Читать книгу Patty Blossom - Carolyn Wells - Страница 5

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The place became crowded. The two rooms occupied by the guests were small, and the party was a large one. Though not greatly attracted by the unusual sights and strange people, Patty was interested and curious. She wanted to see the affair in its entirety, and was glad when Sam Blaney came over to where she sat by Philip on the divan.

“I’ve come to carry you off,” Blaney said to her; “you must mingle with the crowd, if you want to become one of us.”

“I’d like to mingle a little,” Patty replied, “but I can’t hope to become one of such a talented bunch as this.”

“They’re not all so talented,” Blaney assured her, as he led her away, leaving Philip a bit moody and disapproving.

“It’s their clothes that astound me,” said Patty. “Why do they wear such queer rigs? Almost like a masquerade or fancy-dress ball. You, for instance; why do you wear this Oriental robe and turban?”

“Now that you ask me, I don’t believe I know! But it’s habit, I think. Yes, that’s it, it’s just habit. We who possess higher intellect than our fellows must differentiate ourselves in some way from them, and how else but by a difference of raiment?”

“Well, that does explain it, but why such queer raiment? Why not beautiful garments instead of eccentric ones?”

“Ah, that’s just it! They are beautiful, only you’re not of sufficient intelligence to appreciate their beauty.”

“What!” cried Patty, scarcely able to believe she had heard aright, “I’m not intelligent enough——”

“Oh, don’t get miffed. Your natural intelligence is all right, you’ve plenty of it. But it needs education,—bending in the right direction, you know. And I’m going to educate you. You’re the most promising subject I’ve ever seen. I’ll make a priestess of you,—a shining light,—a prophetess——”

Patty giggled. “If I’m a priestess I may as well be a prophetess, I suppose. When do these lessons begin?”

“Now. They have begun. You are unconsciously absorbing this atmosphere. You are involuntarily becoming more and more of our cult,—of our inspirations. You are evolving,—you don’t realise it, but you are evolving——”

“I shall be revolving, if I don’t get some fresh air! Why must you have these incense things smoking, not to mention some of the guests smoking also, and, incidentally, that Moorish lamp is smoking badly! I am absorbing your atmosphere, and it is choking me!”

Patty was in earnest, though she spoke lightly. The unpleasant air filled her lungs, and she wanted pure oxygen.

“Oh, all right,” and Blaney laughed, indulgently. “You can’t expect to achieve all at once. Come, we’ll step out on the veranda for a whiff of outdoors, and then come back for the program.”

“There’s to be a program?”

“Oh, yes. Most wonderful work, by genius itself. Now, please, Miss Fairfield, don’t resist the influence.”

They were out on the tiny veranda that graced the Blaney’s dwelling. The stars shone down through the pure winter air, and Patty felt as if she had been rescued from a malarial swamp. But Blaney was impressive. His deep, soft voice persuaded her against her will that she was pettish and crude to rebel at the unwholesome atmosphere inside. “You don’t understand,” he said gently. “Give us a fair trial. That’s all I ask. I know your inner nature will respond, if you give it its freedom. Ah, freedom! That’s all we aim for,—all we desire.”

Through the window, Patty heard the sound of weird strains of music.

“Come on,” she cried, “I do want to see this thing through. If that’s the program beginning, take me in. I want to hear it.”

They returned to the Studio, and Blaney found two seats which commanded a view of the platform. The seats were uncomfortable, being small wooden stools, and the air was still clouded with smoke of various sorts. But, determinedly, Patty prepared to listen to the revelations that awaited her. She had long had a curiosity to know what “Bohemia” meant, and now she expected to find out. They were nowhere near their own crowd. In fact, she couldn’t see Elise or Mona, though Philip was visible between some rickety armour and a tattered curtain. Very handsome he looked, too, his dark, and just now gloomy, face thrown into relief by the “artistic” background.

“Apparently, Mr. Van Reypen is not enjoying himself,” Blaney commented, with a quiet chuckle. “He’s not our sort.”

This remark jarred upon Patty, and she was about to make a spirited retort, when the music began.

A girl was at the piano. Her gown, of burlaps, made Patty think it had been made from an old coffee sack. But it had a marvelous sash of flaming vermilion velvet, edged with gold fringe, and in her black hair was stuck a long, bright red quill feather, that gave her an Indian effect.

“I think her gown is out of key,” Patty whispered, “and I am sure her music is!”

Blaney smiled. “She is a law unto herself,” he replied, “that is an arbitrary minor scale, played in sixths and with a contrary motion.”

Patty stared. This was a new departure in music and was interesting.

“Note the cynicism in the discords,” Blaney urged, and Patty began to wonder if she could be losing her mind or just finding it.

The performance concluded and a rapt silence followed. It seemed applause was undesired by these geniuses.

