Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online DistributedProofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net frompage images generously made available by The HathiTrustDigital Library (https://www.hathitrust.org/)
Patty’s Motor Car
BY
CAROLYN WELLS
AUTHOR OF
TWO LITTLE WOMEN SERIES, THE MARJORIE SERIES, ETC.
GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1911 BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY Published, September, 1911
Printed in U.S.A.
DEDICATED WITH LOVE TO KATHARINE CARLETON
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I AFTERNOON TEA 9
II AN ABLE HELPER 24
III A LECTURE 40
IV THE HUNDREDTH QUESTION 52
V A SUMMER HOME 66
VI THE AWARD 81
VII A NEIGHBOUR 97
VIII SWIFT CAMILLA 110
IX MONA AT HOME 124
X THE COURTESY OF THE ROAD 137
XI THE FIRST ARRIVALS 152
XII A MOONLIGHT RIDE 165
XIII PATTY’S INGENUITY 177
XIV A BIRTHDAY BREAKFAST 190
XV A MORNING SWIM 203
XVI A CHANGE OF PARTNERS 216
XVII A DINNER AND A DANCE 229
XVIII MONA INTERFERES 242
XIX PHILIP’S PICNIC 254
XX A NARROW ESCAPE 267
Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I
AFTERNOON TEA
Patty was curled up in her favourite big easy-chair in her own study.
Though called a study, because it had been used as such during herschooldays, the pretty room was really more like a _boudoir_. Her deskwas still there, but was now filled with programmes, friendly letters,and social correspondence instead of school themes or problems. Thegeneral colouring of the room was green, but the sash curtains of thinyellow silk, and the heap of yellow sofa cushions, did much to lightenthe effect, and gave the room a sunshiny air, even on a dull day. Thecouch, and the two big, soft, cuddly chairs were upholstered inyellow-flowered chintz, and on the pale green walls hung Patty’sfavourite pictures, and many curios or souvenirs of her year spentabroad.
It was the first of March, so the room was brightened both by a bigbowlful of yellow daffodils and a blazing wood fire. The two thingsPatty liked best in life were warmth and colour, and so to-day she wassitting near the fire, with the splendid yellow glory of the daffodilsin full view.
But she was not looking at them, for she was poring over a book. WhenPatty read she usually pored, for she was eager and enthusiastic overany story in which she was interested.
But to-day, she was not reading a story. She pored intently, and then,throwing back her head, she would stare blankly at the ceiling, thinkinghard.
Then, perhaps, she would fly to her bookcase, tumble out two or threebooks, swiftly turn their pages, and then back to her big chair and theoriginal book.
It was a very small book, with a paper cover, but it seemed to be mostengrossing.
Two or three hours passed, and still Patty pored over the little book,rarely turning a page. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her head until thehairpins fell out, and her golden hair fell around her shoulders, asbright a glory as the daffodils. Vacantly she stared into the fire orout of the window, and at last she flung her little book across the roomand exclaimed aloud:
“It’s no use! I can’t do it!”
And then Nan, her pretty stepmother, appeared at the open door.
“Patty!” she cried; “in a kimono! And it’s nearly four o’clock! Don’tyou know it’s my day?”
“Nan,” said Patty, with an anxious look in her eyes, “what is it, ofwhich the poor have two and the rich have none?”
“Gracious, Patty! What a question! I don’t know, I’m sure. Are you goingin for more philanthropy? Because, if so, do wait for a more convenientseason.”
“No; it isn’t philanthropy. It’s——I say, Nan, how could a headless manwrite a letter?”
“He couldn’t.”
“And does a bookworm eat straight through a book, or zigzag?”
“I don’t know. I’ve heard the Bookworm is only a fabled animal, like agriffin. Or, no; I think it’s an extinct species, like the Dodo.”
“Oh, Nan! You are so deliciously ignorant.”
