CHAPTER XIEXPERIENCES
As a society the Grigs prospered.
The next meeting was at Clementine’s, and was a very busy and merry one. Patty had never been to Clementine’s home before, and she was delighted with the large beautiful house, and also with Clementine’s mother, who was a sweet-faced, pleasant-mannered lady, and who reminded her a little bit of Aunt Alice.
After the members had all arrived, Clementine took them to a room on the third floor which was her own especial domain.
“We always call it the play-room,” she said, “because it was my play-room when I was a little child. Lately I’ve tried to have them call it studio, or library, or even den; but somehow the old name sticks and we always say—play-room.”
The room itself was most attractive, with books, and games, and toys in abundance. In the middle of the room was a long low table, and the girls gathered about this eager to begin the work they had planned to do. For though only their second meeting, the Grigs had arranged during the week many plans for the furtherance of the ends and aims of their club.
So Clementine had provided scissors and paste, pencils and sewing materials, and soon the work was in progress.
Some made scrap-books, with muslin leaves, while others cut out bright-coloured pictures to paste in these books.
These were intended for the children in a certain nearby hospital.
“Of course,” said Editha Hart, “these scrap-books are no novelty. Every girl I’ve ever known has made muslin scrap-books for hospitals at some time in her life. But these are different, because they’re filled with really funny pictures.”
“Yes,” said Mary Sargent, “I’ve seen the scrap-books some girls make. The pictures are usually advertising cards, or else stupid old black-and-white things that couldn’t amuse anybody. These coloured supplement pictures are certainly funny, if they aren’t the very best type of high art.”
“If they make the children laugh, our work is accomplished,” said Patty.
“What we want to do,” said Clementine, “is to make two smiles grow where one grew before.”
“Clementine is a walking Literature Class, isn’t she?” said Flossy Fisher, admiringly; “we had something like that in the lesson yesterday. But where are the peanuts? Did anyone bring any?”
“Yes, here’s a bagful,” said Adelaide; “hurry up and get them together, while I make the pig-tails.”
Flossy’s task was the making of funny little Chinese dolls by stringing peanuts together; while Adelaide braided coarse black thread into little queues for them, and Hilda made fantastic costumes out of Japanese paper napkins.
Editha was engaged in producing wonderful effects, with nothing but sheets of cotton-wadding and a box of water-colour paints. She deftly rolled, tied and draped the material into a comical doll, and then cleverly painted features, hair, hands and dress trimmings, until the whole was a work of art.
“Now, you know,” said Hilda, after all the girls had settled down to work, “we’re to tell our experiences during the week, in the way of helping along the gaiety of the nation. Patty Fairfield, what have you done to make somebody else as merry as a Grig?”
“Well,” said Patty, apologetically, “I really haven’t had many opportunities, though I tried hard to make some. The trouble is, my family and most of my friends are merry, anyhow, and they don’t need any chirking up. And of course I couldn’t go out into the highways and hedges. But I had one experience which I think will count, and I’ll tell you about it. I was going up in the elevator yesterday, and I stood next to a lady, whom I know slightly. Her name is Miss Dennison and she lives in The Wilberforce. She is a writer or something—anyway, she makes speeches at women’s conventions or club meetings. Well, she never is very merry-looking, but yesterday she looked cross enough to bite a ten-penny nail into ten pennies. I was almost afraid to get into the elevator for fear she’d snap my head off; and the elevator boy was positively quaking in his boots.”
“I know that Miss Dennison,” said Adelaide; “she’s most awe-inspiring. I think she’s a Woman’s Rights Suffragist, or whatever you call them.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” said Patty, “and yesterday, although she didn’t say anything, I could see at a glance that she was in a terrible temper about something. So it struck me all of a sudden that here was a chance to scatter a little merriment her way, and see if she’d pick it up. So I just said, ‘What are you laughing at, Miss Dennison?’ and then I began to laugh.”
“I don’t see how you dared,” said Editha. “What did she say?”
“Why, at first she looked at me in amazement, and then, as I was chuckling with laughter, somehow she had to smile, too. And really, girls, when she smiles she looks almost pretty. Well, by that time we had reached our floor, so we both got off and walked along the hall together. ‘Laughing!’ she said, and she glared at me fearfully; ‘indeed I’m not laughing! I’m angry enough to—to——’ and she was so angry she couldn’t think what she was angry enough to do. The more excited she got, the more I laughed, partly because I wanted to make her laugh, too, and partly because she was so funny. When we reached her apartment she was still blustering and informing me how angry she was, though I had no idea what it was all about. Then she said: ‘Just come in here a minute and I’ll show you—and see if you wouldn’t be angry, too!’ So she took me into her room and there on the bed lay the most beautiful dress you ever saw. It was black lace, with spangles all over it, and twists of orange-coloured velvet here and there. ‘Look at that!’ she cried, ‘look at that!’ So I looked at it and I laughed some more, and I said: ‘Why, it’s a beautiful gown; I don’t see anything about that to make you so angry.’ And then she said: ‘Oh, you don’t, don’t you? Well, just let me tell you that my dressmaker has just sent it home; and I expected to wear it this evening, when I’m to make an address at a meeting of the Federation. And I can’t wear it!’ Girls, the tragickness of her face and voice as she said that really made me stop laughing. I said: ‘Why not?’ in an awe-struck whisper. Then she explained that it didn’t fit; it was too long in the waist and too short in the skirt, and too tight in the neck, and too loose in the sleeves; maybe I haven’t the details just right, but anyhow everything seemed to be the matter with it. So you see it was a clear case for our society to deal with, and I set to work. First I found out that she really couldn’t wear it, and that she had just come home from the dressmaker’s, and the dressmaker had said that it couldn’t be refitted for last evening, though it could be done later. So I asked her what other gowns she had to wear, and she showed me heaps of them. So then I just made fun of her; I don’t know myself how I dared do it, but I really teased her. I told her that for a woman who was interested in such great subjects as suffragists and things like that, to care what dress she wore was perfectly ridiculous. And I told her that any of those other gowns would do just as well, and she knew it. And I told her that later she could have this new one fixed over and address some other meeting in it. And I joked and giggled, until somehow she really got into a good humour, and said she supposed her heliotrope velvet would do just as well, after all. And when I came away she was awfully nice and she thanked me and said I was a real Mark Tapley. And now, my fellow-Grigs, I hate to confess my ignorance, but can any of you tell me what is a Mark Tapley?”
