Patty's Friends — Background and Themes

Patty was almost eighteen, and though not allowed quite the untrammelled freedom she would have had in America, she was not kept so utterly secluded as English girls of her age. Sometimes she would go all alone to Westminster Abbey or to the National Gallery, and enjoy hugely a solitary hour or two. At other times, Nan or her father, or some girl friend, would go with her.

The Fairfields had begun their stay in London with only a few friends, but these had introduced others, until now their circle of acquaintances was large, and the immediate result of this was a sheaf of invitations in every mail. For, during the season, Londoners are hospitable folk, and give entertainments morning, noon, and night. At first, the Fairfields had thought they would take a house, and so have a home of their own. But Mr. Fairfield concluded that if Nan had the duties of a housekeeper, her trip would not be a holiday, so he declared they would live at a large hotel, and thus have a chance to observe the gay life of London.

And so cosy and comfortable were their apartments at the Savoy, that they soon began to feel quite at home there. And Patty, as we all know, was one who could adapt herself to any mode of living.

Of a naturally happy and contented disposition, she accepted everything as it came, and enjoyed everything with the enthusiasm so often seen in American girls.

It greatly amused her to note the differences between herself and the English girls.

To her mind, they seemed to have no enthusiasm, no enterprise, and little capacity for enjoyment, while Patty enjoyed every experience that came to her, whether a visit to Windsor Castle, a day at Stratford, or a simple afternoon tea in their own rooms.

"I seem to have been set back two or three years," she said to Nan, one day. "In New York I was almost a full-fledged young lady, but over here, I'm treated as a little girl."

"It doesn't matter," said Nan, sensibly. "You are what you are, and if the different countries choose to treat you differently, it doesn't matter, does it?"

"Not a bit. I'm Patty Fairfield, and I'm almost eighteen, whether I'm in California or the Fiji Islands. But it does amuse me, the way the Londoners think we live at home. They really believe American ladies go to market in the morning, loaded down with diamonds. You don't often see that in New York, do you, Nan?"

"No, I don't think I ever saw a New York matron wearing elaborate jewelry to market. But then I never go to market myself, and I don't know many people who do. I think that bediamonded marketer story is an old tradition, which is really pretty well worn out."

"And the London ladies needn't talk, anyway. If we did wear jewels to market, it wouldn't be a bit more absurd than the way they dress to go shopping in the morning. Long, trailing, frilly gowns of pink and blue chiffon, with swishing lace-ruffled petticoats, that just drag through the dirt of the streets."

"Now aren't you criticising them as unfairly as they describe us?"

"No, for what I say is true. I've seen them fluttering about. And, anyway, I don't mean to be mean. I like them lots. I just love the London ladies, they're so kind to me, and invite me to such lovely things. Of course I don't care if they choose to wear garden-party clothes along Bond Street. We all have some ridiculous ways."

Pretty Patty was fond of pretty clothes, and the shops of Bond Street held great attractions for her, though she herself wore a real tailor-made costume when shopping. At first, Nan had exercised a supervision over her purchases, but Patty had shown such good taste, and such quick and unerring judgment as to fabrics and colors, that it had come about that Patty more often advised Nan in her choosing, than the other way.

And so, many a pleasant morning was spent in the beautiful London shops, buying things they wanted, looking at things they did not want, or noting with interest the ways and means peculiar to English shopkeepers.

Thus the days went happily by, and they had already been more than a fortnight in London, while as yet their plans for future travel were unmade. Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield wanted to go to Germany, Switzerland, and other countries, but Patty didn't care so much for that as for English country, or small nearby towns. So the matter was left unsettled, though short and desultory discussions were held now and then.

But oftener their minds were taken up with the doings of the moment, and they complacently left the future to itself.

"Well, then I think I'll go to the musicale," said Patty. "What would you wear?"

"That new light blue chiffon of yours, with the lace bolero, is just the thing."

"Yes, and my new broad-leafed chip hat, with the roses piled all over it."

Patty ran away to her own room, and after a time returned in the pretty summer costume.

"How do I look?" she asked, smilingly, of Nan.

Nan smiled back at the lovely vision, for Patty's vanity was of a mild and innocent sort, and was rather a childish delight in dainty colors and fabrics, than any conceit over her own beauty.