“No more so than you, or why do you ask me these things? Now, Patty,stop this nonsense, and get dressed. What _are_ you doing, anyway?”
“Oh, Nan, the loveliest scheme ever! Let me tell you about it.”
“No, not now. I must go down to the drawing-room. And you must followjust as soon as you can. Do you hear?”
“Yes, I hear, you old Loveliness. But just tell me when London——”
But Nan had run away from the fire of questions, and Patty drew herselfup out of her chair, stretched and yawned like a sleepy kitten, and thenproceeded to make her toilette with expedition and despatch.
But as she sat in front of her dressing table, piling her gold hair intoa soft crown above her pretty face, she frowned at her own reflection.
“You’re a stupid idiot,” she informed herself. “You don’t know anything!And you haven’t an ounce of brains! Now, _what_ is it of which the poorhave two, the rich have none, schoolboys have several, and you have one.Well, I can’t think of a thing but mumps or measles; and, of course,they’re not the answer, and you couldn’t have one measle, anyhow.”
As she dressed, Patty took hasty glances in the little book, and finallyshe left her room and walked slowly downstairs, murmuring, “Divide nineinto two equal parts, which, added together, make ten.”
But when she reached the drawing-room door, all the puzzling problemsflew out of her mind, and she went in gracefully to greet Nan’s guests.
As Patty was not yet out in society, she did not have her name on thecard with her stepmother’s, but she always assisted Nan in receiving,and informally asked a number of her own friends to call, too.
This was Nan’s last reception day for the season, so it was a littlemore elaborate than others had been.
Patty wore an embroidered white _chiffon_, which delicate materialclouded bows and bands of pale-blue satin. It was a lovely frock, andjust suited Patty’s blonde fairness. She went around among her mother’sfriends, greeting them with pretty courtesy, and chatting easily withthe
m. But, after a time, her own young friends came, and, with the twoFarringtons and Kenneth Harper, Patty went to the library, where theycould be by themselves.
Soon, Mr. Hepworth came, bringing Christine Farley.
Christine had been in New York only a few weeks, but already she hadlost much of her painful shyness, and, though still easily embarrassedby the presence of strangers, she usually managed to preserve her poiseand self-control.
She greeted Patty with shining eyes, for the Southern girl was warmlyaffectionate, and adored Patty.
“And are you all settled, now, Christine, and ready to receive callers?”Patty asked.
“Yes, I am. I have a lovely room; not large, but sunny and pleasant, andI will gladly welcome you there at any time. And Mr. and Mrs. Bosworthare such kind people. Oh, I shall be very happy there.”
“And the work?” asked Mr. Hepworth. “How does that come on?”
“It’s all right,” said Christine, soberly, but nodding her head withsatisfaction.
Though shy in society, she was most practical and unembarrassed abouther art study. Not over-conceited, but perfectly aware of the extent ofher own talent, and also of her own ignorance. And she had a calmdetermination to improve the one and conquer the other.
Christine was pretty, in her soft Southern way. She was small, anddainty in all her effects. Her oval face was serious, almost sad in itsexpression, but, if she were interested in a subject, it would light upinto sudden beauty.
Her clothes betokened her artistic tastes, and she never wore dresses ofthe fashionable type, but soft, clinging gowns in dull, pastel colours.A bit of old embroidery or unusual jewelry added an effective touch, andChristine always looked well dressed, though her clothes cost far lessthan Patty’s. The two girls were absolutely unlike, and yet they werefast becoming great friends. But Christine possessed almost no sense ofhumour, and Patty feared she could never be really chummy with any onewho lacked that.
Elise was not very fond of Christine, for she didn’t understand her atall, and secretly thought her rather stupid. But the boys, Roger andKenneth, liked the Southern maiden, with her soft, pretty accent, and,of course, Mr. Hepworth was her friend.
So the whole group was fairly congenial, and they formed a pleasantlittle circle in the library, to drink their tea.
“Sorry I’m late,” said a cheery voice, and Philip Van Reypen joinedthem.