Hilda Henderson stared at Patty in amazement.
“Do you really mean,” she said, “that you don’t know Mark Tapley? Why, he’s one of Dickens’ characters.”
“Well, you see,” said Patty, “I never read but three of Dickens’ books, and he wasn’t in those. What did he do?”
“Why, he’s a character in ‘Martin Chuzzlewit’; and he’s a man who was always jolly under any circumstances. The more depressing the situation, the jollier he grew. He said it was no credit to anybody to be jolly when everything went right; the great feat was to be jolly when things went wrong.”
“I like him,” said Patty, decidedly; “he was a true Grig; and I’d like to know more of him. I’ll tell you what, girls, some time let’s read about him aloud at one of our meetings.”
“Yes, we will,” agreed Hilda; “but I say, Patty, I think your performance with Miss Dennison was fine. If you could make that sour-visaged spinster laugh, you needn’t ever be afraid to tackle anybody. Now, Flossy, you come next. What have you been up to this week?”
“My experience isn’t as interesting as Patty’s,” said Flossy; “I tried it on Grandpa. He lives with us, you know, and he has the gout. Sometimes it’s worse than others, and this week he had an awful attack, and, jiminy crickets, if he wasn’t cross! Now, generally when he gets rampageous I just keep out of the way; but this time I thought I’d play Grig. So I staid around, and when he burst forth in his angry tantrums I just laughed and said some foolish, funny thing that had nothing to do with the case. I read up the comic papers to get jokes to spring on him, and once or twice I read him funny stories out of the magazines. It didn’t always succeed, but lots of times Ididget him into a better temper, and once he said I made him forget the pain entirely.”
“That’s a very nice experience, Flossy, and I think you were lovely,” said Clementine, in her impulsive way; “I really believe our society is going to do good in the world as well as other missionaries. Now I’ll tell what I did. There’s nobody in our house that’s cross, except the cook; and she is a terror. Why, positively, mamma doesn’t dare cross her the least bit. She’s not only quick-tempered and has a habit of flying into fearful rages, but she’s sullen and ill-natured right along. Well, a few nights ago mamma was giving a dinner-party and she wanted awfully to give Nora some directions how to do some things. But she knew Nora wanted to do them another way, and she just didn’t dare tell her to change.”
“I wouldn’t have such a cook as that!” exclaimed Adelaide, indignantly.
“Yes, you would,” said Clementine, “if she was perfect every other way. Mamma puts up with her temper because she’s such a good servant. Well, anyhow, I went down into the kitchen that morning and cracked a few jokes with Nora, and she has the real Irish sense of humour, so I got her laughing until she was for the time being in a good-natured, amiable frame of mind. Then I ran upstairs and told mamma that if she went down quick, before the effects wore off, I believed she could make Nora do anything she wanted her to. And, sure enough, Nora was still smiling when mamma went down, and she took the orders as meek as a lamb, and mamma was so pleased.”
“You’re all right, Clementine,” said Editha; “but you see we’ve lived in The Wilberforce and we don’t have any servants of our own, and of course we can’t joke and giggle with the hotel servants. So Adelaide and I thought we’d try it on Jeannette, because she certainly is a cross child. And then somehow that seemed sort of mean, for quite often Adelaide and I are cross, too. We don’t mean anything, but we just snip each other, and the other snaps back, and it isn’t very nice. So all three of us decided to jolly each other, and now whenever one of us says anything cross, the other two begin to giggle, and first thing we know we’re all laughing.”
“Good for you, girls!” cried Patty, clapping her hands; “I’ve always said the Harts were the nicest girls I know, except that they were so snippy toward each other. Goodness me! I believe this society is going to make angels of us all. Now, Mary Sargent, it’s your turn. What’s your thrilling tale?”
“It isn’t very thrilling,” said Mary, “but it’s the best I could do. You see we live in an apartment hotel, too, and I haven’t anybody that needs cheering up. But one day I noticed that the chambermaid was a most sad and forlorn-looking individual. So when she comes into the rooms mornings now I laugh and joke with her a little, and it seems to do her good. She’s pleasanter in every way and even if she comes in glum she always goes out smiling. She’s a Swede, or something like that, and I can’t always understand what she says, but the other day I gave her a calendar I had with funny pictures on it, and to-day she told me that she looks over the whole twelve every morning and then when she thinks of them through the day it makes her laugh.”
