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To the dining-room they went, and Nan’s gay little supper soon brushed the cobwebs out of Patty’s brain. But she was well satisfied with her first evening of real work on her “Puzzle Contest.”
CHAPTER III
A LECTURE
“Patricia,” said Mr. Fairfield, one morning at the breakfast-table.
Patty gave a great jump, clasped her hands to her breast dramatically, and exclaimed:
“Oh, my gracious goodness! What do you call me that for?”
“Because,” went on her father, “I’m going to lecture you, and I’m in a very serious mood.”
“Proceed, Mr. Frederick Fairfield, Esquire;” and Patty assumed an expression of rapt attention and excessive meekness.
“Well, to put it in a few words, I won’t have that young Van Reypen hanging around here so much!”
“Oh! is that all? Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree! You should advise him of that fact, not me.”
“Incidentally, as I go along, consider yourself reproved for that awful bit of slang. But now I’m concerned with this other subject. It won’t be necessary for me to speak to the young man, for I’m telling you that you must discourage his attentions somewhat. He comes too often.”
“I think so, too,” agreed Patty, calmly. “But it isn’t me – I, he comes to see. It’s Nan.”
“Oh, Patty, how silly!” exclaimed Nan, laughing and blushing a little.
“Yes, it is, daddy. Nan encourages him something scan’lous! I don’t wonder you kick!”
“Object, Patty, not kick.”
“Yes, sir; object is just what I mean.” Patty’s demure air made her father laugh, but he returned to his theme.
“As you know, child, I like to have you amused and happy, and I like to have your young friends come to see you. But this chap has already been here three evenings this week, and it’s only Thursday.”
“That leaves him just three more to come, doesn’t it?” said Patty, counting on her fingers.
“Indeed, it does not! If he keeps this up, he’ll be forbidden the house altogether.”
“Oh, what a pity! And he such a nice young man, with rosy cheeks and curly hair! Father, you’re cruel to your only child!”
“Now, Patty, behave yourself. You’re too young to have a man calling on you so often, and I really object to it.”
“‘I will be good, dear mother,
I heard a sweet child say,’”
hummed Patty, “and I’ll tell you frankly, my stern parent, that, if you’ll only let the Van Reypen villain stay by me until I get these puzzles done, I don’t care if I never see him again after that.”
“Oh, Patty,” cried Nan, “how ungrateful!”
“Ungrateful, perhaps, to that bold, bad young man, but obedient to my dear, kind, old father.”
When Patty was in this amiably foolish mood, she was incorrigible, so Mr. Fairfield said:
“All right, my lady. Let him come a few times to work out those pestilential puzzles, and then I shall hold you to your promise, to cut his acquaintance.”
“Is he really as bad as all that, father?” asked Patty, in awestruck tones.
“He isn’t bad at all. He’s a most estimable and exemplary young man. But I won’t have anybody calling on you three nights in one week, at your age. It’s out of the question! Kenneth doesn’t.”
“But Ken is so busy.”
“No, it’s because he has some idea of the proprieties.”
“And hasn’t Mr. Van Reypen any idea of the proprieties?” Patty’s eyes opened wide at this awful suggestion.
“Yes, he has;” and Mr. Fairfield smiled in spite of himself. “Or, he would have, if you’d let him! It’s all your fault, Patty; you drag him here, to mull over those idiotic questions!”
“I drag him here! Oh, father, what a rudeness! Well, I simply must have his help on the rest of those puzzles. How would it be if you engaged him as my assistant, and paid him a salary? Would that help matters?”
“How many of your precious puzzles are done?”
“Sixty-nine out of the hundred.”
“How many have you solved yourself?”
“About fifty.”
“Then that man did nineteen for you?”
“Yes; and, if he hadn’t, I never could have guessed them! Oh, he is clever!”
“And when do the answers have to be sent in?”
“April first.”
“H’m! an appropriate day! Well, Patty, as your heart is so set on this thing, carry it through; but don’t ever begin on such a task again. Now, Mr. Van Reypen may help you, if you wish, but I mean it when I say he must not come here to call more than twice in one week.”
