CHAPTER X
A PLEASANT EVENING
Marian came to dinner, and Frank came with her. As he announced when heentered, he had had no invitation, but he said he did not hesitate onthat account.
"I should think not," said Patty. "I expect all the Elliott family tolive at my house, and only go home occasionally to visit."
So Frank proceeded to make himself at home, and when Mr. Fairfieldarrived a little later and dinner was served, it was a very merry partyof four that sat down to the table.
As Patty had promised her father, the dinner was excellent, and itwas with a pardonable pride that she dispensed the hospitality of herown table.
"What's the dessert going to be, Patty?" asked Frank. "Nightingales'tongues, I suppose, served on rose-leaves."
"Don't be rude, Frank," said his sister. "You're probably causing yourhostess great embarrassment."
"Not at all," said Patty; "I am now such an old, experienced housekeeper,that I'm not disturbed by such insinuations. I'm sorry to disappoint you,Frank, but the dessert is a very simple one. However, you are now aboutto have a most marvellous concoction called 'Russian Salad.' I was alittle uncertain as to how it would turn out, so I thought I'd try ittonight, as I knew my guests would be both good-natured and hungry."
"That's a combination of virtues that don't always go together," said Mr.Fairfield. "I hope the young people appreciate the compliment. To begood-natured and hungry at the same time implies a disposition littleshort of angelic."
"So you see," said Marian, "you're not entertaining these angelsunawares."
"Bravo! pretty good for Mally," said Frank, applauding his sister'sspeech. "And if I may be allowed to remark on such a delicate subject,your salad is also pretty good, Patty."
"It's more than pretty good," said Marian. "It's a howling, screaming,shouting success. I am endeavouring to find out what it's made of."
"You can't do it," said Mr. Fairfield. "I have tried, too; and it seemsto include everything that ever grew on the earth beneath, or in thewaters under the earth."
"Your guesses are not far out of the way," said Patty composedly. "I willnot attempt to deny that that complicated and exceedingly Frenchifiedsalad is concocted from certain remainders that were set away in therefrigerator after yesterday's dinner."
"Who would have believed it?" exclaimed Frank, looking at his plate withmock awe and reverence.
"Materials count for very little in a salad," said Marian, with a wiseand didactic air. "Its whole success depends on the way it is puttogether."
"Now, that's a true compliment," said Patty; "and it is mine, for I madethis salad all myself."
After dinner they adjourned to the library, and the girls fell to makingplans for the Tea Club, which was to meet there next day.
"I do think," said Marian, "it's awfully mean of Helen Preston to insiston having a bazaar. They're so old-fashioned and silly; and we could getup some novel entertainment that would make just as much money, and be alot more fun besides."
"I know it," said Patty. "I just hate bazaars; with their everlastingRebeccas at the Well, and flower-girls, and fish-ponds, and gipsy-tents.But, then, what could we have?"
"Why, there are two or three of those little acting shows that ElsieMorris told us about. I think they would be a great deal nicer."
"What sort of acting shows are you talking about, my children; and whatis it all to be?" asked Mr. Fairfield, who was always interested inPatty's plans.
"Why, papa, it's the Tea Club, you know; and we're going to have anentertainment to make money for the Day Nursery--oh, you just ought tosee those cunning little babies! And they haven't room enough, or nursesenough, or anything. And you know the Tea Club never has done any good inthe world; we've never done a thing but sit around and giggle; and so wethought, if we could make a hundred dollars, wouldn't it be nice?"
"The hundred dollars would be very nice, indeed; but just how are yougoing to make it? What's this about an acting play?"
"Oh, not a regular play,--just a sort of dialogue thing, you know; andwe'd have it in Library Hall, and Aunt Alice and a lot of her friendswould be patronesses."
"It would seem to me," said Frank, "that Miss Patty Fairfield, nowbeing an old and experienced housekeeper, could qualify as apatroness herself."
"No, thank you," said Patty. "I'm housekeeper for my father, and in myfather's house, but to the great outside world I'm still a shy andbashful young miss."
"You don't look the part," said Frank; "you ought to go around with yourfinger in your mouth."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" said Patty. "I shall begin to cultivatethe habit at once."
"Do," said Marian; "I'm sure it would be becoming to you, but perhapshard on your gloves."
"Well, there's one thing certain," said Patty:
"I would really rather put my finger in my mouth than to crook out mylittle finger in that absurd way that so many people do. Why, FlorenceDouglass never lifts a cup of tea that she doesn't crook out her littlefinger, and then think she's a very pattern of all that's elegant."
"I know it," said Marian. "I think it's horrid, too; it's nothing butairs. I know lots of people who do it when they're all dressed up, butwho never think of such a thing when they are alone at home."