“That’s a rudimentary sense of humour,” said Clementine, laughing, “but it seems to be a step in the right direction. Let the good work go on, Mary; I thought you’d take it more seriously than the rest of us and very likely you’ll accomplish the most.”
Mary Sargent was a shy girl and she blushed at Clementine’s praise, but her eyes twinkled with humour, and Clementine said she was a dear and the very merriest Grig of them all.
CHAPTER XIIA VISIT TO THE HOSPITAL
“Well,” said Hilda, “I’m not sure that I ought to be president of the Grigs, after all, for I have to confess that I couldn’t find anybody to make fun for except our old cat. But if you could see her, I’m sure you’d agree that she’s a worthy object. She’s so old that she’s both blind and deaf; and she’s so melancholy that it’s enough to make you weep to look at her. I amused her and played with her and tried to make her think she was a kitten again; but it was no go, and I finally had to resort to one of those patent catnip-balls. That worked like a charm, and in a few moments she was rolling around in glee and cutting up all sorts of antics. So you see what perseverance will accomplish.”
“Far be it from me,” said Patty, “to criticise the deeds of our worthy president; and I suppose cats want some fun in their lives as well as people.”
“They ought to have nine times as much,” said Hilda, “for they have nine lives and we have only one.”
“I’ve nothing more to say,” said Patty; “our president has quite justified herself, and her effort was nine times as meritorious as any of ours.”
“Well, I think the whole thing is fun,” said Clementine, “and next week I mean to do something startling. I think I’ll go and call on our minister. He is the solemnest man I know and I’d just like to see if hecouldlaugh. I’ll take ‘Alice In Wonderland,’ and read aloud to him, and see if I can make him smile.”
“Lewis Carroll was a clergyman himself,” said Hilda; “so probably your minister is familiar with his works.”
“Probably he isn’t,” returned Clementine; “you don’t know our minister. I don’t believe he ever read anything more frivolous than ‘Foxe’s Book of Martyrs’ or the ‘Lamentations of Jeremiah.’ ”
“Then do go,” said Flossy, “and I’ll go with you. It would take two of us to make a man like that smile. But I’ve finished this scrap-book, and my! but it’s a pretty one. Observe those yellow daffodils on the cover and the lion under them. That’s a most humorous decoration, besides being artistically beautiful.”
“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Editha, looking at the book Flossy held up so proudly. “It’s enough to make a cat laugh!”
“Then I’ll send it home to Hilda’s cat,” said Flossy quickly; “it may help to brighten one of her nine sad lives.”
By this time it was nearly noon, and though they had enjoyed the work, the girls were nevertheless pleased when they saw a maid come in at the door with a large tray which held seven cups of cocoa and piled-up plates of sandwiches.
“Do you know that tray makes me laugh more than these scrap-books, with all their side-splitting pictures,” said Clementine.
“Yes, it’s the merriest thing I’ve seen this morning,” said Adelaide; “it really puts me in quite a good humour; I wouldn’t even be cross with Editha just now.”
The Grigs did full justice to Mrs. Morse’s hospitality, and then that lady herself came into the play-room.
She was most enthusiastic over the girls’ morning work and quite agreed that they were true missionaries in their chosen field.
“And now,” she said, “I have an omnibus at the door and if you’ll all bundle into it I’ll take you around to the hospital; for the matron telephoned that we might come to-day between twelve and one o’clock. I have been hunting up a lot of comic papers and humorous books to take along; and I have some flowers, too, for there are some people who are too ill to read, but who can be cheered by fresh blossoms.”
Patty looked admiringly at Mrs. Morse, who was a lady after her own heart, and more than ever she felt reminded of Aunt Alice.
The girls gathered up their scrap-books and dolls and toys and found to their delight that they had a large basketful.
Downstairs they went, donned their hats and coats and started for the hospital.
The big roomy vehicle held the eight easily, and they laughed and chattered in a fashion quite suited to their avowed character.
Mrs. Morse had explained the situation to Miss Bidwell, the hospital matron, and that good lady was pleased to see the seven merry Grigs.
Cautioning them to be quiet while going through the halls, she led them to the convalescent ward, where a score or more wan-faced children looked at them wonderingly.
The girls had arranged their programme beforehand. Standing in the middle of the room, where all the little patients could see her, Flossy recited some funny poetry. Her happy, smiling face and her comical words and gestures proved quite as amusing as the girls had hoped, and the little sick children laughed aloud in glee.
Then Clementine sang some nonsense-songs, and after that Hilda told a funny story. Hilda was a born mimic and her representation of the different characters pleased the children greatly.
After this the girls went around separately to the various little cots, and talked to the invalids personally. There were so many of the children that in order not to neglect any, the interview was necessarily short with each one. But there was time for a little merry conversation with each, besides presenting the gifts they had brought.