“All right,” agreed Patty, cheerfully. “May I send him some puzzles to guess, father?”
“Well, I won’t have you writing to him. Not letters, I mean. But, if you can’t guess a puzzle, you may send it to him, and I trust you not to let this permission develop into a correspondence.”
“No, sir; I won’t,” said Patty.
But, after Mr. Fairfield had gone away, the girl turned to Nan, with a perplexed look.
“Whatever ails father,” she said, “to talk to me like that?”
“He’s right, Patty. You don’t see the difference, but there is a great difference between your friendship for Kenneth and Roger, which dates from your schooldays, and your sudden acquaintance with Mr. Van Reypen, who is older, and who is a far more experienced man of the world.”
“But Mr. Hepworth is a lot older than Mr. Van Reypen, and nobody objects to his coming here.”
“Mr. Hepworth is an old friend of your father’s, and has always been in the habit of coming here often.”
“Well, these distinctions are too much for me,” declared Patty. “But I don’t care a snip-jack about Philip Van Reypen, personally. If I can just have his help on my thirty-one remaining problems, I’ll cheerfully bid him farewell forevermore.”
There was no mistaking Patty’s sincerity, and Nan felt decidedly relieved, for she and her husband had feared that Patty was taking too deep a personal interest in the attractive young millionaire.
“All right, girlie. Suppose, then, you send him two or three of your brain-rackers, and ask him to come around, say, on Monday next. That will convey a gentle hint not to come sooner.”
“That’s a long time,” said Patty, dubiously; “but, if I need to, I can send him more puzzles before that.”
Patty ran away to her study, and spent the morning working on her puzzles. It was by no means drudgery, for she enjoyed it all. The puzzles were of all sorts, from charades and square words, to the most abstruse problems. She solved several, and four she gave up as impossible for her ever to guess. These she concluded to send to Mr. Van Reypen.
But it was more difficult than she anticipated, to compose a note to go with them.
She had no wish to disobey her father’s commands, even in spirit, and wanted to write an impersonal letter, such as he would approve.
But, for some reason, she couldn’t accomplish it. Philip Van Reypen was himself so straightforward, and so quick to see through any subterfuge, that all the notes she wrote seemed to her artificial and insincere. She tore them up one after another, and at last, seizing her pen again, she wrote rapidly:
“Dear Mr. Van Reypen:
“It’s no use. I’ve written a dozen notes and torn them up, trying to imply, or hint politely, what I prefer to say right out. It seems my parents think you come here too often, and, I daresay, you think so, too. So, at their command, you’re not to come again till next Monday. Come at four o’clock, and don’t ask to stay to dinner. I enclose some puzzles that I hope you can solve. I can’t.
“Sincerely yours,“Patricia Fairfield.”
“There!” said Patty, to herself, as she read it over, “I think that would do credit to a ‘Young Lady’s Model Letter Writer.’ It tells the truth without subterfuge, and it certainly does not invite the correspondence father is so afraid of. Now, I’m not going to touch these old puzzles again, to-day, or I’ll have brain failure. I think I’ll go and practise some new songs. Music hath charms to sooth a puzzled breast.”
So Patty warbled away for an hour or so, in her clear, sweet voice, and Nan came down to the music room to listen.
“Oh, Patty,” she said, “if you’d put half the time and pains on your music that you do on those foolish puzzles, you’d be a great singer!”
“Think so, Nannikins? I doubt it.”
“Yes, you would. You have a lovely voice, but it needs more training and lots of practice.”
“Well, it won’t get it. Life’s too short; and, too, nobody cares for parlour tricks of a musical nature. I sing well enough to entertain the Fairfield family, and that’s all I care for.”
“Patty, have you no ambition?”
“Yes; but my ambitions are sensible. If I practised four hours a day, I’d still have only a small parlour voice, – not a concert voice. And there’d be four hours a day wasted. And days are so short, anyway. I’m going to Christine’s this afternoon; do you want the motor?”
“Why, yes; I did expect to make some calls.”