“Oh! how do you do?” cried Patty, jumping up to greet him. “Miss Farley,may I present Mr. Van Reypen? I think the rest are all acquainted.”
There were general greetings all round, and then Philip took his placewith the rest.
“My aunt is here,” he said, to Patty. “A little later, perhaps, shewants to meet Miss Farley.”
“So she shall,” said Patty, remembering Miss Van Reypen’s offer to helpChristine in some way. “Will you have tea?”
“Will I have tea?” echoed Philip. “That’s exactly what I’m here for.Please, yes.”
“Then here you are,” said Patty, handing him a cup; “and, incidentally,do you know how a bookworm goes through a book?”
“Ugh! what an unpleasant subject,” said Elise, with a shrug of hershoulders. “Patty, do talk of something else.”
“I can’t,” said Patty, solemnly; “I _must_ know about the manners andcustoms of a well-conducted bookworm.”
“Do you mean a real bookworm, or a studious person?” asked Mr. Hepworth,who often took Patty’s questions very seriously.
“I mean the—the entomological sort,” said Patty, “and I’m in deadearnest. Who knows anything about the bookworms that really destroybooks?”
“I do,” announced Kenneth, “but nothing would induce me to tell. Theirsis a secret history, and not to be made known to a curious world.”
“Pooh!” said Roger, “that’s all bluff. Patty, he doesn’t really knowanything about the beasts. Now, I do. A bookworm is a grub.”
“No,” said Philip, “the book is the bookworm’s grub. And pretty dryfodder he must often find it.”
“I know what you’re going to do, Patty,” said Kenneth, in an aggrievedvoice; “you’re going to set up a pair of pet bookworms in place of Darbyand Juliet. Please understand that I am distinctly offended, and Iprophesy that your new pets won’t be half as interesting as thegoldfish.”
“Wrong again, Ken,” returned Patty; “no new pets could ever be so dearto my heart as those sweet, lovely goldfish. But, if you people don’ttell me about bookworms, I’ll have to look in the Encyclopædia; and, ifthere’s anything I do hate, it’s that. Christine, aren’t you up onbookworms?”
“No,” said Christine, in a shy whisper. She couldn’t yet becomeaccustomed to the quick repartee and merry nonsense of these Northernyoung people.
“I used to have a pet bookworm,” began Roger, “but he got into acook-book and died of dyspepsia.”
“Tell us what it’s all about, Patty?” said Mr. Hepworth, seeing she wasreally serious in her questioning.
“Why, it’s a puzzle,—a sort of conundrum. This is it. Suppose a historyin three volumes is placed upon a bookshelf. Suppose each volumecontains just one hundred pages. And suppose a bookworm, starting atpage one of volume one, bores right straight through the books, coversand all, to the last page of volume three. How many leaves does he gothrough, not counting fly-leaves, or covers?”
“Patty, I’m surprised at you,” said Roger. “That’s too easy. He goesthrough the three hundred pages, of course.”
“It does seem so,” said Patty, with a perplexed look, “but, as you say,that’s too easy. There must be a catch or a quibble somewhere.”
“Well,” said Elise, “I never could do a puzzle. I don’t know why a hengoes across the road, or when is a door not a door. But you’re a bornpuzzlist, Patty, and, if you can’t guess it, nobody can.”
“Elise, you’re a sweet thing, and most complimentary. But I know youhave no talent for puzzles, so, my dear child, I’m not asking you. But,you men of brains and intellect, can’t you help me out? I’m sure there’sanother answer, but I can’t think what it would be.”
“Why, Patty,” said Mr. Hepworth, thoughtfully, “I think Roger is right.If the bookworm goes through all three volumes, he must go through threehundred pages, mustn’t he?”
“No, indeed!” cried Christine, her shyness forgotten, and her eyesshining as she constructed the picture of the books in her mind’s eye.“Wait a minute; yes, I’m sure I’m right! He only goes through onehundred pages. He goes only through the second volume, you see!”