For beautiful Patty certainly was, in a sweet, wholesome, girlish way, and not the least of her charms was her naturalness of manner and her entire lack of self-consciousness.

She looked especially winning in the light, filmy dress, and the big hat, weighed down with roses.

"You look all right, Patty," answered Nan. "That's a duck of a frock, and suits you perfectly. Are you going alone?"

"Yes; father says I may go alone in our own carriage to any afternoon thing. The Hartleys will bring me home, so sha'n't I send the carriage back for you?"

"Yes, I wish you would. I'm going to a tea or two, and then we're dining out. You're to dine with the Hartleys, aren't you?"

"Yes, if it is dinner. It's more likely to be schoolroom tea. Mabel Hartley is sixteen, but I doubt if she's allowed at dinner yet."

"Nonsense, of course she is. Well, then, if they're sending you home, Louise needn't go after you?"

"No; they'll send somebody. Good-bye, Nan."

"Good-bye, Patty. Have a lovely time."

"Oh, yes; I always do."

Away went Patty and her frills, and when she reached Chesterton Mansions, she was soon established under the wing of her hostess, Mrs. Hastings.

That lady was very glad to have the pretty American girl as her guest, and she introduced Patty to so many people that it was almost bewildering. But after a time, the music began, and Patty was glad to sit still and listen.

It was very fine music, for that is the sort that Londoners usually offer at their teas, and Patty thoroughly enjoyed the singing and the violin-playing. She was a little afraid that Mrs. Hastings would ask her to sing, but as it was a programme of professionals this did not happen.

When the Hartleys came, Mabel at once made her way to Patty's side and sat down by her.

"I'm so glad to see you again," she said, "and it's so lovely that you're going home with us."

"I'm glad, too," returned Patty, "it was lovely of you to ask me."

Mabel Hartley was an English girl, and was about as different from Patty as could well be imagined, and perhaps for this reason the two were very good friends. Although they had met only a few times, they liked each other from the beginning, and both were ready to continue the friendship.

Mabel was large and stout, with the solidity which characterises the British young girls. She was large-boned and not very graceful, but she carried herself with a patrician air that told of past generations of good-breeding. Her complexion was of that pure pink and white seen only on English faces, but her pale, sandy hair and light blue eyes failed to add the deeper color that was needed. Her frock was an uninteresting shade of tan, and did not hang evenly, while her hat was one of those tubby affairs little short of ridiculous.

Patty fairly ached to re-clothe her, in some pretty clear color, and a becoming hat.

The girls were politely silent while the music was going on, but in the intervals between the numbers they chattered glibly.

"That's Grace Meredith and her brother Tom just coming in," said Mabel. "I hope they'll come over here; you'll like them, I know."

The Merediths did come over, and were promptly introduced to Patty.

"Do you know," said Tom Meredith, as he shook hands in cordial, boyish fashion, "you're the first American girl I've ever met."

"Am I, really?" laughed Patty. "Now don't ask me if we always wear our diamonds to market, for truly the American women who go to market rarely have any diamonds."

"I never believed that diamond story, anyway," responded Tom, gravely, "but I'm glad to have you tell me it isn't true. I'm perfectly unprejudiced about America, though. I'm ready to believe it's the best country in the world, outside of our own little island."

"Good for you!" cried Patty. "Then I'm ready to acknowledge that I like England next best to America."

"Have you been here long?" asked Grace.

"No, only about two weeks, but I love London better every day, and I know I shall love the English country. Just the glimpse I caught coming in the train from Dover was delightful."

"You should see the Hartleys' country place," declared Tom, with enthusiasm. "It's a ripping old house, two hundred years old, and all that. And such parks and orchards! Well!"

"I hope you will come to see it, Patty," said Mabel, a little wistfully, and Patty wondered why the girl's tone had in it a note of sadness.

But just then, as the music was over, Mrs. Hastings asked them to go to the tea-room, and the group of young people followed in her wake.

"You girls sit here," said Tom, selecting a jolly-looking alcove, with window-seats and red cushions, "while I stalk some food."

He was back in a few moments, followed by a waiter, who brought a tray of teacups and plates of sweet cakes.

Tom, himself, bore triumphantly a covered silver dish.

"Muffins!" he announced, in a jubilant voice. "Hot, buttered muffins! Crickets, what luck!"

