Patty's Fortune

“That’s just the point. If there were nothing to it, she would have told you. That’s why I fear she has taken the notion seriously.”

“I can’t think it yet. I’ll ask her when she comes home.”

“I’m not sure that would be wise. Why don’t you wait, and see if she does anything in the matter. Elise Farrington said that a manager had asked to see Patty regarding the subject.”

“A manager!” Nan fairly gasped. “Why, this is awful! What would her father say?”

“But wait a minute, let’s look at the thing rationally. You know how susceptible Patty is to a new idea or a new influence. I think this ex-actress had bewitched the child, and to chide her would only make her more determined to stand by her new friend. Why not deal more diplomatically. Watch Patty, and if she does anything queer or inexplicable, follow it up, and see what it means. Of course, you know, Mrs. Nan, that I’m actuated only by honest interest in Patty’s welfare.”

“Oh, I know that, Philip; and I’m very glad you came to me with this story first. Perhaps it won’t be necessary to speak of it to Mr. Fairfield, at least, not yet. He’s busy, and a little bothered just now with some business matters; and if I could straighten out this foolishness without letting it worry him, I’d be glad.”

“We’ll do it,” and Phil spoke heartily. “We’ll save that little goosie from herself. Of course, you know, I worship the ground she walks on, and I’m going to win her yet. You think I’ve a chance, don’t you?”

“I don’t see why not, Phil. There’s nobody I’d rather see Patty marry than you, but she is determined she won’t listen to such a thing yet. She says she has too much fun being a belle, to tie herself down to any one man. And perhaps she is right. She’s only twenty, and while that’s quite old enough to marry, if she wants to, yet it’s young enough to wait a while if she prefers.”

“I quite agree to that. It’s only that I want to be on the spot when she does make up her mind to marry. Of course she will, eventually.”

“Of course. And you have every chance. Now, as to this other matter, do you think Mr. Farnsworth instigated the idea?”

“I gathered that from different things that were said. And the actress person was his friend. And I know that he took Patty over to Poland Spring House to see her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Kent, – Maude Kent. They call her Maudie.”

“Queer Patty hasn’t mentioned her. I agree with you, that looks as if she took the thing seriously.”

“Oh, perhaps not,” and Philip rose to go. “It may be I exaggerate the danger. But I’m so fearful of that capricious nature of hers, – you never can tell what whim she’ll fly at next.”

“That’s true, and I’m so much obliged to you for putting me on my guard.”

Nan said nothing to her husband on this subject, but she watched Patty more carefully. She was clever enough not to let the supervision be apparent, but it was unremittent.

However, nothing transpired to rouse her suspicions in any way. Patty was her own gay, sunny self, planning all sorts of gaieties and employments for the winter season. She had by no means given up or neglected her club, that was for the purpose of giving pleasure to shop-girls or other working women, and she thought up plans for raising money for that philanthropic purpose.

She kept up her membership in the Current Events Club and in the Musical Society to which she belonged, and she showed no undue interest in the new light operas that were successively put upon the stage. She attended most of these, but she had always had a liking for them and that did not seem to Nan a special indication of histrionic intent.

But one evening, as the three Fairfields sat at dinner, Patty was called to the telephone. She left the table and after a time returned with sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks.

“Dear people,” she said, smiling at her parents, “I’ve a surprise to spring on you. Will you be astounded to learn that your foolish little Patty had a chance to make good in the world? To have a career that will mean fame and celebrity.”

Nan almost choked. An icy hand seemed to clutch at her throat. The hour had struck, then. And with all her watchfulness she had not succeeded in preventing it!

“It perfectly wonderful,” Patty was rattling on, “you can hardly believe it, – I hardly can, myself, but I’m going to be a great singer.”

“You’re that now, Kiddie,” said her father, who had no idea of what lay back of this introduction.

“Yes, but more than that! Oh, Nan, it’s too glorious! Daddy, what do you think? I’m going to sing in light opera!”

“You’ve often done that,” he returned, thinking of her amateur performances. “One of your favourite Gilbert and Sullivan ones, or more modern this time?”

Patty laughed happily. “You don’t get it yet, Dadsy. I mean in a real opera, on the real stage.”

“What! Just say that again! My old ears must be failing me.”

“I’m going to be a real prima donna! On the stage of a real theatre!”

“Not if I see you first. But elucidate this very extraordinary statement.”

