Patty's Motor Car

“No, not a lot. But it comes natural to me to know what things harmonise in a household. Of course, I’ve never studied it, – it’s a science; now, you know. But, if I didn’t want to take up illustrating seriously, I would try decorating.”

“Oh, illustrating is lots nicer, – and it pays better, too.”

“I don’t know about that. But Mr. Hepworth says I will make a name for myself as an illustrator, and so I know I shall.”

Patty laughed. “You have as much faith in that man as I have,” she said.

“Yes; I’ve implicit faith in his judgment, and in his technical knowledge.”

“Well, I’ve faith in him in every way. I think he’s a fine character.”

“You ought to think so, Patty. Why, he worships the ground you walk on.”

“Oh, Christine, what nonsense!” Patty blushed rosy-red, but tried to laugh it off. “Why, he’s old enough to be my father.”

“No, he isn’t. He’s thirty-five, – that’s a lot older than you, – but, all the same, he adores you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that, Christine,” said Patty, with a new note of hauteur in her voice. “Mr. Hepworth is my very good friend, and I look up to him in every way, but there is no affection or any such foolishness between us.”

“Not on your side, perhaps; but there is on his.”

“Well, if you think so, I don’t want to hear about it. When you talk like that, it just goes to spoil the nice pleasant friendship that Mr. Hepworth and I have had for years.”

“It isn’t the same as you have for Roger Farrington and Kenneth Harper.”

“It is! Just the same. Except that Mr. Hepworth is so much older that I never call him by his first name. The others were my school chums. Look here, Christine, we’re going to be very good friends, you and I, – but, if you talk to me like that about Mr. Hepworth, you’ll queer our friendship at its very beginning. Now, quit it, – will you?”

“Yes, I will, Patty. And I didn’t mean any harm. I only wanted you to know Mr. Hepworth’s attitude toward you.”

“Well, when I want to know it, I’ll discover it for myself, or let him tell me. You must know, Christine, that I’m not bothering about such things. I don’t want affection, as you call it, from any man. I like my boy friends, or my men friends, but there’s no sentiment or sentimentality between me and any one of them? Are you on?”

“On what?” asked Christine, a little bewildered at Patty’s emphatic speech.

“On deck,” said Patty, laughing at Christine’s blank expression and changing the subject with promptness and dexterity.

CHAPTER VI

THE AWARD

Patty was in high spirits. It was the twentieth of April, and it was almost time for the postman to call on his afternoon round. The two Farringtons and Kenneth were present, and all eagerly awaited the expected letter, telling the result of the Prize Contest.

“Just think,” said Patty, “how many anxious hearts all over this broad land are even now waiting for the postman, and every one is to be disappointed, except me!”

“I believe you enjoy their disappointment,” said Elise.

“You know better, my child. You know I hate to have people disappointed. But, in this case, only one can win. I’m glad I’m that one, and I’m sorry for the others.”

“S’pose you don’t win,” observed Roger; “what will you do?”

“There’s no use s’posin’ that, for it can’t happen,” declared Patty, turning from the window, where she had been flattening her nose against the glass, in a frantic endeavour to catch a first glimpse of the belated postman.

“But, just for fun,” urged Kenneth, “just for argument’s sake, if you didn’t get that prize, what would you do?”

“I wouldn’t do anything. I’d know the company that offered it was a fake, and had gone back on its own promise.”

“Patty, you’re incorrigible!” said Ken. “I give you up. You’re the most self-assured, self-reliant, cocksure young person I ever saw.”

“Thank you, sir, for them kind words! Oh! sit still, my heart! Do I hear that familiar whistle at last?”

“You do!” shouted Kenneth, making a spring for the front door.

They all followed, but Kenneth first reached it, and fairly grabbed the letters from the astonished letter-carrier.

Returning to the library with his booty, he ran them over slowly and tantalisingly.

“One for Mrs. Fairfield,” he said. “From a fashionable tailor. Do you suppose it’s a dun? Or, perhaps, merely an announcement of new spring furbelows. Next, one for Mr. Fairfield. Unmistakably a circular! No good! Ha! another for Mrs. Fairfield. Now, this – ”

“Oh, Ken, stop!” begged Patty. “Have pity on me! Is there one for me?”

“Yes, yes, child. I didn’t know you wanted it. Yes, here’s one for you. It is postmarked ‘Vernondale.’ Take it, dear one!”

“Nonsense, Ken. Not that one! But isn’t there one from the Rhodes and Geer Motor Company?”

“Why, yes; since you mention it, I notice there is such a one! Do you want it?”

Kenneth held it high above Patty’s head, but she sprang and caught it, and waved it triumphantly in the air.

“I told you so!” she cried.

“But you haven’t opened it yet,” said Elise. “Maybe it only tells you you’ve failed.”

“Hush, hush, little one!” said Patty. “I’ll show it to you in a minute.”

Accepting the letter-opener Kenneth proffered, she cut open the envelope, and read the few lines on the typewritten sheet enclosed. She read them again, and then slowly refolded the sheet and returned it to its envelope.

“After all,” she said, calmly, “it is well to be of a philosophical nature in a time of disappointment.”

“Oh, Patty, you didn’t win!” cried Kenneth, springing to her side, and grasping her hand.

“No, I haven’t won,” said Patty, with a heart-rending sigh.

“I thought you were terribly positive,” said Elise, not very kindly.

“I was,” sighed Patty. “I was terribly positive. I am, still!”

“What are you talking about, Patty?” said Roger, who began to think she was fooling them. “Let me see that letter.”

“Take it!” said Patty, holding it out with a despairing gesture. “Read it aloud, and let them all know the worst!”