CHAPTER VII
A NEIGHBOUR
Two days later the Fairfields went down to Spring Beach.
The intervening day was a busy one. Mr. Fairfield went with Patty to select her motor car, for some details of equipment and upholstery were left to her choice. As the car had been built especially for the Prize Contest, it was a beautiful specimen of the finisher’s art. It was a Stanhope, of graceful design and fine lines. The body was Royal Blue, with cushions of broadcloth of the same colour.
Patty was informed she could have any other colour if she wished, but she said the blue suited her best.
There was a top which could be put up or down at will, wide skirt-protecting mudguards, and a full equipment of all necessary paraphernalia, such as storm-apron, odometer, and a complete set of tools.
Patty had carried with her her flower vase and clock, and the man in charge agreed to have them fastened in place. The flower vase, he said, was unusual on a Stanhope, but, when Patty said it must be attached somewhere, he promised to have it done.
The steering gear was a bar, fitted with a hand grip, and both this and the controller were exceedingly simple and easily operated.
The demonstrator offered to give Patty a driving lesson then and there, but Mr. Fairfield preferred that she should be taught by himself, or his experienced chauffeur, the trusty Miller.
Of course, the men in charge of the salesroom where the car was on exhibition were greatly interested in seeing Patty, because she was the winner of the contest. One young man stepped forward with a camera, and asked the privilege of taking a picture of Patty seated in her own car.
But this Mr. Fairfield would not allow, and, after making the necessary arrangements about shipping the motor to Spring Beach, he took Patty away.
“Isn’t it fun, father?” she exclaimed, as she went off with him, her hands full of descriptive catalogues and circulars, telling of the marvellous superiority of the Rhodes and Geer cars over all competitors.
“It’s lots more interesting than if you had just bought a car and given it to me.”
“And lots less expensive, too,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling. “Why, Patty, girl, that whole affair, as it stands, is worth nearly three thousand dollars.”
“Goodness gracious! Is it really? I had no idea they were so expensive! Why, your big car didn’t cost much more than that, did it?”
“But, you see, this Stanhope of yours is a special car, in every way, and all its fittings and accessories are of the most up-to-date and extravagant type. You must do all you can for the company, by praising it to your friends. I don’t think you can do any more than that to further their interests.”
“Oh, I don’t feel under any obligation to the company. It was a business enterprise on their part. They offered a prize and I won it. Now we’re quits. Of course, I shall praise the car to my friends, but only because it’s such a beauty, and not because I feel that I owe anything to the company.”
“You are rather a logical young woman, after all, Patty. Sometimes you seem a feather-headed butterfly, and then again you appear to have sound sense.”
“A ‘feather-headed butterfly’ sounds pretty, I think. I guess I’ll be that, mostly.”
“You won’t have to try very hard,” remarked her father.
“But sometimes I have spells of being very serious: for instance, wasn’t I serious when I tried so hard to earn fifteen dollars in one week?”
“Yes, serious enough; but it was largely your stubborn determination to succeed.”
“Well, that’s a good trait to have, then. It’s what Mr. Hepworth calls steadfastness of purpose.”
“Yes; they’re about the same thing. And I’m glad you have it; it’s what won the car for you.”
“That, and my helpful friends.”
“Oh, the helpful friends were incidental, like text-books or cyclopædias. I truly congratulate you, Patty, girl, on your real success in this instance. But I also ask of you not to go into anything of such a public nature again, without consulting me first.”
“All right, Father Fairfield, I promise.”
And then they were at home again, and the luncheon hour was enlivened by Patty’s descriptions to Nan of her wonderful new toy.
“Are you going to give it a name, Patty?” Nan asked, after hearing of its glories.
“Yes; but not until after I’ve used it. I can’t tell, you see, just what sort of a name it needs until I try it. And, Nan, let’s do a little shopping this afternoon. I want a new motor-coat, and a few other trifles, to live up to the appearance of that thing of beauty.”
The shopping was done, some marvellous motor-apparel was purchased, and then, the next day, the departure from New York was made.
They reached “The Pebbles” in mid-afternoon, and the ocean and sky were a glowing mass of blue and white and gold.