"I wonder what the real reason is?" said Patty thoughtfully.
"It is an announcement of refinement," said Mr. Fairfield, falling inwith his daughter's train of thought; "and, as we all know, therefinement that needs to be announced is no refinement at all. Wetherefore see that the conspicuously curved little finger is but anadvertisement of a specious and flimsy imitation of aristocracy."
"Papa, you certainly do know it all," said Patty. "I haven't any words byme just now, long enough to answer you with, but I quite agree with youin spirit."
"That's all very well," said Frank, "for a modern, twentieth-centuryexplanation, but the real root of the matter goes far back into theobscure ages of antiquity. The whole habit is a relic of barbarism.Probably, in the early ages, only the great had cups to drink from. Thesefew, to protect themselves from their envious and covetous brethren,stuck out their little fingers to ward off possible assaults upon theirporcelain property. This ingrained impulse the ages have been unable toeradicate. Hence we find the Little Finger Crooks upon the earth to-day."
"What an ingenious boy you are," said Patty, looking at her cousin withmock admiration. "How did you ever think of all that?"
"That isn't ingenuity, miss, it's historic research, and you'll probablyfind that Florence Douglass can trace her ancestry right back to theaforesaid barbarians."
"I suppose most of us are descended from primitive people," said Marian.
And then the entrance of Elsie Morris and her brother Guy put an end tothe discussion of little fingers.
"I'm so glad to see you," said Patty, welcoming her callers. "Come rightinto the library, you are our first real guests."
"Then I think we ought to have the Prize for Promptness," said Elsie, asshe took off her wraps. "But don't you count Frank and Marian?"
"Not as guests," replied Patty; "they're relatives, and you know yourrelatives--"
"Are like the poor," interrupted Frank, "because they're alwayswith you."
"Then, we are really your first callers?" said Guy Morris.
"No, not quite," said Patty, laughing. "I spoke too hastily when I saidthat, and forgot entirely a very distinguished personage who visited methis morning."
"Who was it?"
"My next-door neighbour, Miss Daggett."
"What! Not Locky Ann Daggett!" exclaimed Elsie, laughing merrily.
"It was Miss Rachel Daggett. I don't know why you call her by that queername," said Patty.
"Oh, I've known her ever since I was a baby, and mother always calls herLocky Ann Daggett, and grandmother did before her. You know Locky is anickname for Rachel."
"I didn't know it," said Patty. "What an absurd nickname."
"Yes, isn't it? How did you like her?"
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"It isn't a question of liking," answered Patty. "She doesn't want me tolike her. All she seemed to care about was to have me promise not tointerfere with her."
"Oh, she's afraid of you," said Guy. "You don't seem so very terrifying,now, but I suppose when you're engaged in the housekeeping of your houseyou're an imposing and awe-inspiring sight."
"I dare say I am," said Patty; "but my neighbour, Miss Daggett, I'm sure,would be imposing at any hour of the day or night."
"She's a queer character," said Elsie. "Have you never seen her before?"
"No; I never even heard of her until she sent up her card."
"Why, how funny," said Marian; "I've always heard of Locky Ann Daggett,but I never knew anything about her, except that she's very old andvery queer."
"She's a sort of humourous character," said Guy Morris; "strong-minded,you know, and eccentric, but not half bad. I quite like the old lady,though I almost never see her."
"No; she doesn't seem to care to see people," said Patty. "She seems tohave no taste for society. Why, I don't suppose she'd care to take partin our play, even if we invited her."
"Oh, what about the play?" said Elsie. "Have you really decided to havea play, instead of that stupid old fair?"
"We haven't decided anything," said Patty, "we can't until the club meetsto-morrow."
"Oh, do have a play," said Frank, "and then us fellows can take part. Wecouldn't do anything at a bazaar, except stand around and buy things."
"And we're chuck-full of histrionic talent," put in Guy. "You ought tosee me do Hamlet."
"Yes," said Frank, "Guy's Hamlet is quite the funniest thing on the faceof the earth. I do love comedy."
"So do I," said Guy, "I just love to play a side-splitting partlike Hamlet."
"Then you may have a chance," said Marian, "for one of the plays we'rethinking about--and it isn't exactly a play either--brings in a whole lotof tragic characters in a humourous way. It's a general mix-up, you know:Hamlet, and Sairy Gamp, and Rip Van Winkle, and Old Mother Hubbard, andeverybody."
"Yes, that's a good one," said Marian; "it's called 'Shakespeare at theSeashore.'"
"The name is enough to condemn that piece," said Mr. Fairfield; "not oneof you can say it straight."
And sure enough, though numerous attempts were made, and much laughterensued, none entirely successful.