Patty was particularly attracted by a little boy about eight years old, who had broken his leg. The little fellow’s face was white and drawn with suffering, and his sad eyes made him seem far older than he really was. Instinctively, Patty made up her mind to bring all the pleasure and merriment into that child’s life that she possibly could; and just because he seemed to be the forlornest specimen of humanity present, she resolved to make him her special charge. His name, he said, was Tommy Skelling, and his leg had been broken in a trolley accident. But it was a compound fracture, and caused the boy almost continuous pain and suffering. It seemed especially pathetic even to try to make the little chap laugh, but Patty felt sure that diversion would do him more good than sympathy. So she told him the funniest story she knew, and picked out the funniest scrap-book for him. She was rewarded by finding him very appreciative, and succeeded in making him forget his pain for the moment, and laugh heartily at her fun.
As the girls were taking leave Tommy confided to Patty his opinion of the club.
“You’re the nicest one,” he said, “but,” pointing a skinny little finger at Flossy, “she’s the prettiest. And she,” indicating Clementine in the same way, “she’s the grandest; but she’s nice. You’re all nice, and I hope you’ll come again soon, and I wish I could have one of those peanut doll-babies.”
Luckily, there was an extra doll left, and it was given to Tommy, who laughed outright at the grotesque toy.
“Well, that performance was certainly a screaming success,” said Adelaide, as they were all in the omnibus going home.
“It was, indeed,” said Mrs. Morse, “and I think you girls are to be congratulated on your good work.”
“Somehow, it just happened,” said Patty; “we began this society more with the idea of having fun ourselves, and now the main object seems to be to make fun for others.”
“I think we can do both,” said Flossy, “and next week I want you all to come to my house, and not bring any work. We can make scrap-books and things at some meetings, but next time we’re just going to play.”
“That’s all right,” said Hilda, suddenly assuming her presidential air. “Of course we’re not going to work at every meeting. But remember, through the week we’re to scatter all the fun we can, and liven up the world in general. And I’ll try to find somebody besides a cat next time.”
Mrs. Morse and Clementine went around with the girls, and left each one at her home.
Patty went flying in to her own apartment in quest of Grandma.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “we had a perfectly lovely meeting, and Mrs. Morse is a dear! She took us to the hospital in an omnibus, and we made all the little sick children laugh, and they enjoyed it ever so much, and so did we. I wish papa would come home; I want to tell him all about it.”
“He isn’t coming home to-day,” said Grandma Elliott, smiling at the excited appearance of her young charge; “you’ll have to wait until Monday before you can tell him.”
“Oh,” cried Patty, “he’s gone to Philadelphia! to see Nan! How do you know?”
“Yes,” said Grandma, “he has gone to Philadelphia, to stay over Sunday. He telephoned up from the office this morning, and then he came up for a few moments about noon. And he said for you and me to go out to Vernondale this afternoon, and stay until Monday, too.”
“Oh, goody!” cried Patty, clapping her hands; “I’m just perfectly crazy to see Marian, and all of them. Can’t we go right away, Grandma?”
“Well, we’ll go soon after luncheon. At any rate, we’ll get there by dinner-time.”
“Oh, no, Grandma, let’s go earlier, so I’ll get there in time to go to the Tea Club meeting. They’ll be so surprised to see me, and I can tell them all about the Grigs. It will be such fun!”
“Very well, then; go and brush your hair and make yourself tidy, and we’ll go right down to luncheon now. Then, if we’re spry, we can easily reach Vernondale by half-past three or four o’clock.”
“That will be lovely,” cried Patty, as she danced away to her room; “what a dear, good Grandma you are!”
They were spry, and were fortunate enough to catch a fast train, so that by four o’clock they were at Aunt Alice’s.
Marian had gone to the Tea Club, which met that day at Elsie Morris’s, and after waiting only for a few words with Aunt Alice and the little children, Patty flew over to Elsie’s.
Such a hullabaloo as greeted her arrival! As Patty said afterwards, the girls couldn’t have made more fuss over her if she had been Queen of the Cannibal Islands.
“I’msoglad you came,” said Ethel Holmes, for the dozenth time, as she hovered around Patty; “now tell us every single thing you’ve done since you’ve been in New York. Are the girls nice? How do you like your school? Do you belong to a Tea Club? How do you like your hotel? Don’t you miss us girls?”
“Do wait a minute, Ethel,” cried Patty, laughing, “before you go any further. That is, if you want your questions answered. I guess I’ll answer the last one first. Of course I miss you girls awfully. Not but what the girls there are nice enough, but I want you, too. I wish you’d all come and live in New York.”
Marian said very little, but sat and held Patty’s hand, as if afraid she might run away. Marian was devotedly attached to her cousin, and missed her more than anybody had any idea of, excepting Aunt Alice.
“But tell us about it all,” said Polly Stevens; “do you go to the theatre every night?”
“Goodness, no!” exclaimed Patty; “of course not. I don’t go at all, except when papa took me to a matinée once, and he says I may go two or three more times during the winter. No, Ethel, we don’t have a Tea Club, but we have a club called the Grigs.”
“What a crazy name!” exclaimed Elsie; “what does it mean?”
So Patty explained all about the Grigs, and their aims, and their work, and play.
“I think it’s lovely,” said Polly Stevens, “and I do think you have beautiful times. Just think of your all going to the hospital together in an ambulance.”
“I didn’t say ambulance, Polly, I said omnibus,” said Patty, as the girls went off into shrieks of laughter.
“Well, it’s all the same,” said Polly, quite unabashed; “you all went together in some big vehicle, and I think that’s fun.”
