CHAPTER VIII
A REAL POEM
"It's simply absurd of you, Patty," said Elise, as they reached homeafter the circus, "to let Ray Rose off so easily. She cut up anawfully mean trick, and she ought to be made to suffer for it."
"Now, now, Elise, it's my own little kettle of fish, and you must keepout of it. You see, it makes a difference who does a thing. If RayRose were an intimate friend of mine, I should resent her performanceand make a fuss about it. But she is such a casual acquaintance,--why,probably I shall never see her again after I go away fromLakewood,--and so I consider it better judgment to ignore her sillyprank, rather than stir up a fuss about it."
"I don't agree with you, you're all wrong; but tell me the whole story.What did she do?"
"You see, she was determined to do that hoop dance, and the only wayshe could think of, to get me out of it, was to get me over to herhouse and lock me up there. It was a slim chance I had of getting out,but I managed it. She called me over by telephone, and then locked mein her bedroom. How did she get my clothes?"
"Sent a maid over here, saying that you were at her house and wantedyour costume sent over. I thought you were helping her, in your usualidiotic 'helping hand' way, and I sent the dress and all thebelongings."
"Well, of course, I knew nothing about all that. So, I suppose thelittle minx dressed herself and put on the long cloak and walked off.She is boss in her own home, I know that, and, as I learned later, herfather and mother were out to dinner, so she ordered the servants topay no attention to any call or disturbance I might make. I sized itup, and I felt pretty sure no screaming or yelling or battering at thedoor would do any good, so I pondered on a move of strategy. But Icouldn't think of anything for a long time, and had just about made upmy mind to spend the evening there, when I made one desperate attemptand it succeeded. I wrote a note to Sarah to come over there and sayshe had to give me a certain medicine at that hour, or I would be ill.And I told her to wear a thick veil and a long cloak. She did allthis, and I just slipped into her cloak and hat and veil and came outthe door in her place, leaving her behind. They thought it was Sarahwho came out, of course."
"Fine! Patty, you're a genius! How did you get the note to Sarah?"
"Tied it to Ray's hairbrush and threw it at the feet of a young man whowas going by. On the outside I wrote, 'Please take this quickly toSarah Moore at George Farrington's,' and gave the address. I added,'Hurry, as it is a matter of tremendous importance!' And I'd like toknow who that young man was."
"Where's the hairbrush?"
"Sarah brought it back with her, and left it where it belongs. I knewit might be broken or lost, but I could have replaced it, so I tookthat chance. And nothing else seemed just right to throw."
"But, Patty, it was an awful thing for Ray to do to you."
"Oh, don't fuss, Elise. Consider the circumstances. I had given herpermission, in a sort of way, to keep me from that stunt if she could,and she had said, 'If I do, remember you said I might.' So you see,she was within her rights, in a way, and beside, I tell you I don'twant to stir up a hornets' nest about it. The incident is beneathnotice; and, do you know, I can't help admiring the girl's daring andingenuity."
"Oh, you'd admire a Grizzly Bear, if he succeeded in eating you up!You're a good-natured goose, Patty."
"Maybe. But I know the difference between a foolish prank and a realoffence, that must be resented. You're the goose, Elise, not to seehow silly it would be to raise a row against a girl who means nothingto me, and whom I shall never see again after this visit is over."
"All right, Pattikins, have it your own way. Ray Rose is a sort of lawunto herself, and she has lots of friends who would take her part."
"It isn't that, exactly. If I wanted to raise the issue, I'm sure myside of the matter would be the side of right and justice. But itisn't worth my time or trouble to take it up. And, then, I did tellher to go ahead and outwit me, if she could, so there's that on herside. Now, Elise, about going home. I must go soon, for I want to bein New York a week before the wedding, and you do, too."
"Yes, I do. Suppose we stay down here for the skating party day aftertomorrow, and then go to New York the day after that."
"I think so. Your mother will be going up about then, and the dayswill fairly fly until the fifteenth. It seems funny to think of Rogerbeing married, doesn't it? He's such a boy."
"I know it. Mona seems older than he, though she isn't."
"A girl always seems older than a man, even of the same age. I want tohave 'a shower' for Mona before the wedding."
"Oh, Patty, a shower is so--so----"
"So chestnutty? I know it. But Mona wants it. Of course she didn'tsay so right out, but I divined it. It isn't that she wants thepresents, you know, but Mona has a queer sort of an idea that she musthave everything that anybody else has. And Lillian Van Arsdale had ashower, so Mona wants one, and I'm going to give it for her."
