Patty's Motor Car
“Bless you, my angel!” cried Patty. “Will you, really? Why, Mr. Hepworth, I didn’t know you could guess charades.”
“I can’t!” said he, a little grimly; “but I’m going to, all the same. Good-bye, for now.”
And, with a do-or-die expression, Mr. Hepworth took leave of the group.
“Poor man!” said Nan, “he can’t guess it. He just wants to help you out, Patty.”
But Patty smiled and shook her head.
“Nay, nay, Nan,” she said; “if Mr. Hepworth says he’ll guess that thing, he will! It’s as good as done!”
“What faith!” murmured Van Reypen.
“Yes, indeed!” declared Patty. “Why, if I lost faith in Mr. Hepworth, I’d lose faith in the, – in the, – universe! I’ve known him for years, and he never fails me!”
“I guessed one!” said Kenneth, proudly.
“You did,” returned Patty, smiling on him; “and just for that I’m going to take you a whole block in my motor car!”
“Oh! how lovely. But, first, catch your car.”
“Now, what’s the only one left?” asked Philip, who wanted to distinguish himself again.
“Oh, just a simple conundrum,” said Patty. “What is lower with a head on it than without one?”
“That sounds simple, but it isn’t easy,” said Philip, after a few moments’ thoughts. “Nails, – pins, – cabbage heads, – nothing seems to be the right idea.”
And, try as they would, they couldn’t think of anything that led to the right answer.
The boys went home, declaring they’d think it up, and Patty mulled it over in her mind all the evening, without result.
Then she went to bed, declaring she’d dream of the answer.
The next morning she overslept, and Nan, fearing she would be late with her list of answers, went to waken her.
“Wake up, you little April Fool,” she cried, gently pulling Patty’s gold curls.
“Oh, Nan! is it morning? I’m so sleepy!”
“But you must wake up! It’s the First of April, and you must win that motor car to-day or never!”
Patty raised her head, and then dropped it back on the pillow.
“I can’t get my head up,” she said; “it’s too heavy. I guess I’ll give up the motor car. I’d rather keep my head on the pillow. Oh, Nan!” and suddenly Patty sprang up, with a wild yell.
“That’s it! I’ve got it! Hurrah!”
“Mercy, Patty, do keep quiet. What’s the matter?”
“Why, that’s it! the last puzzle! What is lower with a head on it than without one? Answer: a Pillow! See?”
“Patty, you’re crazy! I suppose that is the answer, but I think it’s silly.”
“No, it isn’t; not as puzzles go! Oh, Nan, now I have them all!”
“Not the one Mr. Hepworth took away.”
“He’ll get it back in time. You see if he doesn’t! Oh, Nan, Hooray with me!”
“I won’t. You’ve made noise enough to frighten the whole block now! Do quiet down, Patty, and get dressed.”
“All right, I will,” said Patty, in a whisper, and Nan went away, laughing.
Patty went down to breakfast in a very happy frame of mind, and announced to her father that the motor car was as good as won.
“Why do you feel so sure of Mr. Hepworth’s puzzle?” asked her father, a little curiously. “He never solved a charade before.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Patty, with supreme confidence. “He said he’d do it. If he hadn’t known he could do it, he wouldn’t have said he would do it.”
“Oh, stop, Patty!” cried Nan. “You talk like a puzzle, yourself. Don’t get the habit, I beg.”
“I won’t. But now I must go and copy my answers neatly, and by that time Mr. Hepworth’s will be here, and I’ll send ’em off about noon.”
Patty spent a happy morning copying her answers in her neat script, and looking with pride at her complete list.
At last it was all done, and she had left a vacant space to insert the answer to the charade when Mr. Hepworth should send it. But at noon it had not arrived, and she had had no word from him.
“Telephone, and ask him about it,” suggested Nan, as they sat at luncheon.
“No,” said Patty, “he said he’d send it, and I’ll wait for him.”
“How long can you wait?”
“Why, the only stipulation is that the list of answers shall be postmarked not later than April first; but I hate to wait till the last mail.”
“So should I; do telephone, Patty.”
“No, not yet. He’ll send it.”
The afternoon dragged by, with no word from Mr. Hepworth. At four o’clock, Nan went to Patty’s room.
“Dearie,” she said, “don’t lose your whole effort by a bit of stubbornness. Mr. Hepworth must have forgotten to send his answer – or, perhaps, he sent it by a messenger, and it went to the wrong place.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” said Patty, shaking her head. “He’ll guess it, and, as soon as he does, he’ll telephone me. I know him.”