“I will.” But even as she began to speak, Patty caught sight of Nan’s face, and the lack of sympathy, nay, more, the look of positive disapproval she saw there, made her pause a moment. Then she went on, a little defiantly, “I suppose it will strike you queer at first, but you’ll get used to it. Why, Dads, I found out, while I was up in Maine – ”

“Down in Maine,” corrected her father.

“Well, any old way to Maine, but I discovered that I have a voice! and more, I have a knack, a taste, a talent, even, for the stage. And, – I’m going to devote my life to it.”

“Devote your life to it!” And Mr. Fairfield’s tone was scathing. “If you’re so anxious for a life of devotion, I’ll put you in a convent. But on the stage! Not if the Court knows herself!”

Patty smiled tolerantly. “I was afraid you’d talk like that at first. It shall now be my duty and my pleasure to make you change your intelligent mind. Nan, you’ll help me, won’t you?”

Patty asked this with some misgiving, for Nan did not look entirely helpful.

“Help you to go on the stage?” was the smiling retort, for Nan quickly decided to keep the discussion in a light key, if possible. “Yes, indeed, after some reputable physician has signed a certificate of your lunacy, – but not while you’re in your right mind.”

“Now, Nancy, don’t go back on me! I depend on you to talk father over, though he won’t need much argument, I’m sure.”

“Look here, Patty,” and her father spoke seriously; “tell me just what you’re driving at.”

“Only this, Dad. I’ve a chance to go on the stage in a new light opera and I want to go.”

“Whose opera?”

“Do you mean the composer?”

“I do not. I mean the manager or owner, or whoever is getting you mixed up with it.”

“Well, the manager is Mr. Stengel – ”

“Stengel! Why, Patty, he’s a – a real manager!”

“That’s what I said,” and Patty beamed at him. “And he is coming here tonight to see me, – to see us about it.”

“Coming here!”

“Yes, don’t be so overcome. You didn’t know your little goose girl would turn out a swan, did you?”

“But there’s a misapprehension somewhere. You see, Mr. Stengel is not coming here tonight.”

“Yes, he is, I’ve just telephoned that he might.”

“You telephoned Stengel!”

“Well, not directly to him, but I told my friend, Miss Kent, that she might bring him.”

“Who? What friend?”

“Miss Kent. I met her up – down in Maine. She’s a musical – oh, Daddy Fairfield, don’t look as if you’d been struck by lightning!”

“But I have, and I’m trying to crawl out from under the débris. Now the first thing you do, my child, you fly back to that telephone, and call off that little engagement for this evening. Tell your Maine friend that circumstances over which you have no control make it impossible for you to receive her and the illustrious manager this evening.”

“But, Father, – ”

“At once, Patty, please.”

Mr. Fairfield spoke in a tone that Patty had not heard since she was a little girl, but she well remembered it. She rose without a word and did as she was bid.

“Be very gentle with her, Fred,” Nan murmured, as soon as Patty was out of hearing.

“I will,” and Mr. Fairfield flashed a glance of amused understanding at his wife. “Did you know about this thing?”

“Only vaguely. I’ll tell you some other time. But quash the scheme decidedly, won’t you?”

“Rather!”

Patty came back, her face a little flushed, her lips a little pouting, but quite evidently ready for the fray.

“I did as you told me, Father,” she began, “but I think you’ll be sorry for the stand you’ve taken.”

“Perhaps so, girlie, but I don’t want my sorrow to interfere with my digestion. So let’s drop the whole subject till after dinner.”

It had always been a rule in the Fairfield household never to discuss unpleasant subjects at table. So Patty tacitly agreed and during the rest of the meal there was only gay conversation on light matters.

“Now, then,” said Mr. Fairfield, when dinner was over, and the three were cosily settled in the pleasant library, “tell me over again and tell me slow.”

And so, quietly, but still with that air of determination, Patty told about Maude Kent, and the concert at Poland Spring and how Mr. Stengel was interested and wanted to see her with a view to starring her in light opera.

Mr. Fairfield sighed, for he foresaw no easy task in trying to persuade his wilful daughter to his own point of view.

“Patty, dear,” he said, “do you remember when you were a little girl, I gave you a lecture on proportion?”

“I do, Daddy, and I’ve never forgotten it!”

“Well, put it in practice now, then. Can’t you see that it is out of all proportion to think of an ignorant, untrained girl like you stepping all at once into the rôle of a successful prima donna?”