“Oh, well, you can drop me on the way. But, won’t it be fun, Nan, when I get my own little runabout? I’ll be quite independent of Miller and the big car.”
“You can’t use it alone in the city.”
“Oh, yes, I could! Just to fly over to Christine’s in the afternoon, or something like that. Father would kick at first, but he’d soon get used to it.”
“You do wind that poor man around your finger, Patty.”
“Good thing, too. If I didn’t, he’d wind me around his finger. So, as it is, I have the best of it. But I’m not at all sure I’ll catch that runabout, after all. The first of April draweth near, and many of those silly problems refuse to let themselves be solved.”
“I hope you will get it, after you’ve worked so hard.”
“I hope so, too. But hopes don’t solve anagrams and enigmas.”
“Oh, well, if you don’t get it, there’s always room for you in the big car. What time do you want to go to Christine’s?”
“About four. She won’t be home till then. Does that suit your plans?”
“Perfectly, my child.”
So, at four o’clock, Nan left Patty at Christine’s new home.
It was not a typical boarding-house, but an apartment occupied by two elderly people, who had a room to spare, which seemed just right for the young art student.
Even in the short time she had been there, Christine had done much to make the plain room more attractive. And Patty had helped, for many of the comforts that had been added had been her gifts. A growing palm, and a smaller bowl of ferns looked thrifty and well-kept; and a large jar of exquisite pink roses gave the place a gala air.
“What lovely roses!” exclaimed Patty, sniffing daintily at one of them.
“Yes, aren’t they?” said Christine. “Mr. Hepworth sent them. He sends them every week. Isn’t he kind?”
“Yes, but no kinder than he ought to be. Everybody ought to be good to you, Christine.”
“Why?”
“Oh, because you’re so sweet and good, yourself. And you work so hard, and you never complain, – and you’re so pretty.”
Patty added the last clause, because her former words brought a pink glow to Christine’s cheeks, and a shining light to her dark eyes, and she looked indeed beautiful.
“I do work hard; but, Patty, I’m winning out! I’ve already had some illustrations accepted by a good magazine; and I’ve orders for two magazine covers.”
“Fine! Why, Christine, you’ve arrived!”
“Not quite that; but I’m steadily going ahead. I say that quite without conceit. It’s simply that I’m learning how to use the talent I have.”
“You dear!” cried Patty. “As if any one could imagine you conceited! And, of course, you’re going ahead, – fast!”
“And, Patty, Mrs. Van Reypen is so good to me. I don’t understand it. Why, she fairly showers me with kindnesses.”
“I understand it. Mrs. Van Reypen is very eccentric. If she dislikes people, she can’t be caustic enough to them or about them. But, if she takes a fancy to any one, then she just adores her. And I’m so glad she’s taken a fancy to you, – for she surely has.”
“Yes, she has. But sometimes it embarrasses me, for she invites me to see her so often, or to go to entertainments with her, and I have to refuse, for I mustn’t neglect my work.”
“Oh, she understands that. You stand by your work, and I know her well enough to know she’ll respect and admire you all the more for it.”
CHAPTER IV
THE HUNDREDTH QUESTION
It was the very last day of March. The next day Patty must send in her answers to the hundred puzzles, and she still had four of them unsolved. She had worked on these all day, and her brain was weary. Kenneth came in late in the afternoon, but he couldn’t help, as he had no knack for puzzles.
“I don’t like them, Patty,” he declared. “You see acrostics have cross words to them, and cross words always irritate me. I like kind words.”
“All right, Ken,” said Patty, laughing; “I’ll invent a new kind of acrostic that has only kind words in it, some day. But can’t you help me with this one? A train of six cars is to be pulled up a steep incline. The engine provided can pull only three cars. Another engine of equal power is brought and put behind the train, to push it up the hill. The two engines, working together, get the train uphill. Supposing the cars coupled with chains, are the chains taut, or hanging loosely? I’ve puzzled over that for hours. You see, half the weight of the train is pulled and half is pushed, so how do those stupid chains know whether they’re to hang loose, or pull taut?”