“I know him, too, and I know his faithfulness. But mistakes do happen sometimes. If you’d only telephone, – or let me.”
“No, Nannie,” said Patty, gently. “This is my picnic, and I shall conduct it in my own way. And I won’t telephone Mr. Hepworth, if I have to send the answers with one missing.”
And then the telephone bell rang!
And it was Mr. Hepworth calling.
“I’ve guessed it!” he said, breathlessly, but triumphant. “But it’s rather complicated, and I can’t explain it very well over the telephone. I’ll come right over. Is there time?”
“Yes,” returned Patty; “come on. Good-bye.”
She hung up the receiver, and turned to Nan with an “I told you so” expression on her face.
“But it was a narrow escape,” said Nan.
“Not at all,” said Patty.
Then Mr. Hepworth came.
He looked calm and smiling as ever, and showed no trace of his sleepless night and anxious hard-working day.
“It’s ‘Forceps,’” he said, as soon as he had greeted them; “but it isn’t a fair charade at all. A charade should be divided into its two or more legitimate syllables. But this one is divided ‘Force’ and ‘P.S.’ You see, the P.S. is referred to as the principal part of a lady’s letter.”
“Oh, that old joke!” cried Nan.
“Yes. But, if it hadn’t been for that old joke, I never could have guessed it. For that was what put me on the right track. But the whole charade is distinctly unfair in its construction.”
“I think so, too,” said Patty, who had been looking it over. “Oh! Mr. Hepworth, how did you ever guess it?”
“I told you I would,” he answered, simply.
“Yes; and so I knew you would,” she returned, with a glance as straightforward as his own.
“Now, I’ll add it to my list,” she went on, “and then we’ll go out to the box together, to mail it.”
In a moment, Patty was ready, with the big, fat envelope, clearly addressed and much bestamped.
Throwing a light wrap round her, she went with Mr. Hepworth the half-block to the lamp-post letter-box. But the large envelope would not go in the box.
“Never mind, Patty,” he said; “I’ll take it to the post-office for you. That will be better, anyway, as it may be postmarked a little sooner. And it’s my fault that it’s delayed so late, anyway.”
“It is not!” exclaimed Patty. “If it hadn’t been for you, I couldn’t have sent the list at all! I mean, not a complete list.”
“Van Reypen helped you far more than I did,” said Mr. Hepworth, a little bitterly.
Patty noticed his tone, and, with her ready tact, she ignored it.
“Mr. Van Reypen did help me,” she said; “but, with all his help, the list would not have been perfect but for you. I thank you, very much.”
Patty held out her hand, and Hepworth took it slowly, almost reverently.
“Patty,” he said, “I wonder if you know how much I would do for you?”
“How much?” said Patty, not really thinking of what she was saying, for her mind was still on her puzzles.
“Shall I tell you?” and the intense note in his voice brought her back to a realising sense of the situation.
“Not now,” she cried, gaily; “you promised to get those answers to the post-office in double-quick time. That would be the nicest thing you could do for me.”
“Then I’ll do it, you little witch;” and, with a quick bow, Hepworth turned and strode down the street.
CHAPTER V
A SUMMER HOME
“If I were sure Patty would get her motor car,” said Nan, “I’d vote for the seashore. But, if she doesn’t, I’d rather go to the mountains.”
“’Course I’ll get it,” declared Patty. “I’m sure, certain, positive, convinced, satisfied beyond all shadow of doubt that I’ve cinched that car! It only remains to get the formal notice.”
“And to get the car,” added her father.
They were discussing, in family conclave, their plans for the coming summer.
Patty liked the seashore, and Nan, the mountains, but each wanted the other to be pleased, so there was a generous rivalry going on.
“But I can use it in the mountains,” went on Patty; “mountain roads are pretty much civilised nowadays. And, anyway, it’s sure to be a perfect hill-climber.”
“Oh, sure to be!” said Mr. Fairfield, who never could bring himself to believe seriously that Patty would get the car.
“Well, let’s divide the time,” suggested Nan. “Let’s go to the seashore first, and spend, say, May, June, and July. Then go to the mountains for August and September.”
“That would be lovely!” declared Patty, enthusiastically, “if I didn’t know you were planning it that way for my benefit. And I can’t – no, I cannot bring myself to accept such a sackerry-fice!”
“You can’t help yourself, you mean,” said Nan. “And, now that part of it’s settled, where shall we go?”