“But more experienced people than you think I can.”

“No, they don’t, dear. This manager knows your limitations, he knows you have no stage lore or experience, and if he wants you, it is only because of your dainty and charming personality, and because there is a certain prestige in the fact of a society girl going on the stage. But, as soon as the novelty was over, he would fling you aside like a worn-out glove.”

“How do you know? You never were a manager?”

“Patty, men of experience in this world don’t have to adopt a profession to know many salient points regarding it. I shall have to ask you to take my word that I do know enough of managers and their ways to know my statement is true. Nor are the managers altogether wrong. It is their business to get performers who interest the public, and they have a right to use their efforts toward that end. But I don’t want my daughter to be sacrificed to their business acumen. Now, will you drop this wild scheme without further argument, or shall we thresh it out further?”

“Why, I’ve no intention of dropping it, Dad,” and Patty looked amazed at the idea.

“Oh, Lord, then I suppose we must go through with the farce. All right, go back to the telephone and have the Stengel man come, right here and now.”

“May I? Oh, Dadsy, I knew you’d give in!”

“Give in nothing! I want to show you what a little ninny you are.”

“Wait a minute,” said Nan, as Patty rose and walked toward the telephone table; “suppose we don’t ask Mr. Stengel, at first, – but just have Miss Kent come and tell us about it.”

“Good!” agreed Mr. Fairfield. “She can’t come alone, – Patty, tell her we’ll send the car for her. I’d like to go straight ahead with this interesting matter.”

So Patty telephoned and Maude Kent said she would come. The car was despatched and in a tremor of impatience Patty waited for her friend’s arrival.

The elder Fairfields made no further allusion to the subject, but talked on other matters till the guest was announced.

Maude Kent bustled in, and greeted Patty effusively, kissing her on both cheeks. She acknowledged introduction to the other two with gay cordiality, and seated herself in the middle of a sofa, flinging open her satin evening wrap. She wore a light-coloured gown, with a profusion of lace and a great deal of jewelry. Patty looked at her a little surprised, for she gave a different impression from the girl she had seen before. She couldn’t herself quite define the difference, but Maude seemed less refined, louder, somehow, here in the Fairfield home, than she had in the big hotel.

And Patty wished she would act more reserved and less chatty and familiar.

“You see, Mr. Fairfield,” Maude ran on, “we just must have our Patty in the profesh. We need her, and I assure you she’ll make good.”

“In just what way, Miss Kent?” asked Fred Fairfield, his keen eyes taking in the visitor’s every move.

“Oh, she can sing, you know; and she’s a looker, all right; and she has charm – oh, yes, decided charm.”

“And is this enough, you think, to assure Mr. Stengel’s giving her, say, a ten-year contract as a prima donna?”

“Well, hardly that!” and Maude laughed, heartily. “You men will have your little joke. But he would give her a good place in the chorus to start with, and doubtless Patty would work up. Oh, yes, she could work up, I feel sure. Patty is not afraid of hard work, are you, dearie?”

“And it is as a chorus girl that Mr. Stengel wishes to engage Patty?” Fred Fairfield’s voice was quiet, but his eyes shot gleams of indignation.

“Why, yes, Mr. Fairfield; she couldn’t expect a higher position at first.”

“And would she be assured of having it in time?”

“If she caught on with the public, – or, if Mr. Stengel took a liking to her personally – ”

“That will do, Miss Kent. I’m sure you will forgive me if I decline to pursue this subject further. My daughter most certainly will not go into any venture of Mr. Stengel’s, or accept any other position on the stage. The incident is closed.”

There was something in Fred Fairfield’s face that forbade the indignant rejoinder Maude Kent was about to make. And it was with a sudden accession of dignity that she rose to her feet and drew her wrap about her.

“Very well,” she said; “it is closed. As a matter of explanation, let me say that my interest in the thing is a legitimately financial one. Mr. Stengel gives me a fair commission on the young ladies I persuade to join his chorus. As I am self-supporting, this means something to me. Moreover, I am personally fond of Miss Fairfield, and I am sorry not to have achieved the triumph of her consent. But since it is impossible, I can only bid you all good evening.”

With the air of an offended queen, Maude Kent swept from the room, and the Fairfield chauffeur took her back to her home.