Nan’s well-trained servants had the house open and ready for them, and Patty flew up the steps and into the great hall with a whoop of delight.
“Isn’t it great, Nan! Isn’t it fine! More fun than travelling abroad or touristing through Sunny It.! For, you see, this is our own home and we own it!”
“Patty, your enthusiasm will wear you out some day. Do take it more quietly.”
“Can’t do it! I’m of a nervous temperament and exuberant disposition, and I have to express my thinks!”
The big hall was in reality a living-room. It extended straight through the house, with wide doors at either end. It had alcoves with cushioned seats, a huge fireplace, deep-seated windows, and from one side a broad staircase curved upward, with a landing and balcony halfway.
The wicker furniture was well-chosen and picturesque, besides being very comfortable and inviting.
“Just as soon as I can get a few things flung around, it will be perfect,” announced Patty. “At present, it’s too everlastingly cleared-up-looking.”
She tossed on a table the magazines she had bought on the train, and flung her long veil over a chair back.
“There, you see!” she said. “Watch that veil flutter in the seabreeze,—our own seabreeze, coming in at our own front door, and then tell me if ‘The Pebbles’ is a success!”
“Yes; and, unless you shut that door, you’ll have a most successful cold in your head,” observed her father. “It’s May, to be sure, but it doesn’t seem to be very thoroughly May, as yet.”
So Patty shut the door, and then, opening the piano, she sang “Home, Sweet Home,” and then some gayer songs to express her enthusiasm.
Her own rooms, Patty concluded, were the gem of the house. From her balcony, on which she proposed to sleep, she had not only a wide view of the sea, but an attractive panorama of the beautiful estates along the shore. A hammock was slung between two of the pillars, and, throwing herself into this, with an Indian blanket over her, Patty swayed gently back and forth, and indulged in daydreams of the coming summer. An hour later, Nan found her still there.
“Come to tea, Patty,” she said; “we’re having it indoors, as the wind is rising.”
“Yes, it’s breezing up quite some;” and Patty looked out at the waves, now so darkly blue as to be almost black.
She followed Nan downstairs to the hall, and looked approvingly at the tea-table, set out near the blazing wood-fire.
“Lovely!” she cried. “I believe I am chilly, after all. But the air is fine. Buttered muffins, oh, goody! Father, the table bills will be a lot bigger down here than in the city.”
“I daresay; but I won’t begrudge them, if you will put some more flesh on that willowy frame of yours. You’re not strong, Patty, and I want you to devote this summer to building yourself up physically. No study, not much reading, no ‘Puzzle Contest’ work. Just rest, and exercise moderately, and spend most of your time out-of-doors.”
“Why, daddy dear, your plans and specifications exactly suit me! How strange that our ideas should be the same on this subject! You see, with my new Stanhope, I’ll be out-of-doors all day, and, as I propose to sleep in the open, I’ll be out-of-doors all night. Can I do more?”
“I’m not sure about this sleeping outside. You must never do it on damp or foggy nights.”
“Now, father, the sanitariums advise it for everybody—every night. Well, I’ll agree not to sleep out in a thunderstorm, for I’m scared to death of them.”
“And you mustn’t begin it yet, anyway. It’s too cold. Wait until June, and then we’ll see about it.”
“All right, I’ll agree to that. Why, somebody’s coming up the front walk! Nan, here comes our first caller. Wow! She’s a dasher!”
In a few moments, Jane, the new parlour maid, admitted the visitor, and she came in with a self-important flutter.
“How do you do?” she said, cordially. “I’m Miss Galbraith,—Mona Galbraith, your next-door neighbour. At least, we live in the house with red chimneys, two blocks down, but there’s no house between us.”
“How do you do, Miss Galbraith,” said Nan, rising to greet the guest, and followed by the others.
“You see,” went on the young woman, volubly, after she had accepted the seat offered by Mr. Fairfield, “I thought I’d just run right in, informally, for you might feel a bit lonesome or homesick this first day. So many people do.”
