Читать книгу: «Patty's Social Season», страница 7
“Down on the floor!” she cried, tugging at his red coat. “Baby May’s Santa Claus! Sit down on floor by baby May!”
Jim Kenerley, who was arrayed in the regulation garb of a St. Nicholas, sat down beside his little girl, and taking his pack from his back, placed it in front of her.
“All for baby May!” she said, appreciating the situation at once.
“Yes, all for baby May,” returned her mother, for in the pack were only the child’s presents.
One by one the little hands took the gifts from their wrappings, and soon the baby herself was almost lost sight of in a helter-skelter collection of dolls and teddy bears and woolly dogs and baa lambs and more dolls. To say nothing of kittens and candies, and balls, and every sort of a toy that was nice and soft and pleasant.
The doll Patty had brought, with its wonderful wardrobe, pleased the baby especially, and she declared at once that the doll’s name should be Patty.
Having undone all her treasures, the baby elected to have a general romp with Santa Claus, whom she well knew to be her father. Jim had made no attempt to disguise lest it should frighten the child, and so his own gay young face looked out from a voluminous snow-white wig and long white beard. His costume was the conventional red, belted coat, edged with white fur, and a fur-trimmed red cap with a bobbing tassel.
Among the toys was a pair of horse lines with bells on it, and soon May had her good-natured father transformed into a riding-horse and galloping madly round the hall.
Then all present must needs play games suited to the calibre of the little one, and Ring around a Rosy and London Bridge proved to be her favourites.
After these unwonted exertions, everybody was ready for tea, which was then brought in. As a special dispensation, May was allowed to have her bread and milk at the same time, with the added indulgence of a few little cakes.
“Isn’t she a perfect dear?” said Patty, as she stood with the baby in her arms, after tea was finished.
“She is,” declared Philip, who stood near. “I’m not much up on kiddies, but she’s about the best-natured little piece I ever saw. I thought they always cried after a big racket like this.”
“She must say good-night now,” said Adèle. “It’s quite time, and beside, I want her to go away while her reputation is good. Now, Maisie May, go to Fräulein and go beddy.”
“Patty take May beddy.”
“No, dear, Patty must stay here with mother.”
“Patty take May beddy! Zes!” The finality of this decision was unmistakable. The most casual observer could see that unless it were complied with the scene might lose something of its sunshine and merriment.
“I should say,” judicially observed Philip, “that unless Miss May has her way this time, there will be one large and elegant ruction.”
“But I must make her obey me,” said Adèle, a little uncertainly.
“Fiddlestrings, Adèle,” returned Patty; “this is no time for discipline. The poor baby is about worn out with fatigue and excitement. You know, it has been her busy day. Let’s humour her this time. I’ll take her away, and I’ll return anon.”
“Anon isn’t a very long time, is it?” said Adèle, laughing, and Hal remarked, “If it is, we’ll all come after you, Miss Fairfield.”
So Patty went away, carrying the now smiling baby, and Fräulein went along with her, knowing the little thing would soon drop to sleep, anyway, from sheer fatigue.
CHAPTER XI
THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT
Patty soon returned, saying the country was saved, and now she was ready for her presents.
And then everybody began untying things, and soon the whole place was knee-deep in tissue papers and ribbons.
All exclaimed with delight at their own gifts, and then exclaimed with delight at the others’ gifts.
Mr. and Mrs. Kenerley gave Patty one of those Oriental garments known as a Mandarin coat. It was of pale blue silk, heavy with elaborate embroidery and gold braiding, and Patty was enchanted with it.
“Just what I wanted!” she exclaimed, “and I don’t care if that is what everybody always says, I mean it! I’ve wanted one a long time. They’re so heavenly for party wraps or opera cloaks. Mona has a beauty, but this is handsomer still.”
“Yes, it is,” admitted Mona; “and now open that box, Patty. It’s my gift to you, and I want to see if you like it.”
“Oh, I know I shall like it, of course. Why, Mona Galbraith, if it isn’t a lace scarf! Real Brussels point! You generous girl, it’s too beautiful!”
