CHAPTER V
THAT AWFUL AZALEA
The car came along the driveway and stopped in front of the porch where
Patty sat.
Farnsworth stepped out, with a cheery "Here we are!" and Patty rose to greet the visitor.
Up the steps toward her flew a figure which, as Patty afterward described it, seemed like a wild Indian! A slight, wiry figure, rather tall and very awkward, and possessed of a nervous force that expressed itself in muscular activity.
"Oh, how do you do?" the girl cried, explosively. "You're Cousin Patty,—aren't you?" But even as she spoke, she stumbled on the steps, pitched forward, falling on Patty, and but for Farnsworth's quick action would have knocked her down.
"Jiminy crickets! Ain't I the tangle-foot! Guess I'm getting in bad at the very start. Hope I didn't hurt you."
"Not at all," said Patty, recovering her poise, both mental and physical. "You are very welcome, Azalea. Will you sit here a few minutes before we go in the house?"
"Sure! I'll spill myself right into this double-decker!"
She threw herself into a long wicker lounging-seat, of the steamer-chair type, and stretched out her feet in evident enjoyment of the relaxation.
"Well, this is comfort, after travelling cross country for days and days!
I say, Cousin, it was awful good of you to ask me."
"Think so?" and Patty tried to smile pleasantly. She avoided catching Bill's eye, for the poor man was overcome with shame and consternation that his relative should be so impossible.
"Yep,—I do. My! this place of yours is swell. I never saw such a grand house—close to. You're rich, ain't you, Cousin William?"
"So, so," Farnsworth replied, gazing at the girl in a sort of horrified fascination. "You've changed since last we met," he went on, in an endeavour to make casual conversation.
"Well, yes, I s'pose so. They tell me I was a squalling young one when you were at the Corners. Was I a terror?"
"Not then!" Bill wanted to answer, but of course he didn't.
"Not at all," he said, pleasantly. "You were a pretty baby—"
"But greatly changed,—hey?"
The girl gave him a quick glance. She was not ill-looking, as to features and colouring, but her whole effect was unattractive,—even repelling.
She had flashing black eyes, which darted from one object to another in a jerky, inquisitive way. Her scarlet lips parted over white, even teeth, but her lower lip hung, and her half-open mouth gave her an air of ignorance, often accompanied by rude staring.
Her black hair was concealed by a coarse straw hat, untrimmed save for some gaudy flowers embroidered on the straw with crude coloured wools.
"How do you like my hat?" Azalea asked suddenly. "Just the shape of a horse's hat, isn't it? But it's all the go. This dress is, too,—hope you like it,—I do."
The dress in question was a "sport suit" of a large-sized green and black check. It was cheap material, and badly cut, and its ill-fitting coat hung on Azalea's slim shoulders in baggy wrinkles. Her blouse was bright pink Georgette, beaded with scarlet beads, and altogether, perhaps her costume could not have been worse chosen or made up,—at least, from Patty's point of view.
She ignored the question about the hat, and asked the girl as to her journey.
"O.K.," Azalea returned. "Had a bang-up time. Made friends all along the line. Some of 'em coming to see me. Hope you'll like 'em."
She stretched out luxuriously in the long chair, throwing her arms above her head, and crossing her feet, which were dressed with "gun metal" stockings and shoes. Her hat was pushed awry, and wisps of hair fell at either side of her face.
"Now, perhaps you'd like to go to your room," suggested Patty, at her wits' end what to do with such an unconventional person.
"Nixy; I'm too comfortable here! I'll chuck my hat, and just enjoy myself."
Off came the hat, and was pitched on the floor. Azalea ran her fingers through her hair, making it a little more disordered than before. It was pretty hair,—or, rather would have been, if it were better cared for. Dark, almost black, with a slight inclination to curl, it was bunched into a tousled knot that was far from picturesque.
"Oh, come," said Patty, jumping up, for she couldn't stand the girl's uncouth actions another minute. "Come along with me, Azalea. You must dress for dinner soon,—and some one might come to call now. We'll have tea in your room, if you like."
"Tea! I never drink it. I like coffee,—for breakfast,—or cocoa. But see here, Cousin, don't you make any difference for me. I ain't company, you know,—just let me be one of the family, won't you?"
Many retorts flashed through Patty's mind, but she only said, "Certainly,
Azalea. We want you to be one of us."
Farnsworth was silent. The man was really aghast. What had he brought on poor little Patty! He didn't excuse himself with the thought that it was Patty's doing, not his, that Azalea was there at all, but he felt personally to blame for having such a relative and for having her there in their home. He looked helplessly at Patty, with such despair in his kind eyes, that she ran over and kissed him, in spite of the fact that they were not alone.
Azalea giggled. "That's right," she said, affably; "don't mind me! Just go right on spoonin' even when I'm around. I don't mind. And I don't wonder you took to her, Cousin William. She's a peach, for fair,—ain't she?"
"She certainly is," said Farnsworth, forcing a polite smile, but conscious of a strong desire to choke his new-found relative.