“I like the New Jersey shore,” said Mr. Fairfield, “because I can run up to New York so easily from there. But I was thinking of buying a house, so we could go to it each summer, and so do away with this yearly discussion of where to go. Even if we have a summer home, we can go on a trip to the mountains as well, later in the season.”
“That’s so,” agreed Nan. “No one wants to go to the mountains before August.”
“Oh, won’t it be gay!” cried Patty. “A home of our own, at the seashore! With little white curtains blowing out of its windows, and box trees at the entrance to the drive!”
“That sounds attractive,” agreed Nan. “And wide verandas all round, and the ocean dashing over them, sometimes.”
“It wouldn’t be a bad investment,” said Mr. Fairfield. “We wouldn’t build, you know, but buy a house, and then fix it up to suit ourselves. And, whenever we tired of it, we could sell it.”
“Good business, Mr. Fairfield,” said Patty, nodding her head at him approvingly. “Now, I know the spot I’d like best. And that’s at Spring Beach. It’s the prettiest part of the whole Jersey coast.”
“I think so, too,” said Nan. “It’s not a large enough place to be rackety and noisy, but it has beautiful homes and charming people. I’ve been there several times, though not to stay long.”
“Be sure to buy a house with a garage, father,” put in Patty. “For I must have a place to keep my car.”
“Well, as we’ll have our own car there, I fancy we’ll have a garage, Puss. But we may have to add an ell, to accommodate your toy wagon. When do you expect to get it, by the way?”
“The winner will be announced on the twentieth of April, and the car delivered about May first. So I’ll take you both for a May-day ride. Not both at once, of course.”
“You’ll take Miller on your first few rides, my girl; until you’ve thoroughly learned how to manage the thing.”
“All right, I will. For I don’t want to make any stupid mistakes through ignorance. Accidents may happen, but, if so, I expect to be able to use my skill and knowledge to repair them.”
“Patty, you have a sublime self-confidence,” said her father, laughing; “but I’m glad of it. For it will probably carry you through when your vaunted skill and knowledge give out.”
A few nights later, Mr. Fairfield came home with several photographs of Spring Beach houses that were for sale. Each was accompanied with a description, and the Fairfield trio looked them over with great interest. Two seemed more desirable than the rest, and it was decided that, next day, they should all go down to the shore to look at them.
“Let’s take Christine,” suggested Patty; “a day at the seashore will do her good.”
So, next morning, the quartette started for Spring Beach.
Christine had never seen the ocean before, and Patty greatly enjoyed seeing the Southern girl’s delight.
It was a fine April day, the air clear and cool, and the blue sky cloudless, save for some cotton-wool masses near the horizon. The waves were deep, translucent blue, with brilliantly white crests, and they rolled and tumbled in to shore, as if anxious to greet Christine.
“Is it like you thought it would be?” asked Patty, as Christine stood, with clasped hands, gazing.
“Yes; in its lines. For, of course, I’ve seen pictures of it. But I didn’t know it was so alive.”
“Yes,” said Patty, with a nod of comprehension, “that’s the way it seems to me. Really alive, and always responsive to my moods and thoughts.”
“I didn’t know you had moods and thoughts,” said Christine, smiling at Patty a little quizzically.
“’Deed I have! Perhaps not such subtle and temperamental ones as yours or Mr. Hepworth’s, but perfectly good moods and thoughts, all the same.”
“Why do you class mine with Mr. Hepworth’s?”
“Because you’re both artists. Aren’t artists supposed to have most impressive and unspeakable thoughts at sight of the ocean or the moon or the purple shadows on the distant hills?”
“Patty, I suppose you’re making fun of me, but I don’t mind a bit. And, of one thing I’m sure, whatever your thoughts may be, they’re never unspeakable!”
“Right you are, Christine! I’m glad you appreciate my talent for volubility! That’s why I like the sea. I can talk to it all day, and it is most appreciative, but it never talks back.”
“Oh, it talks back to me! It has told me lots of things already.”
“That’s because you’re an artist. But this must be the new house! Father’s turning in here. Oh, isn’t it lovely!”
It was a most beautiful place, though its somewhat dense shrubbery partly hid the view of the ocean.
But the house was delightful. Large, roomy, and well-built, it seemed all any one could desire for a summer home.
They went through it, with many comments, and then went on a block farther, to look at the other one they had in mind.
This was equally desirable, in every way, as a dwelling, but the large grounds had very few trees or tall shrubs, so that the sea-view was unobstructed.