"All right. What kind?"
"Dunno yet, but something strikingly novel and original. I shall setmy great intellect to work on it at once, and invite the people bynotes from here, before I go back to New York."
"All right, my lady, but if you don't get to bed now, you'll be paleand holler-eyed tomorrow, and that will upset your placid vanity."
"Wretch! As if I had a glimmer of a trace of a vestige of that deadlysin!"
The girls were very busy during the last few days of Patty's stay inLakewood. There were many matters to attend to in connection with theapproaching wedding. Also, Patty had become a favourite in the socialcircle and many parties were made especially for her.
And the day before their departure, Elise gave a little farewell tea,to which were bidden only the people Patty liked best.
The Blaneys were there, and, capturing Patty, Sam took her from thelaughing crowd and led her to a secluded alcove of the veranda. It wasa pleasant nook, enclosed with glass panes, and filled with ferns andpalms.
"Sit thee down," said Blaney, arranging a few cushions in a long lowwicker chair.
"I'm glad to," and Patty dropped into the seat. "I do think teas arethe limit for tiring people out."
"You oughtn't to waste yourself on teas. It's a crime," and Blaneylooked positively indignant.
"What would be the proper caper for my indefatigable energy?"
"You oughtn't to be energetic at all. For you, just to _be_, isenough."
"Not much it isn't! Why, if I just be'd, and didn't do anything else,I should die of that extreme bored feeling. And, it isn't like you torecommend such an existence, anyway."
"I shouldn't for any one else. But you, oh, my lily-fair girl, you areso beautiful, so peerless----"
"Good gracious, Mr. Blaney, what has come over you?" Patty sat upstraight, in dismay, for she had no intention of being talked to inthat vein by Sam Blaney.
"The spell of your presence," he replied; "the spell of yourbeauty,--your charm, your----"
"Please don't," said Patty, "please don't talk to me like that! Idon't like it."
"No? Then of course I'll stop. But the spell remains. The witcheryof your face, your voice----"
"There you go again! You promised to stop."
"How can I, with you as inspiration? My soul expands,--my heart beatsin lilting rhythms, you seem to me a flame goddess----"
"Just what is a flame goddess?" interrupted Patty, who wanted togiggle, but was too polite.
"I see your soul as a flame of fire,--a lambent flame, with tongues ofred and yellow----"
And now Patty did laugh outright. She couldn't help it. "Oh, my soulhasn't tongues," she protested. "I'm sure it hasn't, Mr. Blaney."
"Yes," he repeated, "tongues, silent, untaught tongues,--but withunknown, unvoiced melodies that await but the torch of sympathy tosound, lyrically, upon the waiting air."
"Am I really like that? Do you think I could voice lyrics, myself? Imean it,--write poetry, you know. I've always wanted to. Do you thinkI c
ould, Mr. Blaney?"
"I know it. Unfolding one's soul in song is not an art, as somesuppose, to be learned,--it is a natural, irrepressible expression ofthe inner ego, it is a response to the melodic urge----"
"Oh, wait a minute, you're getting beyond me. What do all these thingsmean? It's so much Greek to me."
"But you want to learn?"
"Yes; that is, I'm interested in it. I always did think I'd like towrite poetry. But I don't know the rules."
"There are no rules. Unfetter your soul, take a pencil,--the wordswill come."
"Really? Can you do that, Mr. Blaney? Could you take a pencil,_now_,--and just write out your soul, and produce a poem?"
Patty was very much in earnest. Sam Blaney looked at her, the eagerpleading face urged him, the blue eyes dared a refusal, and thehovering smile seemed to doubt his ability to prove his own proposition.
"Of course I could!" he replied. "With you for inspiration, I couldwrite a poem that would throb and thrill with the eternal heart of theradiance of the soul's starshine."
"Then do it," cried Patty; "I believe you, I thoroughly believe you,but I want to see it. I want the poem for myself. Give it to me."
Slowly Blaney took a pencil and notebook from his pocket. He satgazing at her, and Patty, fairly beaming with eager interest, waited.For some minutes he sat, silent, almost motionless, and she began togrow restless.
"I don't want to hurry you," she said, at last, "but I mustn't stayhere too long. Please write it now, Mr. Blaney. I'm sure you can doit,--why delay?"