His utterly discouraged face roused Patty to fresh efforts at hospitality, and taking Azalea's arm, she persuaded her to get up from the lounging chair.
On her feet, the girl shook herself with a careless abandon of manner, unheeding the fact that a hairpin flew from her loosened hair, and she dropped the handkerchief, gloves and small bag that she had had in her lap.
"Oh, pshaw," she said, as Bill restored them, "ain't I awful! That's me—dropping things all the time! But I can pick them up myself—don't you be bothering."
She stuffed gloves and handkerchief in the bag, slinging it on her arm. "My, what a vine!" she said, pulling down a branch of the wistaria,—and, incidentally, breaking it off.
"Oh, golly! Look what I done! Just like me! But you've got plenty left."
She tossed the broken branch out on the lawn, and then turned to follow
Patty, already in the doorway.
"I'm coming!" she said, "lead the way, Cousin, I'll trail you. What a big house! Don't you ever get lost in it?"
"No," smiled Patty, "and you won't as soon as you're used to it. This way, Azalea."
"Hello! Hello! This my room?" The Western girl looked at the pretty yellow room as Patty ushered her in.
"Yes, if you like yellow,—if not—"
"Oh, yes, I like yellow good enough. Don't make any diff to me what colour a room is. Nice and big, ain't it? Say, do you care if I chuck some of the lace props into the discard?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why, these here, now, faddly-duds." And Azalea whisked off a little lace stand-cover, swept up an armful of lace pillows, and was about to jerk off the lace bedspread, when Patty protested.
"Oh, wait a minute,—of course you needn't have anything you don't want,—but Janet will take off the spread."
"'Fraid I'll muss it up, hey?" Azalea laughed, "Well. I s'pose I am a terror! But honest to goodness I can't stand for those ticklers. They get in my ears!"
Patty sighed. She had grasped the situation the instant she first laid eyes on the girl, but somehow it seemed to be developing further difficulties all the time.
"Now, Azalea," she began, "let me help you get your travelling dress off and put you into your kimono, and we'll chat over a cup of tea. Oh, you don't like tea,—will you have lemonade?"
"Yep. Love it! Plenty of sugar, though."
Patty gave the order to Janet, who had appeared to look after the visitor, and turned back at the sound of Azalea's loud, strident laughter.
"Kimono! At six P.M. That's good. Why, Cousin, I use my kim for a dressing gown, I ain't going to bed,—am I?"
"No, dear. But we'll have a more cosy time, I think, if you get off your travel things and have a refreshing bath."
"Oh, well, I'll take off this rig,—I want to be choice of it, anyway.
You have dinner at night?"
"Yes, we always do."
"Well, don't make any change for me, as I said. I ain't accustomed to it, but I can stand it, I guess. Nothing fazes me!"
Azalea took off her dress and looked at the skirt with concern.
"Some dusty," she remarked, "but it'll brush off."
"Oh, yes; lay it on that chair. Janet will look after it."
"Brush it, you mean?"
"Yes; clean it and press it properly."
"My land! does your servant do that?"
"Certainly. And leave your street shoes out for her to attend to."
"Oh,—I see! She's a regular outfit! Well, I never had a maid,—but I guess I can stand one."
Janet re-entered the room at this moment, and with an attempted air of grandeur, Azalea flung herself into a low chair, and stuck out her foot to have her shoe removed.
Patty gasped. The girl changed so quickly from independence to apparent helplessness, and yet her manner was so crude and overbearing, that it was doubtful how the maid would take it.
However, Janet was not only a well-trained servant, but she adored her mistress and not for worlds would she have failed in her duty.
Quietly and respectfully she knelt before Azalea and took off her shoes and waited on her as she would have waited on any of Patty's more cultured friends.
"Yes, put on a kimono, Azalea," Patty said, this time in a decided tone, and Azalea obeyed.
Then the tea tray was brought and the two sat together for a time.
Patty was up against a crisis. She had been thinking deeply ever since
Azalea's arrival, and she was still perplexed.
Should she try now to reform the girl,—improve her manners, or at least her general attitude,—or, should she leave her to her own ways for a time, and trust to her observation of other people to show her her own faults?
It was almost impossible not to correct some of Azalea's ignorant mistakes, but still more difficult to ignore her over readiness to adapt herself to what she thought was the proper behaviour toward servants.
On the latter point Patty permitted herself a word when they were alone.
"Be a little careful with Janet," she said, pleasantly. "She's a bit peculiar as to disposition. A splendid maid, and a most capable girl,—but she doesn't like to be ordered about too definitely. You see, she knows her duties so well, and is so efficient, that it's really unnecessary to give her directions."
"Oh, pooh, she's only a servant. You oughtn't to stand for her airs. Why, our girl at home,—she was a Tartar! But I tamed her. I've a way with them—"
"Please, Azalea," and Patty smiled ingratiatingly, "remember, won't you, that this is my house and these are my servants. I have my own ways of treating them, and I'm going to ask you to work with me,—not against me."