The hot muffins, buttered and quartered, were indeed delicious, and England and America seemed at one in showing an appreciative appetite for them.

"We don't have these in America," said Patty, surveying her bit of muffin with admiration. "We have good sandwiches, though."

"We almost never have sandwiches," said Grace.

"You don't need to," said Patty, quickly. "Your wonderful bread and butter is too good to be spoiled with a sandwich filling of any sort."

"'Most all things are good eating at an afternoon tea," observed Tom. "Somehow, at five o'clock I'm always so hungry I could eat a brickbat if it were toasted and buttered."

"Afternoon tea is really an acquired taste with us," said Patty. "You seem to have it naturally, even when you're alone, but we only have it when we have guests."

"Really?" said Mabel, in astonishment. "Why, we'd as soon think of omitting breakfast or dinner as tea."

"It's a lovely meal," said Patty, giving a little sigh of satisfaction, as her last crumb of muffin disappeared. "Such good things to eat, and then it's so cosy and informal to sit around in easy chairs, instead of at a big table."

"But the ideal place for tea is on the lawn," said Tom. "The open air and the trees and birds and flowers are even a better setting for it, than an interior like this."

"I hope I shall have that kind this summer," said Patty. "I'm invited to several country houses, and I know I shall enjoy it immensely."

"Indeed you will," said Mabel, and again Patty thought she detected a shade of sadness in her friend's eyes.

But if Mabel was not exactly gay, Grace Meredith made up for it. She was full of fun and laughter, and both she and Tom made comical speeches until Patty feared she would disgrace herself laughing.

"What's the joke?" asked Mrs. Hartley, coming to collect her young people and take them home.

"Tom is making verses about the people here," explained Grace. "Tell Mrs. Hartley the one about the violinist, Tom."

"Don't think it's rude, Mrs. Hartley," said young Meredith; "truly, it isn't meant to be. But for that classic-browed genius, with his chrysanthemum of tawny-colored hair, isn't this a pleasant token of regard and esteem?

"This is our latest social lion, So, to look modest, he's tryin' and tryin'."

"It's very beautiful," said Mrs. Hartley, smiling, "and I daresay Professor Prendergast would enjoy it himself, were he to hear it."

"He might," said Tom, doubtfully, "but musicians rarely have a sense of humour, at least, about themselves."

"That's true," agreed Mrs. Hartley, "and now, Mabel and Miss Fairfield, we must be going on."

Good-byes were soon said, and in the Hartleys' carriage Patty was taken away to her first visit in an English home.

Much to Patty's satisfaction Mabel Hartley was in the habit of dining with her elders and was not condemned to "schoolroom tea."

The family was not large, consisting only of Mrs. Hartley, her mother, Mrs. Cromarty, her two sons, and Mabel. The sons, Sinclair and Robert, were big, stalwart fellows, a few years older than Mabel.

Patty liked them at once, for they were cordial and hearty in their greetings, and quite at ease in their conversation.

"I say, Mater," began Bob, after they were seated at dinner, "there's a stunning garden-party on at Regent's Park next week. Don't you think we can all go? Tickets only two shillings each."

"What is it, my son? A charity affair?"

"Yes. Rest cure for semi-orphans, or something. But they've all sorts of jolly shows, and the Stagefright Club is going to give a little original play. Oh, say we go!"

"I'll see about it," answered Mrs. Hartley. "Perhaps, if we make up a party, Miss Fairfield will go with us."

"I'd love to," said Patty. "I've never seen a real English garden party."

"Oh, this isn't a real English garden party in the true sense," said Sinclair. "To see that, you must be in the country. But this is a public London garden party and typical of its sort. You'll like it, I'm sure. Will you go with us, Grandy?"

At first it seemed incongruous to Patty to hear the dignified Mrs. Cromarty addressed by such a nickname, but as she came to know her better, the name seemed really appropriate. The lady was of the class known as _grande dame_, and her white hair and delicate, sharply-cut features betokened a high type of English aristocracy. Her voice was very sweet and gentle, and she smiled at her big grandson, as she replied:

"No, my boy; I lost my taste for garden parties some years ago. But it's a fine setting for you young people, and I hope Emmeline will take you all."

"Mother said she'd see about it," said Mabel, "and that's always the same as 'yes.' If it's going to be 'no,' she says, 'I'll think it over.'"