“It was fun,” said Patty; “and it was lovely to see the poor little sick children brighten up and laugh merrily, in spite of their pain and illness.”
“I think, girls,” said Marian, “that it would be nice for the Tea Club to make some scrap-books and dolls and things, and send them in to the Grigs for them to take to the hospital.”
“Marian, you’re a darling,” said Patty, affectionately squeezing her cousin’s hand; “it will be perfectly lovely if you only would, for we can use any amount of those things, and you would be doing such a lot of good to those poor little children.”
And thus the good influence and helpful work of the Grigs was widened in a manner quite unexpected.
CHAPTER XIIIELISE
In order that Patty might get home in time for school on Monday morning, she and Grandma were obliged to take a very early train from Vernondale.
So Marian and Frank went down with them to see them safely on the half-past seven train, and Brownie, the dog, accompanied them.
As usual, Marian was loath to let Patty go, and clung to her until the last minute.
Frank had already established Grandma in the train, and the conductor was about to ring the bell when, at the last minute, Patty jumped on.
The train was almost starting, but the conductor assisted Patty, and she seated herself beside Grandma, quite out of breath from her hasty entrance.
“I just hated to leave Marian,” she said, “for she did seem so sorry to have me go. But I promised to come back here to spend Thanksgiving, or else to have her spend it with me in New York, and that seemed to help matters a little.”
“You’d better have her plan to come to see you,” said Grandma, “for I think your father expects that Nan will be in New York about that time.”
“All right,” said Patty; “I don’t care as long as Marian and I are together. But for goodness’ sake, Grandma, will you look at that!”
Now “that” was nothing more nor less than Brownie, the dog, sitting in the aisle, blinking at them and contentedly wagging his tail.
“How did he get there?” said Grandma, with a bewildered, helpless air.
“I don’t know,” said Patty, laughing, “but there he is, and now the question is, what shall we do with him?”
Brownie seemed intelligently interested in this question, and continued to wag his tail and blink at Patty with an expression on his funny old dog face that was very like a wink.
“Marian will be worried to death,” said Grandma, with an air of consternation.
“Of course she will,” assented Patty, cheerfully, “but that isn’t the worst of it. The thing is, what are we to do with him now? You know they don’t allow dogs on the train.”
“I never thought of that,” said Grandma, helplessly; “will he have to go in the baggage-car?”
“There isn’t any baggage-car on this train. We’ll either have to throw him out of the window or hide him.”
“All right; we’ll hide him,” and Grandma coaxed Brownie to jump up into her lap. Then she pulled her travelling-cloak over him, until he was entirely concealed from view.
But the inquisitive conductor insisted on knowing what had become of the dog that followed these particular ladies on the train.
“He’s here,” exclaimed Grandma, throwing open her cloak and showing the quivering animal.
“He must be put off,” said the conductor, sternly; “we do not want dogs on the train.”
“All right,” said Patty, cheerfully; “neither do we. And the sooner you put him off, and us with him, the better it will be all around. For you see, Grandma,” she went on, “we’ve got to take Brownie back to Vernondale. Marian will have four thousand fits if we don’t, and, besides, we couldn’t possibly take him to The Wilberforce.”
Grandma said nothing; the emergency was too much for her to cope with, and she was glad to depend on Patty’s advice.
So Patty said to the conductor: “Please put us off just as soon as you can, for we have to take this dog back to Vernondale.”
But with the characteristic perversity of conductors, he said, “No stop, Miss, until Elizabeth. You can get off there—all of you.”
This was nearly half way to New York City, but there was no other way out of it, so, as Patty cheerfully remarked to Grandma, they might as well make up their minds to get off at Elizabeth and take Brownie back to Vernondale.
“Of course,” Patty went on, “I shall be late to school, and I’ll lose a mark, and that’ll throw Clementine ahead of me in the count, for we have been just even up to now; but I can’t help it; Marian’s dog must be taken home, and that’s all there is about that.”
Although Grandma Elliott regretted the necessity of Patty’s losing a mark, for she well knew how the child was striving for the grand prize, yet she appreciated and admired the philosophy which made the best of inevitable circumstances, and she agreed with Patty that there was nothing else to do.
So at Elizabeth they got off of the train, and with some difficulty persuaded Brownie to get off, too.
At this station it was necessary to cross under the elevated tracks to take the train in the opposite direction. Brownie, being ignorant of the imperative necessities of travel, objected to this, and it was only after some coaxing that Patty persuaded him to accompany them.
Meantime there was consternation at the Vernondale end of the route. After the seven-thirty train had left the station, Frank and Marian suddenly realised that since they could see Brownie nowhere around he must have gone on the train with Patty.
“What will they do?” queried Marian; “they can’t take him to New York, and I know they won’t abandon him, so of course they’ll turn around and bring him back on the next train.”
“Of course they will,” assented Frank; “but, let me see, the next train back doesn’t leave Elizabeth until eight-ten; now, if I take the seven-forty I can head them off, and they won’t have to come back.”
“That’s a great scheme,” said Marian; “go ahead! and I will wait here until you come back.”
So Frank took the next train, but as it chanced to be behind time, he reached Elizabeth just as the returning train was pulling out of the station, with Patty on board.
Expecting some such complication, Patty stood on the platform, and waved her hand to Frank, whom she saw on the incoming train.