“Isn’t it lovely?” cried Daisy. “Now, this is mine to you, Patty. It isn’t nearly as handsome; it’s just a bag.”
“But what a grand one!” exclaimed Patty, as she unwrapped the beautiful French confection. “I simply adore bags. I can’t have too many of them. My goodness! I’m getting as many presents as baby May!”
Sure enough, Patty was surrounded with gifts and trinkets of all sorts. Philip’s present was a small but exquisite water-color in a gilded frame. Roger gave her a glass and silver flower-basket.
“I gave each of you girls exactly the same thing,” he said, “because I didn’t want you scrapping over me. Mrs. Kenerley, I included you, too, if you will accept one of them.”
They were beautiful ornaments, and the four together were so effective that Adèle declared she should use them that night for a dinner table decoration at their Christmas feast.
Hal Ferris gave each of the girls a beautiful book, and everybody had so many presents of all sorts that it was almost impossible to remember who gave anything.
“What I need is a card catalogue,” said Patty. “I never can remember which is which, I know.”
“And I know another thing,” said Adèle. “If you girls don’t scamper off and dress, you won’t be ready for dinner at eight o’clock. And there are lots of guests coming. And more this evening for the country dance. Now, disperse, all of you, and put on your prettiest frocks for Christmas Eve.”
Patty had a new gown for the occasion, of an exquisite shade of pink chiffon, which just matched her cheeks. She did up her hair simply, with a pink ribbon around it, and a pink rose tucked over one ear.
After she was all dressed, she flew to the nursery for a little confab with Fräulein, who was working away on the Turkey red.
“Will it be done?” asked Patty, anxiously.
“Oh, yes, indeed, Miss Patty; in ample time. And the crowns, too.”
“Everything all right?” inquired a voice in the doorway, and Hal Ferris stepped into the nursery.
“Yes,” said Patty, her eyes sparkling. “Fräulein will have them all ready by the time dinner’s over. Oh, I do love to dress up!”
“You can’t look any sweeter than you do this way,” said Ferris, glancing approvingly at the little pink dancing frock.
“You are so nice and complimentary,” said Patty, flashing a smile at him, and then they went downstairs together.
Dinner was a real Christmas feast. The table was properly decorated with red ribbons and red candles and holly, and everybody had souvenirs and Christmassy sort of trinkets, and everybody was very gay and festive, and an air of Christmas jollity pervaded the atmosphere.
After dinner they all returned to the great hall, where the Christmas tree was again lighted to add to the holiday effect.
Then Patty and Hal, who had let Adèle into their secret, slipped away from the crowd, and ran up to the nursery, where Fräulein was awaiting them.
The baby was asleep in the next room, so they must needs be careful not to awaken her, and they tiptoed about as Fräulein helped them to don the robes she had made.
The Turkey red she had fashioned into a full-draped cloak, which she adjusted around Hal’s broad shoulders. It was trimmed with white fur, and was caught up on one shoulder, toga fashion, with a spray of holly. A massive gilt pasteboard crown she put on his head, and gave him a long wand or sceptre covered with gilt paper and topped with a cap and bells.
“I wonder if they’ll know I’m Lord of Misrule,” whispered Hal, as he stalked up and down before the mirror, swishing his draperies about in regal fashion.
“If they don’t, I’ll tell ’em,” said Patty. “I wonder if they’ll know what I am.”
“You look like an angel,” said Hal, as he gazed at her.
The garment Fräulein had made for Patty was simply straight, flowing breadths of the white illusion, which fell straight from her shoulders, her pink gown beneath giving it a faint rosy tinge. From her head the illusion rippled in a long veil, floating down behind, and there were long angel sleeves of the same material.
On her head was a small crown of gilt paper, with a large gilt star in front, and she carried a gilt wand with a star on the end.
But the masterpiece of the costume, and one that did great credit to the ingenuity of Fräulein, was a pair of wings that were fastened to Patty’s shoulders. They were made of fine net, covered with fringed tissue paper, which had the effect of soft white feathers.