“H’m,” said Kenneth, “there must be an answer to that. Where’s your Van Reypen satellite? Can’t he do it?”
“You needn’t speak of Mr. Van Reypen in that tone,” said Patty, annoyed; “he’s helped me a lot more than you have!”
“There, there, Patsy, don’t be an acrostic! Don’t give cross words to your poor old chum, who lives but for to please you.”
Patty laughed at Kenneth’s mock tragic tones, but she went on:
“I do think you might do one for me, Ken. You haven’t even tried.”
“All right, girlie; I’ll do this one about the cars and chains. Do you mind if I go off by myself to think it out?”
Kenneth went into another room, and Patty looked after him in wonderment. She didn’t guess that he was longing to help her, and, though he couldn’t guess conundrums, he hoped he might puzzle out this question of mechanical power.
And then Mr. Hepworth came, and also Philip Van Reypen. They knew it was the last day, and they wanted to hear what Patty’s final report might be.
Philip Van Reypen had been greatly amused at the letter Patty wrote him, and, being an exceedingly sensible young man, he had not answered or referred to it definitely, but had accepted its dictum, and had called at the Fairfield house far less often. Nor had he again hinted for an invitation to dinner, but awaited one which should be freely given.
“How many yet to do?” he asked, blithely.
“Four,” answered Patty, disconsolately.
“Out with ’em! What are they? Not charades, I hope; I simply can’t do charades.”
“There’s one charade left, but here’s an enigma, which is about as bad. Oh, Mr. Hepworth, can’t you guess it?”
Appealed to thus, Hepworth made up his mind to help, if he possibly could, and both he and Van Reypen listened attentively as Patty read:
“‘I am intangible, yet I may be felt, seen, and heard. I exist from two to six feet above the ground. I have neither shape nor substance, and, though a natural production, I am neither animal, vegetable, or mineral. I am neither male nor female, but something between both. I am told of in the Scriptures, in history, in song, and in story. I am sad or merry; loving or treacherous. I am given or bought, and, because of my great value, I am sometimes stolen. I am used by men who swear, and by innocent children. Of late, there has been a prejudice against me, but I shall probably be in vogue as long as the world shall stand.’”
They all thought and pondered. Nan came in, and, as Patty read it slowly over again, even she tried to guess it. But they could not.
At last Philip Van Reypen gave a whoop of triumph, and exclaimed:
“I have it! Miss Fairfield, I’ve guessed it! Will you give it to me, if I tell you what it is?”
“Your speech sounds like an enigma, too,” said Patty, a little bewildered.
“But I’ve guessed it, I tell you. And, if you’ll promise to give it to me, I’ll tell you the answer.”
“No, I won’t promise,” said Patty. “It might be the motor car itself!”
“But it isn’t! It’s far more valuable than that! It’s a kiss!”
“Oh!” said Patty, “so it is! How did you guess it? It’s fearfully hard!”
Mr. Hepworth looked distinctly chagrined. Why, he thought, couldn’t he have guessed the foolish thing! It was easy enough, – after one knew it!
“Ken, come in here!” cried Patty; “we have guessed another! That is, Mr. Van Reypen did. Now, there are only three left.”
“Only two!” announced Kenneth, as with a beaming face he came in, bringing a dozen sheets of paper, scrawled all over with sketches of trains of cars going uphill.
“Oh, have you done that one?”
“Yes; I’m sure I’m right. The three first cars would have taut chains, being pulled by the front engine; and the three last cars would be pushed up close together, with their chains hanging limp, because they are pushed by the back engine.”
“Oh, Ken, of course that’s right! Thank you, heaps! Now I’ll get the other two, if I have to sit up all night to do it!”
“What are they?” asked Mr. Hepworth, conscious of a faint hope that he might yet be of assistance.
“One’s a charade,” answered Patty. “Here it is:
“‘’Tis futile, Son, my first to use
To change to yours another’s views;
For one convinced against his will
Is of the same opinion still.
“‘If e’er a letter you receive
From maiden fair; pray don’t believe
All that the note itself may say, —
But to my last attention pay.