Elise looked at Christine a little disdainfully.
“You don’t seem to have heard the conditions,” she said. “The bookwormbegins at the first page of the first volume and goes through to the endof the last one.”
“Yes, I heard that,” said Christine, flushing at Elise’s tone, which wasdistinctly supercilious. “But, don’t you see, when the books are set upon a shelf, in the usual manner, the first page of the first volume ison the right, just up against the last page of the second volume.”
“Nonsense!” cried Elise.
“But it is so, Miss Farley!” exclaimed Philip Van Reypen. “You’ve struckit! Look, people!”
He turned to a bookcase, and indicated three volumes of a set of books.
“Now, see, the first page of volume one is right against the last pageof volume two. So the first page of volume two is up against the lastpage of volume three. Now, what does Mr. Bookworm do? He starts here, atthe first page of volume one. He doesn’t go backward, so he doesn’t gothrough volume one at all! He goes through volume two, and, as soon ashe strikes volume three, he strikes it at the last page, and his task isdone, his journey is over. He has fulfilled the conditions of theoriginal question. See?”
They did see, after awhile, but it was only the ocular demonstrationthat proved it, for the facts were hard to describe in words.
Elise flatly refused to see it, saying it made her head ache to try tounderstand it.
“But it was v
ery clever of Miss Farley to reason it out so soon,” saidPhilip.
“Yes, wasn’t it?” agreed Patty. “I didn’t know you had a bent forpuzzles, Christine.”
“I haven’t. But that doesn’t seem to me like a puzzle. I can’t doarithmetical problems, or guess charades at all. But this seems to me apicture of still life. I can see the insides of the books in my mind,and they are wrong end to,—that is, compared to the way we read them.You see, they really stand in the bookcase with the pages numberedbackward.”
“Bravo, Christine; so they do!” said Mr. Hepworth. “Patty, that’s theanswer, but, I confess, I was ’way off myself.”
“So say we all of us,” chimed in Roger. “I can only see through it, partof the time, even now.”
“I think it a most clever catch question,” said Philip Van Reypen.“Where did you find it, Miss Fairfield?”
“In a little book of puzzles; I’m trying to guess them all.”
“Let me help you, won’t you? I’m a shark on puzzles. I slipped up onthis one, I admit; but I can do the ‘transposed, I am a fish’ kind, justlovely.”
“Ah, but my bookful isn’t that kind. They’re all of a catchy ordifficult sort.”
“Well, let me try to help, mayn’t I?” Mr. Van Reypen’s voice was gay andwheedlesome, and Patty responded by saying, “Perhaps; some time. But nowI must take Miss Farley in to see Mrs. Van Reypen.”
These two were mutually pleased with each other, as Patty felt sure theywould be.
Mrs. Van Reypen assumed her kindest demeanour, for she saw Christine wasexcessively shy. She talked pleasantly to her, drawing her outconcerning her life work and her life plans, and ended by asking thegirl to call on her some afternoon, soon.
Then she went away, and Patty drew Christine into a corner tocongratulate her.
“It’s fine!” she declared. “If Mrs. Van Reypen takes you up, she’ll dolovely things for you. She’ll have you at her house, and you’ll meetlovely people, and she’ll take you to the opera! Oh, Christine, do benice to her.”
“Of course I shall. I liked her at once. She isn’t a bit patronising.But, Patty, your friend Elise is. I don’t know why, but she doesn’t likeme.”
“Nonsense, Christine, don’t you go around with thinks like that underyour pompadour! Elise is all right. She isn’t such a sunny bunny as Iam, but she’s a lot wiser and better in many ways.”
“No, she isn’t! She’s selfish and jealous. But I’m going to be nice toher, and, perhaps, I can make her like me, after all.”
“I should say you could! Everybody likes you, and anybody who doesn’tsoon will!”