Altogether Patty was a lovely vision, and it is doubtful if “The Christmas Spirit” was represented more beautifully anywhere on earth that Christmas Eve.
She floated about the room, delighted to be “dressed up.”
Then, flying into the hall, she listened over the banister till she heard Adèle’s signal from the piano.
Still listening, she heard Adèle begin to sing softly a carol called “The Christmas Spirit.”
Slowly, in time to the music, Patty came down the great staircase. She paused on the landing, which was but a few steps from the bottom, and standing there, motionless as a picture, joined her voice to Adèle’s.
She sang the beautiful carol, Adèle now singing alto, and the vision of the beautiful Christmas Spirit, and the tones of Patty’s exquisite voice, gave the guests assembled in the hall a Christmas memory that they could never forget.
As the last notes died away, there was a significant pause, and then a storm of applause broke out.
They insisted on another song, but Patty shook her head laughingly, and the next moment Adèle played a merry, rollicking march on the piano and the Lord of Misrule came bounding downstairs. He had a long trumpet in his hand, upon which he sounded a few notes, and then waved his sceptre majestically.
“I’m the Lord of Misrule,” he announced, “and I have come to direct our Christmas revels. To-night my word is law; you are all my subjects, and must obey my decrees!”
A shout of applause greeted this gay banter, and then as Adèle played a lively strain, the Lord of Misrule gave a clever clog dance on the staircase landing.
Then he sprang down the steps, and clasping the Christmas Spirit, the two tripped away into a gay impromptu dance.
“Everybody dance!” shouted the Lord of Misrule, brandishing his sceptre aloft, and obedient to his orders, the others caught the gay spirit, and soon they were all dancing.
Later they had the country dances—Virginia reel, Sir Roger, and others which Patty had never heard of before, but which she had no difficulty in learning.
It was not long, however, before she laid aside her somewhat uncomfortable wings, and also the illusion draperies, which did not well survive the intricacies of the figure dances.
So, once again in her pretty pink frock, she entered into the dances with the zest she always felt for that amusement.
“I think it’s my turn,” said Roger, coming up to her at last.
“And I’m glad to be with a friend again, after all these strangers,” she said, as they danced away. “Though they’re awfully nice men, and some of them are very good dancers. You and Mona are all right, aren’t you, Roger?”
Patty said this so suddenly that he was caught off his guard.
“Not all right,” he said, “and never will be until she’ll consent to cut the acquaintance of that Lansing!”
“She’ll never do that!” and Patty wagged her head positively.
“Then she can get along without my friendship.”
“Now, Roger, what’s the use of acting like that? Mona has a right to choose her friends.”
“Patty, I believe you like that man yourself!”
“I don’t dislike him; at least, not as much as you do. But I don’t see any reason for you to take the matter so seriously. At any rate, while you’re up here, forget it, won’t you, and be good to Mona.”
“Oh, I’ll be good to her fast enough, if she’ll be good to me. I think a heap of that girl, Patty, and I don’t want to see her in the clutches of a bad man like Lansing.”
“You don’t know that he’s a bad man.”
“Well, he’s a fortune-hunter,—that’s bad enough.”
“Pooh, every man that looks at a girl doesn’t want to marry her for her money.”
“But that man does.”
“Then cut him out! Why, Roger, you’re worth a dozen Lansings, and if you want to marry Mona, why don’t you tell her so?”
“Oh, Patty, do you think I’d have the ghost of a chance?”
“I certainly do. That is, if Mona has a grain of sense in that pretty head of hers.”
“Well,—say, Patty,—this sounds queer, I know,—but you and I are such pals,—couldn’t you just say a good word for–”
“Roger Farrington! the idea! I never supposed you were bashful!”
“I never was before,—but I’m a little afraid of Mona. She’s so,—so decided, you know.”
“Very well. Make her decide in your favour. But, mark my words, young man, you’ll never win her by getting grumpy and sour just because she smiles on another man. In fact, you’d better praise Mr. Lansing. That would be the best way to make her lose interest in him.”
