, or to go to entertainments with her, and I have to refuse, for I mustn’t neglect my work.”
“Oh, she understands that. You stand by your work, and I know her well enough to know she’ll respect and admire you all the more for it.”
Chapter IV.
The Hundredth Question
It was the very last day of March. The next day Patty must send in her answers to the hundred puzzles, and she still had four of them unsolved. She had worked on these all day, and her brain was weary. Kenneth came in late in the afternoon, but he couldn’t help, as he had no knack for puzzles.
“I don’t like them, Patty,” he declared. “You see acrostics have cross words to them, and cross words always irritate me. I like kind words.”
“All right, Ken,” said Patty, laughing; “I’ll invent a new kind of acrostic that has only kind words in it, some day. But can’t you help me with this one? A train of six cars is to be pulled up a steep incline. The engine provided can pull only three cars. Another engine of equal power is brought and put behind the train, to push it up the hill. The two engines, working together, get the train uphill. Supposing the cars coupled with chains, are the chains taut, or hanging loosely? I’ve puzzled over that for hours. You see, half the weight of the train is pulled and half is pushed, so how do those stupid chains know whether they’re to hang loose, or pull taut?”
“H’m,” said Kenneth, “there must be an answer to that. Where’s your Van Reypen satellite? Can’t he do it?”
“You needn’t speak of Mr. Van Reypen in that tone,” said Patty, annoyed; “he’s helped me a lot more than you have!”
“There, there, Patsy, don’t be an acrostic! Don’t give cross words to your poor old chum, who lives but for to please you.”
Patty laughed at Kenneth’s mock tragic tones, but she went on:
“I do think you might do one for me, Ken. You haven’t even tried.”
“All right, girlie; I’ll do this one about the cars and chains. Do you mind if I go off by myself to think it out?”
Kenneth went into another room, and Patty looked after him in wonderment. She didn’t guess that he was longing to help her, and, though he couldn’t guess conundrums, he hoped he might puzzle out this question of mechanical power.
And then Mr. Hepworth came, and also Philip Van Reypen. They knew it was the last day, and they wanted to hear what Patty’s final report might be.
Philip Van Reypen had been greatly amused at the letter Patty wrote him, and, being an exceedingly sensible young man, he had not answered or referred to it definitely, but had accepted its dictum, and had called at the Fairfield house far less often. Nor had he again hinted for an invitation to dinner, but awaited one which should be freely given.
“How many yet to do?” he asked, blithely.
“Four,” answered Patty, disconsolately.
“Out with ’em! What are they? Not charades, I hope; I simply can’t do charades.”
“There’s one charade left, but here’s an enigma, which is about as bad. Oh, Mr. Hepworth, can’t you guess it?”
Appealed to thus, Hepworth made up his mind to help, if he possibly could, and both he and Van Reypen listened attentively as Patty read:
“‘I am intangible, yet I may be felt, seen, and heard. I exist from two to six feet above the ground. I have neither shape nor substance, and, though a natural production, I am neither animal, vegetable, or mineral. I am neither male nor female, but something between both. I am told of in the Scriptures, in history, in song, and in