“Patty, you everlasting little goose!” said Fred Fairfield as he took his daughter in his arms, “forget it! There’s no harm done, and nobody need ever know how foolish you were. Your bubble’s burst, your air castle is in ruins, but your old father is still here to look after you, and laugh with you over your ridiculous schemes. Now, forget this one and start another!”

CHAPTER XII

MIDDY

“Whither away, Patty?” asked Nan, as Patty came downstairs one bright morning in late October, hatted and gowned for the street.

“I’m going out on multifarious errands. First, I shall make a certain florist I wot me of, wish he had never been born. What do you think? I ordered pink chrysanthemums and he sent yellow? Could villainy go further? And then I’ve some small shopping to do. Any errands?”

“No, unless you stop in at the photographer’s and see if my pictures are done.”

“All right I will. By, by.”

Patty got into the big car, with its open top, and drew in long breaths of the crisp autumn air.

“To Morley, the florist’s, first, Martin,” she told the chauffeur.

As they drove down Fifth Avenue, Patty nodded to acquaintances now and then. She was very happy, for she was planning a pleasant outing for her club of working girls, and it greatly interested her. She had long ago gotten over her foolish notion about the stage, and was now able to laugh at the recollection of her silly idea. But she occasionally sang at a concert for charity or for the entertainment of her friends, and her voice, by reason of study and practice, was growing stronger and fuller.

When she reached Morley’s the florist’s doorman assisted Patty from the car, and she went into the shop.

Though she had threatened to reprove him severely for his error about the flowers, Patty was really very polite, and merely called his attention to the mistake, which he promised to rectify at once. Then, selecting a small bunch of violets to pin on her coat, Patty went out.

The doorman, who had been looking in the window, to see when she started, sprang to attention, and then, as Patty stepped toward her car, she stood stock-still in amazement. For there, on the back seat, sat a smiling baby, a chubby rosy-cheeked child about two years old.

“Why, you cunning Kiddy!” exclaimed Patty, “where in the world did you come from? What are you doing in my car?”

The baby smiled at her, and holding out a little white-mittened hand, said: “F’owers? F’owers for Middy?”

“Who is she, Martin?” asked Patty of the chauffeur. “How did she get here?”

Martin looked around. The car was a long one, and he had not turned to look back since Patty went into the shop.

“Why, Miss Patty, I don’t know! Maybe some of your friends left her?”

“No, of course, no one would do that, and besides, I don’t know the child. Who are you, baby?”

“Middy,” said the little one. “I Middy.”

“You are, are you? Well, that doesn’t help much. Who brought you here, Middy?”

“Muddy.”

“Muddy, Middy. Your vocabulary seems to be limited! Well, what shall I do with you?”

The baby gurgled and smiled and reiterated a demand for “f’owers.”

“Yes, you may have the flowers,” and Patty gave her the violets, “but I don’t understand your presence here.”

Apparently it mattered not to the baby what Patty understood, and she smelled the flowers with decided evidences of satisfaction.

Patty turned to the doorman, who had followed her from the shop.

“What do you make of it?” she said.

The man stared. “I don’t know, ma’am. There was no baby in the car when you arrived here.”

“That there was not,” agreed Patty. “Well, how did she get there?”

“I’m sure I’ve no idea, ma’am.”

“Weren’t you here while I was in the store?”

“Yes, ma’am, but I was looking in at you, so’s to be ready to open your car door as soon as you came out.”

“Well, I never heard of anything so queer. I wonder what I’d better do.”

“Shall I call a policeman, ma’am?”

“Policeman? Gracious, no! This is a nice child. See how pretty she is, and how well dressed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Patty looked up and down the street, but saw no one whom she could connect with the baby’s presence. A policeman drew near, and his expression was questioning. He hadn’t realised that there was a strange baby in the case, but he saw the lady was in a dilemma of some sort, and he was about to ask why.

But Patty jumped in the car beside the child, and said, “Home, Martin,” so quickly, that the policeman wandered on without a word.

“It’s ridiculous to take you home, baby,” Patty said; “but what can I do with you?”

“F’owers,” said the little voice, and the stranger offered them to Patty to smell.

“Yes, nice flowers,” returned Patty, absently, as she stared hard at her visitor. “Who are you, dear?”

“Middy, – des Middy,” and the little face dimpled in glee.

“Well, Middy, you’re one too many for me!” and they went on toward home.

“Oh, Nan!” cried Patty, as she took her new friend indoors, “look who’s here!”