“Patty Fairfield! I’m ashamed of you. I always knew you were a flirt, but anything like that would be downright deception.”
“Oh, fiddle-de-dee! All’s fair in love and war. You’re too matter-of-fact, Roger,—too staid and practical. Brace up and tease Mona. Get her guessing—and the game will be all in your own hands.”
“How do you know these things, Patty? You’re too young for such worldly wisdom.”
“Oh, women are born with a spirit of contrariness. And, anyway, it’s human nature. Now, you jolly Mona up, and stop looking as if you’d lost your last friend,—and then see how the cat jumps. Why, what is Hal Ferris doing?”
The Lord of Misrule had jumped up on a table, and was flourishing his sceptre, and announcing that he would now issue a few decrees, and they must immediately be obeyed.
He said the audience wished to see some well-acted plays, and he would ask some of the guests present to favour them.
“As these dramas are necessarily impromptu,” he said, “you will please come forward and do your parts as soon as your names are called. Any delay, hesitation, or tardiness will be punished to the full extent of the Law of Misrule. The first play, ladies and gentlemen, will be a realistic representation of the great tragedy of ‘Jack and Jill.’ It will be acted by Mr. Van Reypen and Miss Fairfield. Ready! Time!”
Philip and Patty went forward at once, for though they had had no intimation of this act, they were quite ready to take their part in the merriment.
Philip caught up one of the glass baskets which he had brought up for gifts, and declared that represented their pail.
“It isn’t mine!” cried Daisy. “I don’t want mine smashed!”
“No matter what happens,” returned Philip, “we must be realistic.”
“Here, take this instead,” said Jim Kenerley, offering an antique copper bucket, which was one of his pet pieces.
“All right, it is better. Now, the play begins. This is an illustrated ballad, you know. Will somebody with a sweet voice kindly recite the words?”
“I will,” volunteered Hal, himself. “My voice is as sweet as taffy.”
He began intoning the nursery rhyme, and Patty and Philip strolled through the hall, swinging the bucket between them, and acting like two country children going for water. They climbed the stairs, laboriously, as if clambering up a steep hill, and as they went up, Philip hastily whispered to Patty how they were to come down.
She understood quickly, and as the second line was drawled out they stood at the top of the stairs. Then when Hal said, “Jack fell down–” there was a terrific plunge and Philip tumbled, head over heels, all the way downstairs, with the big copper bucket rolling bumpety-bump down beside him. He was a trained athlete, and knew how to fall without hurting himself, but his mad pitching made it seem entirely an accidental fall. In the screams of laughter, the last line could scarcely be heard, but when Hal said, “And Jill came tumbling after,” Patty poised on the top step, leaning over so far that it seemed as if in a moment she must pitch headlong. Her fancy dance training enabled her to hold this precarious position, and as she stood, motionless, a beautiful tableau, everybody applauded.
“All over!” cried the Lord of Misrule, after a moment. “Curtain’s down!”
There was only an imaginary curtain, so considering herself dismissed, Patty came tripping downstairs, and the broken-crowned Jack stood waiting to receive her.
“Good work!” he commented. “How could you stand in that breakneck position?”
“How could you take that breakneck fall?” she queried back, and then they sought a nearby seat to witness the next “play.”
“Now,” said the Lord of Misrule, “we will have a thrilling drama by Miss Dow and—well, she may select her own company.”
“I choose Jim Kenerley,” said Daisy, suddenly remembering a little trick they used to do in school. A whispered word was enough to recall it to Jim’s mind, and in a twinkling he had snatched a gay silk lamp-shade from an electrolier and clapped it on his head, and draped around him a Bagdad couch cover. Then he caught up a big bronze dagger from a writing-table, and he and Daisy went to the staircase landing, which was almost like a stage. Seemingly, Jim was a fearful bandit, dragging a lady, who hung back with moans and cries.
On the landing, he brandished the dagger fearsomely, and Daisy knelt before him, begging for mercy. At least, her attitude denoted that, but all she said was: “A B C D,” in a low, pleading voice. “E F G!” shouted Jim, dancing about in a fierce fury.