"It's a great thing to understand your mother-tongue so well," said Patty, laughing; "now I shouldn't have known those distinctions."

"We have a wonderful talent for languages," said Sinclair, gravely. "Indeed, we have a language of our own. Shall I teach it to you?"

"You might try," said Patty, "but I'm not at all clever as a linguist."

"You may not learn it easily, but it can be taught in one sentence. It consists in merely using the initial of the word instead of the word itself."

"But so many words begin with the same initial," said Patty, bewildered at the idea.

"Yes, but it's ever so much easier than you'd think. Now listen. Wouldn't you understand me if I said: 'D y w t g t t g p?'"

"Say it again, please, and say it slowly."

Sinclair repeated the letters, and Patty clapped her hands, crying: "Yes, yes, of course I understand. You mean 'Do you want to go to the garden party?' Now, listen to me while I answer: Y I w t g i i d r."

"Good!" exclaimed Mabel. "You said: 'Yes, I want to go, if it doesn't rain.' Oh, you are a quick pupil."

"But those are such easy sentences," said Patty, as she considered the matter.

"That's the point," said Bob, "most sentences, at least, the ones we use most, _are_ easy. If I should meet you unexpectedly, and say H d y d? you'd know I meant How do you do? Or if I took leave, and said G b, you'd understand good-bye. Those are the simplest possible examples. Now, on the other hand, if I were to read you a long speech from the morning paper, you'd probably miss many of the long words, but that's the other extreme. We've talked in initials for years, and rarely are we uncertain as to the sense, though we may sometimes skip a word here and there."

"But what good is it?" asked Patty.

"No good at all," admitted Bob; "but it's fun. And after you're used to it, you can talk that way so fast that any one listening couldn't guess what you are saying. Sometimes when we're riding on an omnibus, or anything like that, it's fun to talk initials and mystify the people."

"D y o d t?" said Patty, her eyes twinkling.

"Yes, we often do that," returned Bob, greatly gratified at the rapid progress of the new pupil. "You must be fond of puzzles, to catch this up so quickly."

"I am," said Patty. "I've guessed puzzles ever since I was a little girl. I always solve all I can find in the papers, and sometimes I take prizes for them."

"We do that too," said Mabel; "and sometimes we make puzzles and send them to the papers and they print them. Let's make some for each other this evening."

After dinner the young people gathered round the table in the pleasant library, and were soon busy with paper and pencils. Patty found the Hartleys a match for her in quickness and ingenuity, but she was able to guess as great a proportion of their puzzles as they of hers.

After amusing themselves with square words and double acrostics, they drifted to conundrums, and Bob asked:

"Which letter of the Dutch alphabet spells an English lady of rank?"

"That's not fair," objected Patty, "because I don't know the Dutch alphabet."

"That doesn't matter," said Mabel, "you can guess it just as well without."

"Indeed I can't, and besides I don't know the names of all the English ladies of rank."

"That doesn't matter either," said Sinclair, smiling; "it spells a title, not a name; and one you know very well."

"I can't guess it, anyway," said Patty, after a few moment's thought. "I give it up; tell me."

"Why, Dutch S," said Bob, and Patty agreed that it was a good catch.

"Now, I'll catch you," said Patty. "You all know your London pretty well, I suppose, and are familiar with the places of interest. Well, Mabel, why is your nose like St. Paul's?"

Mabel thought hard, and so did the boys.

"Is my nose like St. Paul's, too?" asked Bob, thoughtfully, stroking his well-shaped feature.

Patty looked at it critically. "Yes," she said, "and so is Sinclair's. But why?"

At last they gave it up, and Patty said, triumphantly, "Because it is made of flesh and blood."

They all screamed with laughter, for they quickly saw the point, and realised that it was the historic character referred to, and not the cathedral.

"Here's one," said Sinclair: "Where did the Prince of Wales go on his eleventh birthday?" But Patty was quite quick enough for this. "Into his twelfth year," she answered promptly. "And now listen to this: A man walking out at night, met a beggar asking alms. The man gave him ten cents. He met another beggar and gave him fifteen cents. What time was it?"

"Time for him to go home," declared Bob, but Patty said that was not the right answer.

"Springtime," guessed Mabel, "because the man was in such a good humor."

"No," said Patty, "it was quarter to two."