“No,” said Patty, smiling, “we’re not lonesome or homesick, but it was nice of you to come to see us in this neighbourly fashion. Have a muffin, won’t you?”
“Indeed, I will; what delicious muffins! Did you bring your servants with you?”
“Some of them,” said Nan. “We’re simple people, and haven’t a large retinue.”
“Well, we have,” said Miss Galbraith. “And I’m at the head of the whole bunch. Just father and I; we live alone, you know. Will you come to see us? Come to dinner, soon, won’t you?”
“We’ll see about it,” said Nan, who scarcely knew how to take this self-possessed and somewhat forward young person.
Miss Galbraith wore a costume of embroidered white linen, but the embroidery was too elaborate, and the style of the gown rather extreme. She wore a long gold chain, with what Patty afterward called half a peck of “junk” dangling from it. There were a lorgnette, a purse, a cardcase, a pencil, a vinaigrette, a well-filled key-ring, and several other trifles, all attached to the chain, and Miss Galbraith played with the trinkets incessantly.
“I hope we’ll be real good friends,” she said, earnestly, to Patty. “I want an intimate friend awfully, and I like your looks.”
As Patty couldn’t honestly return the compliment, she said nothing in reply. Miss Galbraith’s personal appearance was comely, and yet it was not of the type with which Patty was accustomed to be friendly. Her sandy hair was too much curled and puffed, piled too high on her head, and held with too many jewelled pins; while her rather large hands showed too many rings for a young girl.
Her high-heeled, white shoes were too tight for her, and her easy attitudes and frank speech were too informal for a first call on strangers.
“Of course, we shall be friends,” said Nan, with just enough absence of enthusiasm in her tones to convey to a sensitive mind her reservations.
But Miss Galbraith hadn’t a sensitive mind.
“Dear Mrs. Fairfield,” she said, effusively, “how good you are! I see you have the neighbourly instinct. Isn’t it nice that we’ll all be down here together for the whole summer? Do you swim, Miss Fairfield? and do you love to dance?”
“Yes,” began Patty, “but——”
As she hesitated, Mr. Fairfield came to his daughter’s rescue.
“To be frank, Miss Galbraith,” he said, “I am trying to keep my daughter rather quiet this summer. I want her to exercise only moderately, and I must positively forbid much dancing, and late hours, and all that sort of thing.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” returned the visitor; “nobody keeps very late hours at Spring Beach. Well, I must run away now,—and I give you fair warning! If you don’t come and return my call soon, I’ll come straight over here and return it myself!”
She shook a playful finger at Patty, and, after voluble leave-takings, she went away, tripping down the walk with the satisfied air of one who has accomplished her object.
“Well!” said Patty, with an air of utter exasperation.
“Well!” exclaimed Nan.
Mr. Fairfield smiled grimly.
“It’s our own fault,” he said. “We should have enquired as to the character of the neighbours before we bought the house.”
“How soon can you sell it, father?” asked Patty. “One more visitation like that would give me nervous prostration! Mona! Mona, indeed! I never saw a Mona before, but I might have known they were like that.”
“But can’t you really stay here?” asked Mr. Fairfield, in alarm.
“Nonsense, daddy, of course we can! Do you think I’d let myself be dispossessed by a mere Mona? No, sir; Nan and I can manage her.”
“I don’t quite see how,” said Nan, thoughtfully. “She’s that impossible sort. Oblivious to manner, impervious to hints. Patty, she’s dreadful!”
“Of course she is, Sweet Nancy. She isn’t our sort. But I’ll attend to her. I don’t know how, just yet, but I’ll find out. She’s a problem to be coped with, a difficulty to be overcome. But did you ever see such a gown? There was just enough embroidery on it for three self-respecting frocks. And her hair! Looked like the wax ladies’ coiffures in the hair-store windows!”
“Don’t make rude personal remarks, Patty, girl.”
“Oh, father, as if one could be rude to an object like that! Well, people dear, let’s put her out of our minds and hearts for the rest of to-day, anyway. I won’t have the birthday of ‘The Pebbles’ spoiled by a slight incident like that. Forget it!”
And so the impossible Miss Galbraith was voluntarily ignored.