Patty's Social Season. Wells Carolyn

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СКАЧАТЬ know,” spoke up Jenny Bisbee, eagerly; “I read it in a Sunday paper. You begin at the outside of the row, and eat in!”

      “Land! are you sure to come out right, that way? S’pose you had a fork left for your ice cream!”

      “We’ll risk it,” said Mona, smiling. “Let’s use this spoon at the outside, as Jenny suggests.”

      The second course was clam bouillon, and after it was served, a maid passed a dish of whipped cream.

      Mrs. Greene watched carefully as Mona placed a spoonful on the top of her soup, and then she exclaimed:

      “Well, if that don’t beat all! What is that, might I ask?”

      “Whipped cream,” said Mona. “Won’t you have some?”

      “Well, I will,—as you took some. But if that ain’t the greatest! Now, just let me tell you. A friend of mine,—she has seen some high society,—she was telling me a little how to behave. And she told me of a country person she knew, who had some soup in a cup once. And he thought it was tea, and he ca’mly puts in milk and sugar! Well, he was just kerflum-mixed, that poor man, when he found it was soup! So, my friend says, says she: ‘Now, Almira, whatever you do, don’t put milk in your soup!’ And, I declare to goodness, here you’re doin’ just that very thing!”

      “Well, we won’t put any sugar in,” said Mona, pleasantly; “but I think the cream improves it. You like it, don’t you, Jenny?”

      “Heavenly!” said Jenny, rolling her eyes up with such a comically blissful expression that Elise nearly choked.

      As Patty had agreed, the luncheon was good and substantial, rather than elaborate. The broiled chicken, dainty vegetables, and pretty salad all met the guests’ hearty approval and appreciation; and when the ice cream was served, Mrs. Greene discovered she had both a fork and a spoon at her disposal.

      “Well, I never!” she observed. “Ain’t that handy, now? I s’pose you take whichever one you like.”

      “Yes,” said Mona. “You see, there is strawberry sauce for the ice cream, and that makes it seem more like a pudding.”

      “So it does, so it does,” agreed Mrs. Greene, “though, land knows, it ain’t much like the puddin’s I’m accustomed to. Cottage, rice, and bread is about the variety we get, in the puddin’ line. Not but what I’m mighty grateful to get those.”

      “I like chocolate pudding,” said Jenny, in a low voice, and apparently with great effort. Patty knew she made the remark because she thought it her duty to join in the conversation; and she felt such heroism deserved recognition.

      “So do I,” she said, smiling kindly at Jenny. “In fact, I like anything with chocolate in it.”

      “So do I,” returned Jenny, a little bolder under this expressed sympathy of tastes. “Once I had a whole box of chocolate candies,—a pound box it was. I’ve got the box yet. I’m awful careful of the lace paper.”

      “I often get boxes of candy,” said Celeste, unable to repress this bit of vanity. “My customers give them to me.”

      “My,” said Jenny, “that must be fine. Is it grand to be a manicure?”

      “I like it,” said Celeste, “because it takes me among nice people. They’re mostly good to me.”

      “My ladies are nice to me, too,” observed Anna. “I only sew in nice houses. But I don’t see the ladies much. It’s different with you, Miss Arleson.”

      “Well, I don’t see nice ladies,” broke in Jenny. “My, how those queens of society can snap at you! Seems ’if they blame me for everything: the stock, the price, the slow cash boys,—whatever bothers ’em, it’s all my fault.”

      “That is unkind,” said Clementine. “But shopping does make some people cross.”

      “Indeed it does!” returned Jenny. “But I’m going to forget it just for to-day. When I sit here and see these things, all so beautiful and sparkly and bright, I pretend there isn’t any shop or shopping in all the world.”

      Jenny’s smile was almost roguish, and lighted up her pale face till she looked almost pretty.

      Then they had coffee, and snapping crackers with caps inside, and they put on the caps and laughed at each other’s grotesque appearance.

      Mrs. Greene’s cap was a tri-corne, with a gay cockade, which gave her a militant air, quite in keeping with her strong face. Patty had a ruffled night-cap, which made her look grotesque, and Anna Gorman had a frilled sunbonnet.

      Celeste had a Tam o’ Shanter, which just suited her piquant face, and Jenny had a Scotch cap, which became her well.

      “Now,” said Mona, as she rose from the table, “I’m going to give you each a bunch of these carnations–”

      “To take home?” broke in Jenny, unable to repress her eagerness.

      “Yes; and I’ll have them put in boxes for you, along with your cards and souvenirs, which, of course, you must take home also. And, if there’s room, I’ll put in some of these Christmas tree thingamajigs, and you can use them for something at Christmas time.”

      “Oh!” exclaimed Jenny; “maybe my two kid brothers won’t just about go crazy over ’em! Says I to myself, just the other day, ‘What’s going in them kids’ stockings is more’n I know; but something there must be.’ And,—here you are!”

      “Here you are!” said Mona, tucking an extra snapping cracker or two in Jenny’s box.

      “We plan to go for a motor ride, now,” said Mona. “I wonder if you girls are dressed warmly enough.”

      All declared that they were, but Mona provided several extra cloaks and wraps, lest any one should take cold.

      “We have two cars for our trip,” she explained; “Miss Farrington’s limousine and my own. Has any one any preference which way we shall go?”

      “Well,” said Mrs. Greene, “if you ask me, I’d like best to ride up Fifth Avenue. There ought to be some fine show of dress, a bright afternoon like this. And there ain’t anything I admire like stylish clothes. That’s a real handsome gown you got on, Miss Fairfield.”

      “Do you like it?” said Patty, smiling.

      “Yes, I do. It’s fashionable of cut, and yet it ain’t drawed so tight as some. And a becomin’ colour, too.”

      “It’s a dandy,” observed Jenny. “I see lots of good clothes on my customers, but they don’t all have such taste as Miss Fairfield’s. And all you other ladies here,” she added, politely, glancing round.

      “Now, are we all ready?” asked Mona, looking over the group. “Mrs. Greene, I fear you won’t be warm enough, though your jacket is thick, isn’t it? But I’m going to throw this boa round your neck, by way of precaution. Please wear it; I have another.”

      “My land! if this ain’t luxuriant,” and Mrs. Greene smoothed the neckpiece and muff that Mona put on her. “What is this fur, Miss Galbraith?”

      “That is caracul. Do you like it?”

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