Book: Patty and Azalea

C >> Carolyn Wells >> Patty and Azalea




"Then I fear your friend knew of the fraud,--though perhaps her mother
gave it to her as it is now."

"Can you judge if the stitches were picked out recently?"

"I should say very recently. The canvas is faded, of course, but, as you
see, the threads beneath where the missing stitches were is quite a
shade lighter. Had the picking been done years ago, the canvas would
have assumed a uniform tinge,--or nearly so."

"Of course it would,--I can see that for myself. Oh, dear!--Well, Mr.
Greatorex, don't say anything about this, will you?"

"Certainly not. But that's a good sampler, as it stands,--I mean as a
specimen of 1836 work."

"Yes, I know it is. And yet, oughtn't the stitches to be put back?"

"Probably not,--for they could not be matched exactly--"

"But if it remains like this, everybody will think it two hundred years
older than it really is."

Mr. Greatorex smiled. "Scarcely," he said. "You see, my dear, the
earliest known dated sampler is one of 1643 which is in the Victoria and
Albert Museum, in England. There are but six or seven known in that
century at all. It would be remarkable, therefore, to find a work of art
that would antedate all collections, and yet show the patterns and style
of work common less than a hundred years ago!"

"Oh, I understand,--I've read up on the matter somewhat,--but I'm _so_
sorry--oh, I _am_ so sorry!"

Elise looked woe-begone indeed, for she realised that Azalea had, in
all probability committed the fraud herself, and with a deliberate
intention of deceiving her.

Azalea's own ignorance of the whole matter was so great, that it was not
surprising that she thought the mere alteration of the date would make
the sampler of greater value. But what broke Elise's heart was the
knowledge of Azalea's wilful deception.

She thanked Mr. Greatorex for his explanations and, again asking him not
to mention the matter to any one at all, she put the sampler back in the
drawer and locked it up.

"Sold my sampler yet, Elise?" Azalea asked, when next they met.

"Yes; I bought it in myself," Elise replied. "I wanted it, so I bought
it. I haven't paid for it yet, for I want to know what you consider a
fair price?"

Elise looked Azalea straight in the eyes, and was not surprised to note
the rising colour in the cheeks of the Indian maiden.

"Why--why," Azalea stammered, "you said it was worth hundreds of
dollars--you said that yourself, Elise."

"That was before I knew of your own handiwork on the sampler."

"What do you mean?" cried Azalea, angrily.

"Just what I say. To the work on the sampler, you added a bit more,--or
rather, you subtracted some!"




CHAPTER XII

AZALEA'S CHANCE


"What do you mean by subtracted some?"

"Now, Azalea, there's no use in your acting like that! You know
perfectly well you can't fool _me_! If you really want to know what I
mean, I'll tell you. I mean that you picked out two stitches from the
eight to make it look like a six. Didn't you, now?"

"Oh, well, if you've discovered that, I may as well own up. Yes, I did."

"And aren't you ashamed of yourself? Don't you think such a deception a
wrong and contemptible thing to do?"

"Oh, pshaw, it was only for a joke. Can't you take a joke, Elise?"

"It _wasn't_ only for a joke. You hoped you would make me think the
sampler two hundred years older than it really is! And you thought that
would make it much more valuable. Well, you overreached yourself! There
were no samplers made--so far as is known--in 1636. So your trick
wouldn't fool anybody!"

"All right. There's no harm done, that I can see. My little joke fizzled
out,--that's all."

"No, that isn't all. It has proved you are a deceitful girl! You don't
mind telling a falsehood!"

"I didn't tell any!"

"Yes, you did! It's an untruth to pretend something is what you know it
isn't! If I had sold that to some unsuspecting buyer, for a large price,
you wouldn't have said a word! You'd have let it go!"

"Of course; all's fair at a Fair!"

"Oh, don't try to be funny, Azalea; I'm really angry about this matter."

"Huffy, eh? Well, get over it, then! I don't care! _Some_ people like
me! Don't they?"

The last question was asked of Raymond Gale, who came walking by.

"Sure; I do!" was the hearty reply. "Who doesn't?"

"Elise," and Azalea pouted at the girl.

"Fiddlesticks!" said Elise, gaily. "Never mind, Azalea, I'll take your
joke in good part."

For Elise had suddenly decided that she didn't want to spoil Patty's
Fair by having a quarrel with her guest. So, though a good deal
perturbed by the sampler incident, she preferred to drop the subject.

Azalea understood, and was glad to be let off so easily, though she felt
sure Elise would tell Patty all about it later.

With Azalea, however, out of sight was out of mind, and she walked away
with young Gale in a merry mood.