“Brownie’s all right,” she cried, “but we’ll have to go back, now we’re started.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Frank called back, realising that his journey had been for nought.
So Patty and Grandma and the dog whizzed into the Vernondale station and alighted to find Marian tearful and almost in hysterics.
“I’m so glad to see you,” she said, “and I’m so glad to see Brownie, and Frank has gone to Elizabeth, and Patty, won’t you be late to school, and did you ever know such a performance?”
Brownie flew around like mad, and wagged his tail as if he quite understood that he was the hero of the occasion, and then Patty and Grandma took the next train to New York City, and Marian was careful that Brownie should not accompany them this time.
And so that’s how it happened that Patty was late to school for the first time, and that one mark put Clementine ahead of her in the monthly report.
But, as Patty told her father, she couldn’t help the dog jumping on the train, and Mr. Fairfield agreed that that was quite true.
When Patty finally did reach school that Monday morning she saw that a new pupil had arrived.
This girl, as Patty first noticed her in the Literature Class, was exceedingly pretty, with large dark eyes and curly dark hair, and a general air of daring and self-assurance.
Somehow Patty felt that she didn’t quite approve of her, and yet at the same time she felt fascinated and mysteriously attracted toward the stranger.
It was not until the noon hour that she learned that the new girl’s name was Elise Farrington.
None of the girls seemed inclined to talk to the newcomer, and Patty, with a vivid realisation of her own feelings the first day of her arrival at the Oliphant school, determined to do all she could toward making the new arrival feel at home.
So, at noon-time she went to her and said: “They tell me you are Elise Farrington, and that this is your first day at the Oliphant school. I well remember my first day, and so I want to say to you that if I can do anything for you, or introduce you to anybody that you’d care to know, I shall be very glad to do so.”
Elise looked at Patty gratefully.
“You’re awfully good,” she said, “but truly there’s nobody I had any especial desire to be introduced to, except you. So suppose you introduce yourself.”
Patty laughed. “I’m Patty Fairfield,” she said; “but I’m not especially desirable to know. Let me introduce you to some of the other girls.”
“No,” said Elise, “you’re the one I picked out in the classroom as the only one I thought I should really like. Have you any especial chum?”
“Why, not exactly,” said Patty, smiling; “I’m chums with everybody. But I’ll tell you what: you’re new to-day, and of course you feel a little strange. Now it happens that the girl who usually sits next to me at luncheon isn’t here, so you come and sit by me, and then you’ll get a good start.”
Patty remembered how glad she would have been had someone talked to her like that on the first day of her arrival at the school, and she put Elise in Lorraine’s place, glad that she could so favour her.
During luncheon Patty entertained the new pupil with an account of her funny experience with Brownie that morning, and she found in Elise an appreciative listener to her recital.
At the same time, Patty could not quite make up her mind as to the social status of the new girl.
Elise seemed to be of the wealthy and somewhat supercilious class typified in the Oliphant school by Gertrude Lyons and Maude Carleton.
And yet Elise seemed far more simple and natural than those artificial young women, and Patty concluded that in spite of the fact that she belonged to one of New York’s best-known families she was unostentatious, and in no sense “stuck-up.”
For with all her sophistication and general effect of affluence, Patty seemed to see an undercurrent of dissatisfaction of some sort.
Not that Elise was sad, or low-spirited. Far from it, she was merry, frivolous, and quite inclined to make fun of her fellow-pupils.
“Did you ever see anything so ridiculous as Gertrude Lyons?” she asked of Patty. “She is so airy and conceited, and yet she’s nothing after all.”
Although Patty did not especially like Gertrude, this challenge roused her sense of justice, and she said: “Oh, Gertrude is all right; and I don’t think it is nice to criticise strangers like that.”
“Gertrude’s no stranger to me,” said Elise; “I’ve known her all my life. They live within a block of us, but we never have liked each other. I like you a lot better.”
Although Patty was gratified by this frank appreciation of herself, she didn’t quite understand Elise, for she seemed such a peculiar combination of flattery and cynicism.
After luncheon was over Patty introduced her to the other Grigs. The description of the society and its intents seemed to appeal especially to Elise, and she exclaimed: “Oh, let me join it, let me be a Grig, and we can meet in the Casino and have no end of fun.”
“What Casino?” asked Patty; “what do you mean?”
“Why,” explained Elise, “we have a private Casino of our own, you know. It’s right next door to our house, and connects on every floor.”
“But what is it?” asked Clementine; “I don’t understand.”
“Why, it’s just another house; father bought it, you know, and then fixed it up for us all to have all sorts of fun in. There’s a tennis-court, and a squash-court, and a bowling alley, and all sorts of sports and games. Oh, just come to see it, that’s all, and you’ll understand better than I can tell you.”
“Of course we’ll come,” said Clementine, who was always the pioneer. “When can we come?”
“Why, Thursday is my day,” said Elise; “you see there are five of us children, and we each have the Casino on a given day, and may invite whom we like. In the evenings, my father and mother invite their friends.”
“I think it’s the loveliest scheme I ever heard of,” said Patty; “and I’m sure we’d all love to come on Thursday. But as to making you a Grig, I’m not so sure. Are you always merry?”
“Merry? I should say I am. Why the family say I never stop giggling. Oh, goodness gracious! I’m merry enough; the trouble is to make me serious when occasion really demands it. Why, I’m always at the very topnotch of hilarity.”