Daisy threw out her arms and fairly grovelled at his feet, begging, “H I J K.” “L M!” shouted Jim; “N O!”
Then Daisy’s pretty hair became loosened from its pins, and fell, a shining mass, down her back.
Jim clutched it. “P Q R!” he yelled, as he waved the dagger aloft.
“S T!” moaned Daisy, swaying from side to side, as if in an agony of fear.
“U! V! W!” and the blade of the dagger rested against the fair neck, as the dreadful brigand, with a fierce shout, attacked his victim.
“X Y!” Daisy shrieked, and then toppled over, as if killed, while Jim, with a frenzied yell of “Z!” towered, triumphant, above his slain captive.
How they all laughed; for it was good acting, though of course greatly burlesqued. But both had a touch of dramatic genius, and they had often given this little exhibition in their old school days.
“Fine!” said Adèle, who was shaking with laughter. “You never did it better, Daisy. You ought to go on the stage.”
Daisy smiled and bowed at the applause, and began to twist up her hair.
“My beloved subjects,” said the Lord of Misrule, “you are sure some actors! I didn’t know I had so much talent concealed about my kingdom. I shall now aim for a higher touch of histrionic art. Let us stop at nothing! Let us give the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. I will command Miss Galbraith to play the part of Juliet, and if no one volunteers as Romeo, I’ll modestly remark that I’m a ripping good actor myself.”
“Too late,” said Roger, calmly; “I’ve already signed for the part,” and taking Mona’s hand, he led her toward the staircase.
“I can’t!” protested Mona. “I don’t know a word of it!”
“Can’t! Won’t!” cried the Lord of Misrule, in stentorian tones. “Those words are not allowed in this my Court. Ha, maiden, dost desire the dungeon for thine? Dost hanker after prison fare? Fie! Get to thy place and take thy cue.”
Mona flung her lace handkerchief on her head for a little Juliet cap, and accepting a large lace scarf which a lady offered her as she passed, and an enormous bunch of roses, which Jim hastily took from a vase and gave her, they all agreed she was perfectly costumed for Juliet.
Upstairs she went, and drawing a chair to the railing, looked over at Roger below. He had hastily opened a small cupboard, and caught up a broad black hat of Adèle’s, with a long, willowed ostrich plume. He put it on, so that the feather hung straight down his face, and he kept blowing it out of his eyes. Daisy had offered him a gay, flowered chiffon scarf as he passed her, and he tied it round his waist like a sash.
“‘Oh, Romeo! Romeo! Romeo!’” began Mona.
“‘Wherefore,’” prompted Roger in a stage whisper.
“‘Wherefore,’” said Mona, obediently, “whence, whither, why–”
“Never mind,” said Roger, calmly. “I’ll say the lines you forget. ‘Wherefore art thou Romeo?’ Now for the second act. I wish to goodness I could be a glove upon that paw of yours.”
“Why?” queried Mona.
“So you wouldn’t give me the mitten. Pardon, good friends, merely an interpolation. Back to work now. It was the nightingale and not a poll parrot that hit you in the ear.”
“Oh, Romeo, Romeo,” Mona broke in. “I’d like to cut you up into little bits of stars, and decorate the sky with you.”
“Call me but Star, and I’ll be baptised all over again. Friends, as we’re a little shy on lines, the rest of this will be pantomime.”
Roger then sneaked cautiously upstairs, motioned to Mona to make no sound, picked up various impedimenta, including books, vases, a statuette, and such things as he could find on the hall tables, added a good-sized rug, and then, also picking Mona up in his arms, he stealthily made his way downstairs again, and the elopement was successful.
“Roger, you strong giant!” cried Patty. “How could you carry all those things downstairs?”
“My warriors are all strong men!” said the Lord of Misrule. “They can carry off anything, and carry on like everything.”
And then, as Christmas Eve was well past, and Christmas Day had begun, the merry guests went away, and the house party congratulated itself all round, wished everybody Merry Christmas, and went away to rest.