“This is my choose!” declared Patty, sitting down on the steps of the front veranda. “What’s the use of coming to the seashore and living in a forest? Oh, my fond parents, do decide to take this one, for your little Patty’s sake!”
“Will there be shade enough?” asked Mr. Fairfield.
“Yes, indeed!” declared Patty. “If not, we can go inside and draw the curtains. But I do love a house where you can see out. And I think this is the finest ocean view on the beach.”
“It is,” corroborated the agent, who was showing them the house. “And the sunrise view is grand.”
“I don’t often see the sun rise,” admitted Patty, laughing; “but perhaps I shall, down here, for I’m going to sleep out of doors.”
“In your motor car?” enquired her father.
“No, sir! I’m going to have a veranda bedroom. There, you see it, between those two front towers. I’ve always wanted to try that sort of a fresh-air fund scheme.”
“Well, whatever you and Nan decide on, I’ll agree to,” said Mr. Fairfield, who lived but to please his wife and daughter.
So, after some further serious consideration of rooms and outlooks, Nan and Patty agreed that the second house they had visited was the one for them, and Christine commended their choice.
“It’s rather large for just us three,” said Nan, but Patty replied: “Never mind, we’ll have lots of company. I expect to have house parties a great deal of the time; we’ve never had room for much company in New York. What shall we name the place?”
“‘Sea View,’” said her father, and Patty laughed.
“Yes,” she said; “or ‘Ocean View,’ or ‘Fair View,’ or ‘Beach View’! No, let’s get something descriptive and unhackneyed. Help us, Christine.”
“I like a name like ‘The Breakers,’” said Nan. “It’s so dignified.”
“How about ‘The Pebbles’?” asked Christine, looking at the pebbled walks that led through the lawn.
“That’s just right!” said Patty, “and it’s seashorey, too. We’ll call the place ‘The Pebbles’; shall us, Nan?”
“Yes; I like that. It’s simple and yet expressive.”
“And now,” said Mr. Fairfield, “let us go over to the hotel for luncheon, and then, while I have a little business talk with the agent, you ladies can rave over the sea, the sea, the open sea.”
“What good times you do have, don’t you, Patty?” said Christine, as they strolled along the board walk to the hotel.
“Yes, Christine, I do. And I often feel as if I didn’t deserve so much happiness; and perhaps it’s wrong for me to have so much, when many other girls have so little.”
“No, Patty; that isn’t the way to look at it. You ought to be glad and thankful, but never feel any doubt about its being all right. Myself, I have so much to be thankful for, sometimes my heart almost bursts with gratitude. But I know it’s all right, and that I ought to have it. Whatever is, is right, Patty.”
“Yes; I s’pose so. But, Christine, what do you mean, about yourself? Are you glad you have to earn your own living?”
“Oh, that’s merely incidental. Since I have to earn my own living, I’m glad I can, of course. Or, at least, I shall soon be able to. But I mean, I’m so glad that I have such talent as I have, and such a love of my life work, and such dear friends, and such a happy outlook generally.”
“Christine, you’re a darling. I don’t believe many people know how fine and lovely you are. Do they?”
“I don’t know many people,” said Christine, smiling; “but those I do know don’t all share your views. Elise doesn’t.”
“Bother Elise! Don’t let her bother you! Why think of her at all? Christine, if your philosophy of happiness is any good, it ought to teach you to cut out anything unpleasant. And, if Elise is unpleasant, cut her out.”
“No, girlie; not that. If Elise is unpleasant, – and it may be only my imagination, – I shall try to make her become pleasant.”
“I wish you joy of your task,” said Patty, grinning, for she knew Elise better than Christine did, and, while she liked her herself, she felt sure her two friends could never be very congenial.
The well-selected and well-served luncheon proved most acceptable to appetites sharpened by sea air, and, during its course, enthusiastic plans were made for improving and furnishing “The Pebbles.”
“Christine will help us with the ‘artistic values,’ – I think that’s what you call ’em,” said Patty. “Nan can look after chairs and tables and such prosaic things; and I’ll sew the curtains and sofa-cushions. I love to make soft, silky, frilly things, – and I’m just going to have fun with this house.”
“What’s my part in this universal plan?” asked Mr. Fairfield.
“Oh, you can just pay the bills, and say ‘perfectly lovely, my dear,’ whenever we ask you how you like anything!”
As this was just the rôle Mr. Fairfield had laid out for himself, he acquiesced graciously, and then, luncheon being over, they all went back to the house again.
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