“It seems to me,” said Hilda, falling into her presidential attitude, “that we might let Elise be the eighth Grig, until Lorraine is ready to join. And she certainly isn’t, yet.”
“She certainly is not,” said Patty, as she remembered Lorraine’s cross greeting that morning, “and I think your idea is all right.”
CHAPTER XIVTHE CASINO
On the whole, Elise wore rather well. Although belonging to the millionaire classes of the city, she was simple and unaffected, and never referred to her wealth by word or implication. From the first she was devoted to Patty, and in spite of her many peculiarities Patty thoroughly liked her. Clementine considered her cranky and Adelaide thought her too much inclined to dictate. But Elise was entirely indifferent to their opinions, and independently followed her own sweet will. If she wanted things done a certain way, she said so, and somehow they were done that way. If the other girls objected, she quietly ignored their objections and proceeded serenely on her course. The result of this was that the others regarded her with mingled dissatisfaction and admiration, neither of which at all affected Elise.
She made one exception of Patty. She was always willing to defer to Patty’s wishes, or change her plans in accordance with Patty’s ideas.
Still, as Elise was so good-natured, generous and entertaining, the girls really liked her, and she proved to be a real acquisition to the society of Grigs.
On Thursday afternoon she invited them all to go home with her and play in the Casino.
The girls went directly from school, and a short walk brought them to Elise’s home.
The Farrington house was really a mansion, and by far the most magnificent and imposing dwelling that Patty had ever been in. The eight girls ran up the steps and the door was opened by a footman in livery. The great hall seemed to Patty like a glimpse into fairyland. Its massive staircase wound around in a bewildering way, and beautiful palms and statues stood all about. The light fell softly through stained-glass windows, and to Patty’s beauty-loving soul it all seemed a perfect Elysium of form and colour.
She almost held her breath as she looked, but Elise seemed to take it as a matter of course, and said, “Come on into the library, girls, and leave your books and things.”
The library was another revelation of art and beauty, and Patty wondered if the other girls were as much impressed as herself by Elise’s home. It was not only that unlimited wealth had been used in the building and furnishing, but somebody’s exquisite and educated taste had directed the expenditure; and it was this that appealed so strongly to Patty, though she did not herself understand it.
There was another occupant of the library, whom Elise presented as her brother Roger. He was a boy of about nineteen, with dark hair and eyes, like his sister’s, and a kind, frank face. He greeted the girls pleasantly, without a trace of awkwardness, but after a few casual remarks he turned aside from the laughing group and stared moodily out of the window.
“Poor old Roger,” said Elise to Patty, in a low voice, “he’s in a most awful fit of the blues. Do go and say a few cheering words to him, there’s a good Grig.”
Always ready to cast a ray of sunshine into anybody’s life, Patty went toward the disconsolate-looking boy.
“How can you look so sad?” she said, “with a whole room full of merry Grigs?”
“Because I’m not a Grig, I suppose,” said Roger. He spoke politely enough, but seemed not at all anxious to pursue the conversation. But Patty was not so easily daunted.
“Of course, you can’t be a member of our society,” she said, “but couldn’t you be just a little bit griggy on your own account?”
“My own account doesn’t call for grigginess just at present.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, I have troubles of my own.”
“All the more reason for being merry. How do you expect to get the better of your troubles if you don’t have fun with them?”
Roger looked at her with a little more interest.
“The trouble that’s bothering me hasn’t come yet,” he said; “it’s only an anticipation now.”
“Then perhaps it never will come, and you might as well be merry and take your chances.”
“No, it’s bound to come, and there’s nothing merry about it; it’s just horrid!”
“Won’t you tell me what it is?” said Patty, gently, seeing that the boy was very much in earnest.
“Would you really like to know?”
“Yes, indeed; perhaps I could help you.”
Roger smiled. “No,” he said, “you can’t help me; nobody can help me. It’s only this; I’ve got to have my arm broken.”
“What?” exclaimed Patty, looking at the stalwart youth in amazement. “Who’s going to break it?”
“I don’t know whether to go to the circus, and let a lion break it, or whether to fall out of an automobile,” and Roger smiled quizzically at Patty’s bewildered face.
“Oh, you’re only fooling,” she said, with a look of relief; “I thought you were in earnest.”
“And so I am,” said Roger, more seriously. “This is the truth: I broke my arm playing football, a year ago, and when it was set it didn’t knit right, or it wasn’t set right, or something, and now I can’t bend my elbow at all.” Roger raised his right arm and showed that he was unable to bend it at the elbow-joint. “It’s awfully inconvenient and awkward, as you see; and the only remedy is to have it broken and set over again, and so that’s the proposition I’m up against.”
“And a mighty hard one, too,” said Patty with a sudden rush of genuine sympathy. “Are you going to the hospital?”
“Yes; mother wants it done at home—thinks I could be more comfortable, and all that. But I’d rather go to the hospital; it’s more satisfactory in every way. But it will be a long siege. Now, Miss Grig, do you see anything particularly merry in the outlook?”
“Will the breaking part hurt?” asked Patty.
“No, I shall probably be unconscious during the smash. But what I dread is lying still for several weeks bound up in splints. And I can’t play in the game this season.”
“You couldn’t, anyway, if you didn’t have it broken, could you?”
“No, of course not.”