As they strolled along, a man stepped toward them, and raising his cap
in a respectful way, asked Azalea if he might have a few words with her,
alone.

He had a business-like air, and though polite, was, quite evidently, not
a man of social position.

Gale stared at him, and Azalea grew very red and confused.

"I--well--not just now," she said, hesitatingly. "I'll see you some
other time."

"No, miss, that won't do," The man was courteous, but decided,--and had
a manner that bespoke authority.

"If I'm in the way, I'll vanish," Raymond said, laughing a little.

"Well--if you will--" Azalea looked at him beseechingly. "I'll explain
later."

So Gale walked off by himself and Azalea turned a troubled face to the
man.

"Mr. Merritt," she said, "I can't have anything more to do with the
whole affair. I'm quite sure my relatives here wouldn't approve of it,
and I can't keep the matter secret any longer."

"But you _must_ come, Miss Thorpe. By a strange coincidence you are
greatly needed. Miss Frawley has broken her ankle--"

"She has!" Azalea's eyes sparkled, "Oh,--I don't mean I'm not sorry for
her,--I am, indeed! But--"

"But it gives you a chance! A wonderful chance,--and if you can make
good--"

"Oh, I can! I will! Shall I come now?"

"No; but you must come to-morrow morning at nine, sharp. Will you?"

"Indeed I will! I'll be there on time."

"And tell your people about it,--don't you think you'd better?"

"Oh," Azalea's face fell. "I don't know. Suppose they refuse to let me
go!"

"How can they? They have no real control over you."

"No,--but I'd hate to go against their expressed disapproval."

"Nonsense! This is your first chance at a career. Don't muff it, now!
Why, just your skill at archery is enough to put you over! It's the very
place for you! Western doings, riding, shooting, lassoing, all sorts of
bareback, daredevil stunts--"

"I know--I know. Yes, I'll be there to-morrow. You go, now,--here comes
my cousin."

With a quick glance at Farnsworth, who was approaching, the man walked
swiftly away.

"Who is he?" Bill asked, as he came up to Azalea.

"Friend of mine," she answered, gaily.

"What's his name?"

"That's telling!"

"I know it is, and I expect to be told."

"People don't always get all they expect."

"Don't trifle with me, Azalea; I'm not in a trifling mood. Who was that
man?"

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies. Now, now, Cousin
William, you know yourself, it's very rude to insist on prying into
other folks' secrets!"

"Why _is_ it a secret? What possible business can a man like that have
with you,--that I can't know about?"

"Why do you say 'a man like that'? He's all right."

"All right is a vague term. He's not one of our sort."

"Don't be a snob! Remember you were born and brought up in the West,
just as much as I was. And although you've now got to living high and
mighty, you needn't look down on me or my friends!"

"You're talking rubbish, Azalea. That man is not your friend,--he was
talking to you on some business matter."

"I'm not a business woman!"

"You're not a woman at all! You're a young girl, and a very silly
one,--to have secret dealings with a common-looking man. Now, as your
temporary guardian, I insist you tell me all about it"

"'Temporary guardian' is good! Who appointed you?"

"I'm that by reason of your being a guest in my house, and too in view
of the fact that you have, apparently, nobody to look after you. Your
father has mysteriously disappeared. You've had no word from him since
you've been here! So far as I know, you have no other relatives, and
so, as your nearest of kin, I propose to look after you,--if you will
let me. Don't be foolish, Azalea, dear," Farnsworth's voice took on a
tender tone, "_don't_ be antagonistic. I want to help you, not annoy
you. Why not look on me as a friend, and let me know all you're about?
There can be _no_ reason why I shouldn't."

"You might not approve," and Azalea looked at him uncertainly.

"Why? Are you up to anything wrong?"

"No," but she spoke hesitatingly, "not wrong, Cousin, but--all the same,
you might not approve."

"Tell me, and let me see. If it isn't wrong, I'll promise not to censure
you, even if I don't entirely approve."

Azalea's attention was attracted by the man who had lately left her. He
stood behind Farnsworth and made gestures that informed Azalea she was
not to let his presence be known. So she continued to talk to Bill, but
also kept the other man in view.

His procedure was somewhat strange. He pretended to be holding a baby,
cuddling an imaginary child in his arms. Then he tossed the
non-existent little one up in the air, and pretended to catch it again.

Then he nodded to Azalea. She shook her head negatively and very
vigorously.

He nodded peremptorily and insistently. Again she shook her head, and as
she did so Farnsworth wheeled suddenly and saw the man.