“‘My total may be well employed
To still a molar’s aching void,
When stopping has not stopped the pain;
That tooth will never ache again!’
“I’ve worked on that a solid week, but I can’t get it.”
“Count me out, too,” said Philip Van Reypen; “charades are too many for me.”
“I’ll do that one for you, Patty,” said Mr. Hepworth, quietly. “Give me a copy to take home with me, and I’ll send you the answer to-night, or early in the morning.”
“Bless you, my angel!” cried Patty. “Will you, really? Why, Mr. Hepworth, I didn’t know you could guess charades.”
“I can’t!” said he, a little grimly; “but I’m going to, all the same. Good-bye, for now.”
And, with a do-or-die expression, Mr. Hepworth took leave of the group.
“Poor man!” said Nan, “he can’t guess it. He just wants to help you out, Patty.”
But Patty smiled and shook her head.
“Nay, nay, Nan,” she said; “if Mr. Hepworth says he’ll guess that thing, he will! It’s as good as done!”
“What faith!” murmured Van Reypen.
“Yes, indeed!” declared Patty. “Why, if I lost faith in Mr. Hepworth, I’d lose faith in the, – in the, – universe! I’ve known him for years, and he never fails me!”
“I guessed one!” said Kenneth, proudly.
“You did,” returned Patty, smiling on him; “and just for that I’m going to take you a whole block in my motor car!”
“Oh! how lovely. But, first, catch your car.”
“Now, what’s the only one left?” asked Philip, who wanted to distinguish himself again.
“Oh, just a simple conundrum,” said Patty. “What is lower with a head on it than without one?”
“That sounds simple, but it isn’t easy,” said Philip, after a few moments’ thoughts. “Nails, – pins, – cabbage heads, – nothing seems to be the right idea.”
And, try as they would, they couldn’t think of anything that led to the right answer.
The boys went home, declaring they’d think it up, and Patty mulled it over in her mind all the evening, without result.
Then she went to bed, declaring she’d dream of the answer.
The next morning she overslept, and Nan, fearing she would be late with her list of answers, went to waken her.
“Wake up, you little April Fool,” she cried, gently pulling Patty’s gold curls.
“Oh, Nan! is it morning? I’m so sleepy!”
“But you must wake up! It’s the First of April, and you must win that motor car to-day or never!”
Patty raised her head, and then dropped it back on the pillow.
“I can’t get my head up,” she said; “it’s too heavy. I guess I’ll give up the motor car. I’d rather keep my head on the pillow. Oh, Nan!” and suddenly Patty sprang up, with a wild yell.
“That’s it! I’ve got it! Hurrah!”
“Mercy, Patty, do keep quiet. What’s the matter?”
“Why, that’s it! the last puzzle! What is lower with a head on it than without one? Answer: a Pillow! See?”
“Patty, you’re crazy! I suppose that is the answer, but I think it’s silly.”
“No, it isn’t; not as puzzles go! Oh, Nan, now I have them all!”
“Not the one Mr. Hepworth took away.”
“He’ll get it back in time. You see if he doesn’t! Oh, Nan, Hooray with me!”
“I won’t. You’ve made noise enough to frighten the whole block now! Do quiet down, Patty, and get dressed.”
“All right, I will,” said Patty, in a whisper, and Nan went away, laughing.
Patty went down to breakfast in a very happy frame of mind, and announced to her father that the motor car was as good as won.
“Why do you feel so sure of Mr. Hepworth’s puzzle?” asked her father, a little curiously. “He never solved a charade before.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Patty, with supreme confidence. “He said he’d do it. If he hadn’t known he could do it, he wouldn’t have said he would do it.”
“Oh, stop, Patty!” cried Nan. “You talk like a puzzle, yourself. Don’t get the habit, I beg.”
“I won’t. But now I must go and copy my answers neatly, and by that time Mr. Hepworth’s will be here, and I’ll send ’em off about noon.”
Patty spent a happy morning copying her answers in her neat script, and looking with pride at her complete list.