"Yes, I can do it," he said, "but I want to get the highest, thedivinest inspiration, in order to produce a gem worthy of youracceptance."
"Well, don't wait longer for that. Give me your second best, if needbe,--only write something. I've always wanted to see a real, true poetwrite a real true poem. I never had a chance before. Now, don't daredisappoint me!"
Patty looked very sweet and coaxing, and her voice was earnestlypleading, not at all implying doubt of his ability or willingness.
Still Blaney sat, thoughtfully regarding her.
"Come, come," she said, after another wait, "I shall begin to think youcan't be inspired by my presence, after all! If you are, genius oughtto burn by this time. If not, I suppose we'll have to give it up,--butit will disappoint me horribly."
The blue eyes were full of reproach, and Patty began to draw her scarfround her shoulders and seemed about to rise.
"No, no," protested Blaney, putting out a hand to detain her, "amoment,--just a moment,--stay, I have it!"
He began to scribble rapidly, and, fascinated, Patty watched him.Occasionally he glanced at her, but it was with a faraway look in hiseyes, and an exalted expression on his face.
He wrote fast, but not steadily, now and then pausing, as if waitingfor the right word, and then doing two or three lines withouthesitation. Finally, he drew a long sigh, and the poem seemed to befinished.
"It is done," he said, "not worthy of your acceptance, but made foryou. Shall I read it to you?"
"Yes, do," and Patty was thrilled by the fervour in his tones.
In the soft, low voice that was one of his greatest charms, Blaney readthese lines:
"I loved her.--Why? I never knew.--Perhaps Because her face was fair; perhaps because Her eyes were blue and wore a weary air;-- Perhaps . . . perhaps because her limpid face Was eddied with a restless tide, wherein The dimples found no place to anchor and Abide; perhaps because her tresses beat A froth of gold about her throat, and poured In splendour to the feet that ever seemed Afloat. Perhaps because of that wild way Her sudden laughter overleapt propriety; Or--who will say?--perhaps the way she wept."
The lovely voice ceased, and its musical vibrations seemed to hover inthe air after the sound was stilled.
"It's beautiful," Patty said, at last, in an awed tone; "I had no ideayou could write like that! Why, it's real poetry."
"You're real poetry," said Blaney, simply, as he put the written paperin his pocket.
"No, no," cried Patty, "give it to me. It's mine. You made it for meand it's mine. Nobody ever made a real poem for me before. I want it."
"Oh, nonsense, you don't want it."
"Indeed I do. I must have it."
"Will you promise not to show it to anybody?"
"'Course not! I'll show it to everybody!"
"Then you can't have it. I'm sensitive, I admit, but I can't bear tohave the children of my brain bruited to the world----"
"I haven't a notion what bruited means, but I promise you I won't dothat. I'll keep it sacredly guarded from human eyes, and read it tomyself when I'm all alone. Why, Mr. Blaney, it's a wonderful poem.I've simply got to have it, and that's all there is about that!"
"I give it to you, then, but don't,--please don't show it to thehilarious populace. It is for you only."
"All right. I'll keep it for me only. But I haven't half thanked youfor it. I do appreciate it, I assure you, and I feel guilty because Iunderrated your talent. But perhaps it is because I saw you do it,that I care so very much for it. Anyway, I thank you."
Patty held out her hand in genuine gratitude, and, taking it gently,Blaney held it a moment as he said, "I claim my reward. May I come tosee you in New York?"
"Yes, indeed, I'll be awfully glad to have you. And Alla must come,too. I'll make a party for you as soon as the wedding is over. Willyou be at that?"
"At the reception, yes. And I shall see you there?"
"Of course. I say, Mr. Blaney, why don't you write a wedding poem forMiss Galbraith? She'd love it! She wants everything for her weddingthat can possibly be procured."
"No. A poem of mine cannot be ordered, as from a caterer!"
"Oh, forgive me! I didn't mean that. But, I thought you might writeone, because I asked you."
"No, Miss Fairfield. Anything you want for yourself, but not forothers. A thousand times no! You understand?"
"Yes, of course. I oughtn't to have asked you. But I'm so delightedwith this poem of mine, that I spoke unthinkingly. Now, I must runaway; Elise is beckoning frantically, and I daresay the guests aretaking leave of me, and I'm not there! Good-bye, Mr. Blaney, until wemeet in New York. And thank you more than I can say for your gift,your ever-to-be treasured gift."
"It is my privilege to have offered it and for me to thank you for theopportunity."