Patty Blossom

"I don't want to be managed,—I can manage myself," Patty smiled, roguishly. "But since you ask me, Phil, no, I don't think you do know how to manage me,—not the least little mite!"

"Teach me then, dear. I'll do just what you say."

"All right. First, you must not scold me if I like people whom you don't like."

"Oh, hang! I had forgotten all about those bumptious lumps! Why remind me?"

"Because it's a case in point. If you care for me, you must care for the things or people that I care for."

"But, Patty,—since you've brought up the subject, let's have it out. You can't like those humbugs,—those fake brainsters,—those sap-head pharisees–"

"Phil, suppose you stop calling them names, which mean nothing, and tell me just what it is you have against them."

"There's everything against them, Patty, and nothing for them. They pretend to wisdom, knowledge, and genius that they don't possess. They fake up a lot of patter talk and pass it off for philosophy, or psychology, or lord knows what! And there isn't an ounce of brains in the whole fool bunch of them! That's what makes me mad! They fool you into believing their drivel is wisdom, and it isn't!"

"How do you know? You haven't such a lot of that sort of knowledge yourself."

"What sort of knowledge?"

"Soul lore–"

"Patty! Don't you ever use the word soul in the silly way they do! You have a soul, of course,—an immortal soul. But they don't mean that. By soul, they mean a puffball of hifalutin ideas, of nonsense about the occult and psychic, and all that balderdash. Oh, Patty, my little girl, don't let those idiot people carry away your common sense and your plain everyday sanity! Don't, I beg of you!"

"Look here, Phil," and Patty stared at him, thoughtfully; "I'm to give you an answer to a certain question in about a fortnight, I believe."

"You are, my Blessed Darling! To be exact, on the fifteenth of December, this present month, you are to admit,—blushingly, if you like, but unequivocally,—that I'm the one man in the world for you."

"Don't be too sure. Do you suppose I can love a man who differs so in opinion on this matter of—of psychology–"

"Yes, you blessed goose! You sure can! For, you see, this poppycock,—I beg your pardon,—this poppychology is but a flash in the pan, a rift in the lute, a fly in the ointment. Ahem, I'm getting poetical now! Well, in a short space of period, you will have forgotten all this rubbish,—er,—soul-rubbish, you know,—and you'll be thinking only of how glad you are that you love me and I love you,—just as Mona and Roger are, in these blissful days before their marriage. Oh, Patty, you are going to marry me, aren't you, dear? I can't stand it, if you say no."

Patty looked at him, and a troubled expression filled her blue eyes.

"I don't know, Philip. Honestly, I don't know. But it seems to me if I am going to love you such a lot two weeks from now, I ought to care more than I do now."

"Oh, that's all right, darling. It'll come all at once. Why, some day, you'll suddenly discover you love me with every bit and corner of your dear little blessed heart, and you'll wonder that you only just realised it."

"I don't know, Philip. I hope it will be like that—but I don't know."

"Don't worry about it, dear, it will be all right," and Van Reypen smiled into the anxious eyes upraised to his.

CHAPTER VI

A SOCIETY CIRCUS

"Of course I could do it," Patty agreed, "and I will, if you say so, Elise. I don't care a lot about it, but if everybody is going in for the game, I am, too."

"Yes, do, Patty; it's just in your line, and you can do it a whole lot better than that girl did last year,—you know whom I mean, Ethel."

"Yes, Ray Rose–"

"Ray Rose," said Patty, "what a pretty name!"

"Pretty girl, too," said Ethel Merritt, who was calling at Pine Laurel. "Also, she isn't going to like it any too well to have Miss Fairfield take her part."

"Oh, is it her part?" asked Patty; "then I won't take it."

"Yes, you will. It's all right. Nobody wants her and everybody wants you."

The subject under discussion was a "Society Circus" to be performed by the young people of Lakewood, and of great interest to all concerned.

It was a few days after the Spring Beach trip. Mona had gone back home and Philip also, and Roger was in New York. Elise was greatly enthusiastic over the circus plan, and was managing committees, and arranging details in her usual capable fashion. The affair was a charity benefit under the auspices of a philanthropic society that gave some such entertainment every winter. Patty, always ready for any gaiety, was preparing to take part, though the scheme was a new one to her. She had never been in a society circus, and wanted the matter thoroughly explained.

"It isn't much to explain, Miss Fairfield," Ethel said; "you see, everybody is an animal or a clown or a bareback rider, or something that belongs to a circus. Bob Riggs is ringmaster, and they all obey him. He's awfully funny, and whatever he has to do with, is sure to be a success."

"Tell me more about my part," said Patty; "how do I dress?"

"Well, you see, you're Mlle. Hooperino, and you do fancy dancing and jump through paper hoops–"

"What! Oh, I can't do that!"

"Yes, you can; Bob will show you how. Why, anybody who dances as you do, can do anything of that sort. And your costume is anything you like, in the way of tulle skirts, lots of 'em, and a satin bodice, laced up, you know, and a dinky little cap, and,—oh, anything you think fetching and attractive."

"It sounds fun," Patty agreed, "but what about Miss Rose? I don't want to disappoint her; will she feel annoyed?"

"She sure will! But never mind that. As soon as Bob saw you dance the other night, he said you were the one for the part. You must do it."

"And Ray Rose hasn't been asked this year," put in Elise. "She can't resent your taking what she never had."

"She will, though," declared Ethel. "She looks upon that part as hers, and she won't like Miss Fairfield's having it one bit. But that doesn't matter. What Bob says, goes; and that's all there is about that!"

They talked over the costumes and dances until every question was settled, and Ethel went away with Patty's promise to do what was requested of her.

"But I don't like it," Patty demurred, "on account of that Rose girl.

What is she like, Elise?"

"Oh, she's the jolliest thing in the world. She won't get mad at you,—she isn't that sort. But I know what she will do. She'll try to 'get even,' you know,—do something to pay you out for stealing her glory."

"What'll she do?"

"Oh, I don't know. Some practical joke, like as not. She's a sort of kid, although she's nineteen years old."

"All right, if she's that sort, I'm not afraid of her. I thought she was haughty and sarcastic."

"Oh, no, nothing like that. She's full of mischief and awfully good-natured. But she'll resent Bob's putting you in her place. Don't think of it, Patty. It's all a trifle. She'll have some other part, just as good."

"Very well, I'll turn me thinks toward me frock. What say to pale blue tulle, with silver lace by way of trimmin's?"