At last it was all done, and she had left a vacant space to insert the answer to the charade when Mr. Hepworth should send it. But at noon it had not arrived, and she had had no word from him.
“Telephone, and ask him about it,” suggested Nan, as they sat at luncheon.
“No,” said Patty, “he said he’d send it, and I’ll wait for him.”
“How long can you wait?”
“Why, the only stipulation is that the list of answers shall be postmarked not later than April first; but I hate to wait till the last mail.”
“So should I; do telephone, Patty.”
“No, not yet. He’ll send it.”
The afternoon dragged by, with no word from Mr. Hepworth. At four o’clock, Nan went to Patty’s room.
“Dearie,” she said, “don’t lose your whole effort by a bit of stubbornness. Mr. Hepworth must have forgotten to send his answer – or, perhaps, he sent it by a messenger, and it went to the wrong place.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” said Patty, shaking her head. “He’ll guess it, and, as soon as he does, he’ll telephone me. I know him.”
“I know him, too, and I know his faithfulness. But mistakes do happen sometimes. If you’d only telephone, – or let me.”
“No, Nannie,” said Patty, gently. “This is my picnic, and I shall conduct it in my own way. And I won’t telephone Mr. Hepworth, if I have to send the answers with one missing.”
And then the telephone bell rang!
And it was Mr. Hepworth calling.
“I’ve guessed it!” he said, breathlessly, but triumphant. “But it’s rather complicated, and I can’t explain it very well over the telephone. I’ll come right over. Is there time?”
“Yes,” returned Patty; “come on. Good-bye.”
She hung up the receiver, and turned to Nan with an “I told you so” expression on her face.
“But it was a narrow escape,” said Nan.
“Not at all,” said Patty.
Then Mr. Hepworth came.
He looked calm and smiling as ever, and showed no trace of his sleepless night and anxious hard-working day.
“It’s ‘Forceps,’” he said, as soon as he had greeted them; “but it isn’t a fair charade at all. A charade should be divided into its two or more legitimate syllables. But this one is divided ‘Force’ and ‘P.S.’ You see, the P.S. is referred to as the principal part of a lady’s letter.”
“Oh, that old joke!” cried Nan.
“Yes. But, if it hadn’t been for that old joke, I never could have guessed it. For that was what put me on the right track. But the whole charade is distinctly unfair in its construction.”
“I think so, too,” said Patty, who had been looking it over. “Oh! Mr. Hepworth, how did you ever guess it?”
“I told you I would,” he answered, simply.
“Yes; and so I knew you would,” she returned, with a glance as straightforward as his own.
“Now, I’ll add it to my list,” she went on, “and then we’ll go out to the box together, to mail it.”
In a moment, Patty was ready, with the big, fat envelope, clearly addressed and much bestamped.
Throwing a light wrap round her, she went with Mr. Hepworth the half-block to the lamp-post letter-box. But the large envelope would not go in the box.
“Never mind, Patty,” he said; “I’ll take it to the post-office for you. That will be better, anyway, as it may be postmarked a little sooner. And it’s my fault that it’s delayed so late, anyway.”
“It is not!” exclaimed Patty. “If it hadn’t been for you, I couldn’t have sent the list at all! I mean, not a complete list.”
“Van Reypen helped you far more than I did,” said Mr. Hepworth, a little bitterly.
Patty noticed his tone, and, with her ready tact, she ignored it.
“Mr. Van Reypen did help me,” she said; “but, with all his help, the list would not have been perfect but for you. I thank you, very much.”
Patty held out her hand, and Hepworth took it slowly, almost reverently.
“Patty,” he said, “I wonder if you know how much I would do for you?”
“How much?” said Patty, not really thinking of what she was saying, for her mind was still on her puzzles.
“Shall I tell you?” and the intense note in his voice brought her back to a realising sense of the situation.
“Not now,” she cried, gaily; “you promised to get those answers to the post-office in double-quick time. That would be the nicest thing you could do for me.”
“Then I’ll do it, you little witch;” and, with a quick bow, Hepworth turned and strode down the street.