Angrily, he made a dash for him, but the stranger was agile and alert,
and ran swiftly away and out of the grounds to the street.

Farnsworth looked at Azalea coldly. "So you were holding communication
with him, over my shoulder! This is a little too much, Azalea, and now
the crisis has been reached. Either you give me a full explanation of
your business with him, or you bring your visit here to an end. I cannot
have you in my house, if you are deceitful and insincere. I stand by my
offer; I will listen willingly to your story, and judge you most
leniently. I don't really believe you _are_ up to anything wrong. But a
secret is always mysterious and I hold that you are too young and
inexperienced to have secrets from your elders."

"I have nothing to confess or confide, Cousin William," said Azalea,
putting on a haughty air. "I refuse to be accused of wrong-doing, when
I am not guilty of it,--and I will bring my visit here to an end at
once! I will leave to-morrow!"

"Oh, pshaw, Zaly, don't go off so suddenly!" Farnsworth laughed lightly,
for he had said a little more than he meant to, and he realised, too,
that this was neither the time nor the place to have such a serious talk
with the girl.

"Come along now, and have tea with us all in the tea-house," he said.
"Forget your bad, cruel cousin's scoldy ways, and as to the mysterious
man, I'll trust your word that he's all right."

"Oh, thank you, Cousin!" Azalea fairly beamed now. "How good you are!
I'll tell you all about it,--some day!"

So the matter rested for the moment, and the two went to join the merry
group around the tea-table.

The Fair drew to a brilliant close. The second evening was even more gay
and festive than the first. Everything was sold out,--or, if not, it was
disposed of by auction after the time-honoured method of Fairs.

Much money had been accumulated for the good cause, and though tired,
the workers were jubilant over the success of Vanity Fair.

"I shall sleep late to-morrow morning," declared Patty, as, after all
the guests were gone, the house party started for bed.

"Me, too," agreed Elise. "I'm glad you haven't anybody staying here but
us. No house guests, I mean, but just Zaly and me."

"I'm glad, too," said Patty. "You see, I expected Father and Nan, but
they've changed their plans and will remain in California another
month."

"They're having a gorgeous trip, aren't they?"

"Yes, indeed, but I wish they'd ever get home! Just think, Father has
never seen Fleurette!"

"She'll be a big girl when they do see her. She's growing like a little
weed."

"Like a little flower, you mean! Don't you just love her name, Elise?"

"Fleurette? Little Flower? Of course I do. The sweetest ever. Does Bill
still call you Patty Blossom?"

"Yes, at times. Oh, he calls me 'most any old thing! He makes up new
names for both of us every day! Come along, Zaly, you're dropping from
sheer weariness. Time for little girls like you to go beddy!"

Affectionately Patty put her arm round the girl, and led her away
upstairs.

"Sleep well," she said, as she left Azalea in her own room. "And don't
come downstairs in the morning before ten or eleven. I'm sure I shan't.
The servants will clear everything up, and Bill will oversee it. I hate
the aftermath of a Fair,--don't you?"

Azalea nodded agreement, and Patty kissed her good-night and went off.

But it was only eight o'clock the next morning when Azalea crept softly
downstairs. She was neatly attired in a cloth suit, with a fresh white
shirtwaist and a pretty hat.

She was not at all sleepy or weary-looking and she went out through the
pantry to the kitchen.

"Please give me a cup of coffee," she said to the cook, who was just
beginning her day's work.

She looked in amazement at Azalea, for she had had no orders over night
to serve an early breakfast.

"I'll get you something as quick as I can," she said, good-naturedly. "I
didn't know you was going to town, Miss Thorpe."

"Just decided," said Azalea, carelessly; "and I don't want
breakfast,--only a cup of coffee and a bit of toast. There's a good
cookie."

Smiling at the cajolery, the cook bustled about and soon had an
appetising little repast ready. Azalea gratefully accepted the poached
egg and the marmalade in addition to what she had requested, and in a
short time had finished and prepared to depart.

But she did not ask for one of the Farnsworth motor-cars; instead, she
walked swiftly out of the gate and down the street toward the trolley
line.

She waited for a car and when it came she got aboard and settled down
for a long ride.

At last she got out and a short walk brought her to her destination.
This was nothing more nor less than a great moving-picture studio.

There were a number of people about, all very busy and intent on what
they were doing.

Azalea seemed to be known, for two or three nodded pleasantly to her as
she went swiftly along to the office.

There she presented herself, and was received by Mr. Bixby, the man who
had one day called on her at Wistaria Porch.

"Well, Miss Thorpe," he said, briskly, "I suppose you heard the news.
Miss Frawley has broken her ankle--"

"Yes, I heard that," said Azalea, with a sympathetic look.