“And you never can play football again if you don’t have it broken and reset?”
“No.”
“Well, then, the outlook is decidedly merry. The idea of your objecting to the inconveniences of three or four weeks, when it means a lifetime of comfort and convenience afterwards.”
“Whew! I never looked at it in just that light before, but I more than half believe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” said Patty, stoutly. “You’ve got to look at things in their true proportion. And the proportion of a few weeks in the hospital against a good arm for the rest of your life is very small, I can tell you. Especially as you will have the best possible skill and care, and every comfort and luxury that can be procured. Suppose you were poor, and had to go to some free hospital, and have inexperienced doctors practising on you! Why, you might have to have your arm broken and set a dozen times before they got it right.”
“Well, there is something in that, and I begin to believe my case is merrier than it might be. At any rate, Miss Grig, you’ve cheered me up a lot, and I’m duly grateful. I leave home to-morrow for the merry, merry hospital, so I can only hope that when next we meet I can raise my arm and shake hands with you a little more gracefully than this.”
Roger put out his stiff arm with an awkward gesture, but with such a pleasant smile that Patty shook hands heartily and said: “I hope you will; and until then promise me that you’ll be as merry as a Grig would be under similar circumstances.”
“I’ll promise to try,” said Roger, and then Elise carried the girls all off to the Casino.
Though not so elaborately furnished as the Farrington home, the Casino was perfect in its own way. On the first floor, which they entered by a door from the main hall of the Farrington house, was a large tennis court, and in the apartment next to that a squash court. It seemed strange to see these courts in-doors, but Elise told the girls that after they had tried them, she felt sure they would like them quite as well as out-of-door courts.
“At any rate,” she said, “they are the best possible substitute.”
On the floor above was a long bowling alley, a billiard-room and a bewildering succession of other rooms, some fitted up with paraphernalia of which Patty did not even know the use.
But she was greatly impressed with the kindness of a father who would fit out such a wonderful place of delightful recreation for his children.
“It isn’t only for us,” said Elise, as Patty expressed her thoughts aloud; “father and mother use it to entertain their friends in the evenings. There is a card-room and a smoking-room, and up at the top a big ball-room. But of course we children just use these lower floor rooms for our games and things. Now, shall we have the meeting first, I mean the regular society meeting, or play games first and meet afterwards?”
“Let’s play first,” said Patty, “because we mightn’t have time for both.”
This was unanimously agreed to and soon the Grigs were quite living up to their name, as they played various games.
Patty, Elise, Hilda and Editha played tennis at first and afterwards played basketball, while the others took the tennis court.
After an hour or more of this vigorous exercise they were quite ready to sit down and rest, and Elise said, “Now we will all go and sit in the hall and have our meeting.”
This hall was a large square apartment on the second floor. There was an immense open fireplace, where great logs were cheerfully blazing; and on either side were quaint, old-fashioned settles, large and roomy, and on these the girls ranged themselves.
“This is the nicest society,” said Clementine, “because we don’t have to do anything at any particular time. Now here we are holding a meeting on Thursday, when Saturday is our regular day. But I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t meet any day that happens to suit us.”
“I think so, too,” said Hilda; “we haven’t any rules and we don’t want any. Has anybody any plans for next week?”
“I have a plan,” said Elise, “though I’m not sure we can arrange it for next week. But some day I think it would be nice for us to collect a lot of small children who don’t have much fun in their lives, and bring them here for a morning or an afternoon in the Casino and just let them romp and play all they like.”
“That’s a beautiful plan, Elise,” said Patty, her eyes shining; “and you’re a dear to think of it. Is your mother willing?”
“Yes,” said Elise; “she wasn’t awfully anxious to let me do it at first, but I coaxed her to and father was willing, so he helped me coax.”
Just here Roger appeared, carrying a large box of candy.
“Hope I don’t intrude,” he said, in his graceful, boyish way; “and I won’t stay a minute. But I thought that perhaps even merry Grigs could at times descend to prosaic chocolates.”
“I should say we could!” exclaimed Clementine; “really I don’t know anything merrier than a box of candy.”
“You’re a perfect duck, Roger, to bring it,” said Elise; “but you must run away now, for we can’t have boys at Grig meetings. There’s nothing merry about a boy.”
“All the more reason then,” said Roger, “why I should stay and be merryfied.”
“No, you can’t,” said his sister, “so go away now and please send mother here. She said she’d come and meet the girls, so tell her now’s her chance.”
With comical expressions of unwillingness, Roger went away and in a few moments Mrs. Farrington came.
She was an ultra-fashionable lady and reminded Patty a little of Aunt Isabel St. Clair. But though elaborately dressed, her gown was in far better taste than Aunt Isabel’s gorgeous raiment, and though her manner was a little conventional, her voice was low and sweet and her smile was charming.
She did not talk to the girls individually, but greeted them as a whole, and welcomed them prettily as friends of her daughter.
Then she presented each one with a beautiful little pin made of green enamel in the design of a cricket.
“It is a real English cricket, or grig,” she said, “and I instructed the jeweller to make it a merry one.”
Her orders had been carried out, for the little green grigs were jolly looking affairs, with tiny eyes of yellow topaz that fairly seemed to wink and blink with fun. The girls were delighted and all agreed that Mrs. Farrington had conferred the highest possible honour on the society of Grigs.