Paddy-The-Next-Best-Thing
by Gertrude Page
Contents
CHAPTER I
Concerning Paddy’s Blouse.
Paddy Adair, the “next-best-thing,” as she was fond of calling herself, and the reason for which will appear hereafter, sat at the table, and spread all around her were little square books of “patterns for blouses,” from which she was vainly endeavouring to make a selection. Meanwhile she kept up a running conversation with the only other occupant of the room, a girl with dreamy eyes of true Irish blue, who sat in the window, motionless, gazing across the Loch at the distant mountains. She heard no word of all her sister was saying, but that did not appear to trouble Paddy in the least, so doubtless it was not an unusual state of affairs.
“This one with green spots and pink roses would look the best with my blue skirt,” Paddy said, holding one pattern at arm’s length and surveying it critically, “but the blue one with the white border would look better with my grey. I wonder which you would choose, Eily? I wonder which would be the most becoming to my peculiar style of beauty, or,” with a twinkle in her eyes, “I should say the most concealing to my unique lack of it. I think I’ll risk the green spots and pink roses, because it doesn’t really look half bad with the grey.
“Oh, but my hat!” with a comical exclamation of dismay, “there’s my silly old hat has got pansies in it, and they’d look just awful with the green and pink, Eileen! What am I to do, with all my things different colours, that don’t seem any of them to go together? I wonder if I’d better bring out my whole wardrobe and go through the hundred and one patterns again? Or shall I have a white-bordered thing, that is not particular and will go with just all of them? Only I’d have to start at the beginning to find it, and I’m so sick of the very sight of them. Here have I had these patterns three days, and I’ve already spent about five pounds’ worth of brain-power upon a blouse that will cost five shillings. If only you’d help, Eileen!” looking up toward the figure in the window, “instead of staring at those silly old mountains like a stuffed goose!
“Eileen!”—as the dreamer took no notice—“Eileen! do you hear that I’m floundering in a sea of patterns! Your one and only sister, and you sit there like an Egyptian mummy stuffed with dried peas!