"And we think we want to put you in her place,--at least, for a trial."

"I'm glad to try," Azalea said, earnestly. "I'll do my best to make
good. But I can't bring the baby again."

"Oh, pshaw, yes you can,--just once more, anyway. But never mind that
now. We must see about your own part. You know there's danger, Miss
Thorpe?"

"Miss Frawley braved the danger," Azalea said, quietly.

"Yes, and Miss Frawley broke her ankle."

"I know; and I may break mine, but I'll take the chance. I am not
afraid,--though I well know that accidents may happen. What was Miss
Frawley doing?"

"It was in that climbing scene. You know she climbs the sheer precipice
of rock. There are hidden spikes driven into the rock for her feet, of
course, but she missed one, and fell."

"I'll be as careful as I can, but I may miss it, too."

"In that case, we'll have to get some one else," said Mr. Bixby,
coolly. "Are you ready for work?"

"Oh, yes," and then Azalea was shown to the dressing-rooms.

This was her secret. For years she had wanted to be a moving-picture
actress, and she had hoped before she left Arizona for New York that she
might get an opportunity to take up the work. She had expected to begin
with minor parts, and hoped by her skill and earnest efforts to attain
eminence.

On the train, coming East, she had formed an acquaintance with Mr. Bixby
and his wife, who were in the business. As their studio was not far from
the Farnsworth home, Azalea had made plans with them to engage in the
work.

She had carried out these plans, and had been over to the studios
several times, taking parts in which they needed a substitute.

She had done so well and had shown such promise that Mr. Bixby urged her
to become a regular actress in his company.

But Azalea was so uncertain as to how Patty and Bill would regard such a
move on her part, that she had so far kept the matter to herself.

Then, when the star actress had met with an accident, and the management
had concluded to offer Azalea her place, it was a great chance for the
girl.

She had come over this morning to give it a trial, entirely at sea as to
her subsequent attitude toward the Farnsworths.

She thought she would be guided by circumstances as to whether she would
confide all to them, or whether she would continue her secrecy as to her
movements.

Mrs. Bixby attended to her in the dressing-room. All of Miss Frawley's
costumes, it was found, could be altered to fit Azalea.

As one in a dream, the girl stood to be fitted, while seamstresses and
modistes hovered about her.

Then she was informed that the work that day would be only rehearsing
and the pictures would not actually be taken until her costumes were
ready.

Submissively she did exactly as she was told, and so well did she act
the parts assigned her, that Mr. Bixby expressed hearty approval.

Azalea was there nearly all day, and when at last she turned her face
homeward, a great dismay seized her.

"What's the matter, child?" asked kindly Mrs. Bixby, who was saying
good-bye.

"Oh, I don't know what to do!" Azalea was tempted to tell the
director's wife all her troubles.

But Mrs. Bixby was a busy lady, and she said, "Not now, dearie. You
skittle home, and to-morrow maybe I can take a couple hours off to hear
your tale of woe. You know you've already told me your swagger relatives
would throw a fit if they knew what you were up to. Well, I guess it's
about fit time!"

Azalea disliked her style of speech, but Mrs. Bixby was kind hearted,
and she had hoped to have her for a confidante. However, there was no
chance then, for Mrs. Bixby hustled her off to the trolley-car, and
Azalea went home to Wistaria Porch.




CHAPTER XIII

"STAR OF THE WEST"


All the way home Azalea wondered how she would be received.

Both Patty and Bill were somewhat suspicious of her and would naturally
question her as to where she had been all day. She was tempted to tell
them the whole truth and throw herself on their mercy, and but for one
thing she would have done so. This was the fact that she had previously
taken the baby, Fleurette, over to the studios and had used the child in
the pictures.

This she felt quite sure the Farnsworths would not forgive.

Azalea would not have done it, if it had occurred to her at first how
the parents would resent such use of their child. But Mr. Bixby had
needed a very young baby in a certain picture and Azalea, anxious to
please, had offered to bring Fleurette over. She was herself so devoted
to the little one and so careful of her, she felt no fear of any harm
coming to her. Nor did it, for the infant was good and tractable, and
did all that was required of her without any trouble. However, little
was required except for her to coo and gurgle in one scene, and to lie
quietly asleep in another.

But there was one more short scene where Azalea had to rescue the baby
from a burning house. To be sure the flames were artificial and there
was no danger from the fire, but the baby was thrown from an upper
window, and caught by Azalea, who stood down on the ground.