"Dunno what you mean! I've no notion of working against you, Cousin. And don't you be high and mighty with me! We'll get along all right, if you meet me half way, but—"
Patty saw her chance. "Good, Azalea! There's my hand on that! We'll meet each other half way, and you consider my wishes and I'll consider yours."
The danger point was passed and Azalea smiled again.
"I want to see the baby," she said suddenly. "I love babies."
"To-morrow, please. She's asleep now."
"Well, I can look at her. I won't wake her. I'll be awful careful."
This interest in Fleurette touched Patty's mother heart, and she consented.
"Can I go this way?" said Azalea, looking at her kimono.
This garment was,—not entirely to Patty's surprise,—a horror of gaily flowered silkoline, but as they would see no one but the nurse, she said, "Yes; come along."
To the nursery they went and there, in her bassinette lay the baby, asleep. She looked like a lovely little flower, indeed, and Patty gazed with adoring eyes at the flushed little face.
"Oh!" cried Azalea, aloud, "what an angel baby!"
"Hush!" whispered Patty, "don't wake her!" and Nurse Winnie stood around in a state of nervous apprehension.
"No, I won't," Azalea said, in such a loud whisper, that it was scarce a whisper at all,—rather a muffled shout.
And then she poked her forefinger into the baby's roseleaf cheek.
"Pretty!" she said, beaming at the child.
"Oh, don't touch her!" Patty cried out. "Come away, Azalea!" for she really didn't know what the strange girl would do next.
"Pshaw! I didn't hurt her. If she's such a touch-me-not, she's no fun at all! But every-body's like that with their first baby! Silly! Fussy! Just ridiculous!"
"I daresay," laughed Patty, determined not to show her annoyance. "But it's time to dress for dinner,—or nearly. Come back to your room,—and—wouldn't you like to take a fifteen minute nap? It might refresh you."
"It would not! Take a nap in broad daylight! I never heard of such a thing! Oh, well, if I can't speak to that kid let's go back to my room. I'll skittle into my frock and go down to that flowery, bowery piazza again. I like that."
"What shall you put on?" asked Patty, interestedly, as Azalea made a mad dive into her trunk.
"Dunno. What say? This?" She held up a mussy looking white muslin, trimmed with coarse embroidery and some imitation lace.
"That will do nicely," Patty said, relieved that it was at least white, and not some of the flamboyant effects she saw still in the trunk. "Janet will press it off for you,—it's rumpled from packing. And then you needn't unpack, dear, Janet will do that for you."
"Oh, I thought you told me not to call on the servant for anything!"
"No," Patty said, discouraged, "I didn't quite say that,—here's Janet now. Let her do your hair for you!"
"Do my hair! Mercy gracious! I should say not! I've never had that done for me."
"But I'm sure you'll be pleased with the way she'd do it. Janet is an artist at hair-dressing."
"Nopy! nix on the barber act for little Zaly! I'll comb my own wig, thank you!"
With a comb, she stood before the cheval glass, and twisted up the dark mop into a tidy but most unbecoming coil.
"Don't you care how it looks?" cried Patty, in dismay. "Really, don't you? And you've such pretty hair!"
"Then if it's pretty hair, it doesn't need any fancy doing," and Azalea gave a whimsical smile. "There, that's done. Now for my frock."
Janet had whisked the white muslin away, and already had it back, pressed and freshened.
"Lovely!" Azalea exclaimed; "how ever did you do it so quick? Happen to have an iron on the stove?"
"Electric iron," said Patty, briefly. "They're always handy, you know."
"Never saw one. No, Miss Janet,—not that way, it hooks in the back."
At last, Azalea was attired, and looked fairly presentable in her white frock; though having no white shoes and stockings she wore black ones.
"I'd like white ones," she said, apologetically, "but I could only have two pairs so I got black and the ones I wore here."
"Quite right," said Patty, appreciatively; "I'll be glad to get you some white ones. They'd be pretty with this frock."
"Oh, thank you. I'd love to have 'em. Where we going now?"
"Suppose you come to my room, while I dress," Patty suggested, thinking an object lesson in the arts of the toilette might not be amiss.
"O.K.," and the visitor strode along by the side of her hostess.
They were a contrast! Patty, dainty, graceful and sweet, was the very antithesis of tall, gawky Azalea, with her countrified dress and badly made black shoes. Her careless air, too, was unattractive,—for it was not the nonchalance of experience, but the unselfconsciousness of sheer ignorance of urban ways and manners.
"My land! what a room," the country girl ejaculated, as they entered Patty's boudoir. "How ever can you live in this fancy place! It's like a picture!"
"It is," agreed Patty, pleased at the comment. "But I love it. I'm afraid I'm too fond of soft lights and pretty appointments, and delicate fragrance."
"Well, you've got it! My land! I'm afraid to move around! I don't want to break anything."
"You won't," laughed Patty. "Sit there, and we can talk while I get into my gown. I do my own hair, too," and she shook down her mop of golden curls, to Azalea's hearty admiration.