“Who is she?” asked Nan, looking up from her book, as Patty deposited the small morsel of humanity on a sofa.

“Dunno. She was wished on me while I was in at Morley’s. Came out of the shop to find her sitting bolt upright in the car.”

“Really? Did somebody abandon her?”

“Can’t say. She wasn’t there, – and then, she was there! That’s all I know. Want her?”

“Certainly not. But what are you going to do with her?”

The stranger seemed to sense a lack of welcome, and putting up a pathetic little red lip, said in tragic tones. “Middy ’ants Muddy.”

“You poor little thing!” cried Patty, catching her up in her arms. “Did your mother put you there?”

“Ess, Muddy frowed Middy in au’mobile. Middy ’ant do home.”

“Where is your home?”

The baby’s face smiled beatifically, but the midget only said “Vere?”

“Don’t you know yourself?” and the baby shook her head.

“It’s clear enough, Patty, somebody has abandoned the little thing. How awful! And such a pretty baby!”

“And beautifully dressed. Look, Nan, see the little white kid shoes, and fine little handkerchief linen frock. And her cap is all hand-embroidered.”

“And her coat is of the best possible quality. Look at the fineness of the cloth.”

“Well, what about it?”

“I can’t make it out. If it were a poor child, I’d think it a case of abandonment. Oh, Patty, I’ll tell you! Somebody kidnapped a rich child, and then they became frightened, and slipped her into your car to save themselves from discovery.”

“Why, of course that’s it! How clever you are, Nan, to think it out! For she is a refined, sweet baby, not a bit like a slum child.”

This was true. The dark curls that clustered on the baby’s brow were fine and soft, her little hands were well cared for, and her raiment was immaculate and of the best. But they searched in vain for any name or distinguishing mark on her clothes. Even the coat and cap had no maker’s tag in them, though it was evident that there had been.

“See,” said Patty, “they’ve ripped out the store tag! The kidnappers did that. Did the bad mans take you, baby?”

“No, Muddy b’ing baby. Des Muddy.”

“Muddy is, of course, her mother. Now, we know her mother never put the child in the car, so I guess we can’t depend on her story.”

“Ess,” and the little one grew emphatic. “Muddy did b’ing Middy. An’ Muddy did put Middy in au’mobile.”

“Well, I give it up. She seems to know what she’s talking about, but I do believe she was kidnapped. We’ll have to keep her for a day or two. It’ll be in the papers, of course.”

“Perhaps she’s hungry, Nan; what ought she to eat?”

“Anything simple. Ask Louise for some milk and crackers.”

But Middy did not seem hungry. She took but a sip of the milk and a mere nibble of the cracker. She seemed happy, and though she beamed impartially on everybody, she said little.

“She ought to have something to play with,” decreed Patty. “There isn’t a thing in the house. I ransacked the attic rooms for that last missionary box. I haven’t any favours or toys left. Nan, I’m going to take her out to buy some, and maybe we’ll meet her distracted mother looking for her.”

“Maybe you won’t! But go along, if you like. I’ll go with you as far as Gordon’s.”

Putting on the baby’s wraps again, Patty started off. The child was delighted to go in the car.

“Nice au’mobile,” she said, patting the cushions.

“Hear her patronising tone!” laughed Nan. “Middy have au’mobile at home?” she inquired.

“No, no,” was the reply as the tiny white teeth showed in a sunny smile.

“You’re a lovely-natured little scamp, anyway,” declared Patty, hugging the morsel to her, and Middy crowed in contentment.

Patty took her to a large toyshop. As they entered, a clerk came forward to wait on them. “What can I show you?” he asked.

“Wait a minute,” said Patty. “Let the baby choose. Now, Middy, what do you like best?”

The child looked around deliberately. Then, spying some dolls, she made a rush for them. “Middy ’ant Dolly-baby! Ess!”

“Very well, you shall have a dolly-baby. This one, or this one?”

“No. ’Reat bid one! See!”

She pointed to the largest doll of all, a very magnificent affair, indeed.

“Oh, that’s too big for a little girl like Middy! Have a dear little, cunning, baby doll.”

But, no, the child was self-willed, and insisted on the big doll.

“Well,” said Patty, “I suppose she might as well have it,” so the big doll was put into the outstretched little arms, and peace reigned.

“An’ a dolly vadon,” the small tyrant went on. This was translated to mean dolly wagon, by the clerk, who was more versed than Patty in baby language.