So accustomed was Fleurette to being tossed about, and so familiar to
her was the frolicking with Azalea that she made no objections and was a
most delightful addition to the picture.

But something happened to the film, and the director was most anxious to
take the scene over again.

Azalea, however, positively refused to take Fleurette again to the
studio. She knew how she would be censured, should it be found out, and
now Nurse Winnie and the two Farnsworths, as well as Elise, were all
watching for anything mysterious that Azalea might do.

She felt almost as if she were living over a slumbering volcano, that
might at any moment blow her up. For Elise, she felt sure, would not
keep the sampler incident to herself, and if Farnsworth heard of it he
would be newly angry at that deception.

So Azalea's delight at her success with the moving-picture company was
very much tempered with dismay at her position in the Farnsworth
household.

She was almost tempted to run away from them altogether and shift for
herself.

Indeed, she practically decided, as she rode in the trolley-car, that if
they were hard on her when she reached home, she _would_ run away. Of a
wayward disposition and without really good early training, Azalea
thought only of herself, and selfishly desired her own advancement
without thought or regard for other people.

But, to her pleased surprise, when she entered the gate she heard gay
voices on the verandah, and knew that guests were there,--and several of
them.

Unwilling to meet them in her street clothes, she slipped around to the
back entrance and went in at the servants' door.

"I don't want to appear until I can dress," she explained to the cook,
and went upstairs by a back way.

Half an hour later, a very different looking Azalea went down the front
staircase and out onto the porch.

She wore a becoming dress of flowered organdie, with knots of bright
velvet, and her pretty hair was carefully arranged.

Smiling and happy-looking, she met the guests and greeted them with a
graceful cordiality.

"Where have you been?" cried Elise, but Azalea ignored the question and
quickly spoke to some one else.

Mona and Roger Farrington were there, and Philip Van Reypen and Chick
Channing. This quartette had motored up from New York to dine, and Patty
had already persuaded them to say they would stay over night.

"I'm crazy for a house party," she said, "haven't had one for 'most a
week! Oh, yes. I've a couple of house guests, but I mean a real party.
Let's make it a week-end, and have lots of fun!"

The visitors were entirely willing, and after telephoning home for
additional apparel, they settled down to enjoy themselves.

As they hadn't much more than accomplished this settling when Azalea
arrived, there was no comment made on her absence all day.

In fact, Patty rather forgot about it, in the multitude of her
conferences with the housekeeper and the maids.

Farnsworth said nothing in the presence of the guests, and Elise, after
her first exclamation, subsided.

In fact, Elise was more interested in the society of Channing and Van
Reypen than in the mystery of Azalea's disappearances.

Betty and Ray Gale had been telephoned for, and they came gladly, so
that at dinner there was quite a big party.

"You certainly are a great little old hostess, Patty!" exclaimed Roger
Farrington, as they seated themselves at table. "I liked you heaps as a
girl, but as mistress of a fine house you are even more charming."

"Thank you, Sir Hubert Stanley!" smiled Patty; "and I'm glad to admit
that I learned a lot about managing a house from your gifted wife. Do
you remember, Mona, how we kept house down at 'Red Chimneys'?"

"Indeed I do!" Mona answered, "what fun we had that summer!"

"I'll subscribe to that!" declared Farnsworth, "for it was then and
there that I met the lady who is now my wife! And,--I kissed her the
moment I saw her!"

"Oh, Cousin William!" cried Azalea, "did you really? What _did_ she
say?"

"Flew at me like a small cyclone of wrath! But as I had mistaken her for
my cousin Mona, she couldn't hold me very guilty."

"Yes! A lot Patty looks like me!" said Mona, who was a dark-haired
beauty.

"But I didn't see her face," pleaded Bill; "I just saw a girl on the
verandah of your house, Mona, and I took it for granted it was you!"

"It's all ancient history," said Patty, laughing. "And, to tell the
truth, I'm glad it happened,--for otherwise, I mightn't have become
interested in--Mona's cousin."

"Then I bless my mistake!" said Farnsworth, so fervently that Patty
shook her head at him.

"Mustn't talk so before folks," she said, reprovingly. "Now, people all,
what shall we do with this lovely evening? It's moonlight, so any who
are romantically inclined can ramble about the place, and flirt in the
arbours,--while those who prefer can play bridge or--the piano. Or
just sit and chat."

"Me for the last!" cried Mona. "I've oceans to talk about with you,
Patty. Can't we play all by ourselves for a little while?"

"Certainly," said Patty, as she rose from the table. "Mona and I are
going to sit on the wistaria porch and gossip for half an hour. After
that, we're all going to dance,--and maybe sing."

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.