Philip stirred, restlessly, and looked over at Patty. She looked away, fearing he would silently express to her his desire to go home, and she wanted to stay to see more.

The girl who had played glided to a side seat, and her place was taken by another young woman, who presented an even more astonishing appearance. This time, the costume was of a sort of tapestry, heavily embroidered in brilliant hued silks. It was not unbeautiful, but it seemed to Patty more appropriate for upholstery purposes than for a dress.

The lady recited what may have been poems, and were, according to Blaney’s whispered information, but as they were in some queer foreign language, they were utterly unintelligible.

“What was it all about?” Patty asked, as the recitations were at last over.

“My dear child, couldn’t you gather it all,—all, from the marvellous attitudinising,—the wonderful intoning——”

“ ’Deed I couldn’t! I’ve no idea what she was getting at, and I don’t believe you have, either.”

“Oh, yes, it was the glory of a soul on fire,—an immolation of genius on the altar of victory——”

“That sounds to me like rubbish,” and Patty smiled frankly into the eyes of the man addressing her.

“Not rubbish, Miss Fairfield. Oh, what a pleasure it will be to enlighten your ignorance! To teach the eyes of your soul to see, the heart of your soul to beat——”

Again, it was the voice of the man that commanded her attention. The tones of Sam Blaney’s speaking voice were of such a luring, persuasive quality that Patty felt herself agreeing and assenting to what she knew was nonsense.

But now Van Reypen was striding toward them. Patty saw at a glance that Phil was at the end of his rope. No more of this nonsense for him.

She was right. As Blaney’s attention was diverted for a moment, Phil said, “Patty, you’re going right straight out of this. It’s no place for you! I’m ashamed to have you here. Get your wraps, and we’ll go, whether the Farringtons are ready or not. We can walk over to Pine Laurel,—it isn’t far. Come.”

“I won’t do it!” Patty returned, crisply. “The idea, Phil, of your ordering me around like that! I want to stay, and I’m going to stay. You can go, if you like; I’ll come home with Roger and the girls.”

“But I don’t like it, Patty, and I don’t like to have you here. It’s—it’s——”

“Well, what is it? I think it’s great fun, and I’m going to see it out.”

“Even if I ask you not to? Even if I beg you to go——”

“Even if you beg me on your bended knees! You’re silly, Phil. It can’t be wrong if the Farringtons stand for it.”

“It isn’t exactly wrong,—not wrong, you know,—but, well,—it’s cheap.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks! I like it. I don’t mind it’s being cheap, I’m tired of expensive things and glad of a change.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that way,” and Van Reypen looked genuinely distressed. “I wouldn’t care how poor people were, if they were——”

“Respectable?”

“No, not that, these people are respectable, of course. But,—sincere, that’s what I mean. This bunch are fakirs, they pretend to brains and knowledge and wisdom that they don’t possess.”

“And I suppose you do! Have you got all the knowledge and wisdom in the world?”

“At least I don’t pretend to have the knowledge that I haven’t!”

“But you pretend to have a whole lot of authority over me that you haven’t! I tell you, Phil, I’m not going to be ordered about by you! I came to this party because I wanted to see it, and I’m going to stay till it’s over, and you can do what you like.”

“All right, then,” and Phil looked grave. “I’ll go away for a time, and I’ll return and escort you home. What time shall I come back?”

“You needn’t come back at all. I’ll go home with Elise, or if not, I daresay Mr. Blaney will see that I get home safely. Won’t you?” she added, turning to the resplendent figure nearby.

“Won’t I what?” he asked gaily. “But the answer is yes, to anything you may ask. Even to the half of my kingdom, and then the other half. To be sure, my kingdom is small, and half of it is my sister’s, but you can command it all.”

“Oh, no, nothing so great as that! Merely to see me back to my rooftree in safety, if I outstay my escort.”

“You’re going to outstay everybody. Why, the fun hasn’t begun yet. Don’t dream of going home now!”

“I won’t,” and Patty turned deliberately away from Philip and began to chat with a group of guests to whom she had previously been introduced.

“Join our ranks,” said one vivacious young girl. “We’re the intelligent idiots, perhaps the wisest sages of our time. We’re having a symposium of souls——”

“Miss Fairfield isn’t interested in souls yet,” interrupted Blaney, “she’s not unnaturally starving to death. The feast is unusually delayed tonight.”

“It’s coming now,” announced Alla. “To the food, all!”

Philip was nowhere to be seen, nor did Patty see the Farringtons near her, but feeling glad of the hint of refreshments, she followed where Blaney led. Soon, she found herself ensconced on a divan, heaped with pillows, and many people were offering her strange-looking dishes.

“Chili con carne?” said one, “or common or garden Welsh Rabbit?”

“I never tasted the Chili stuff,” laughed Patty, “but I love Welsh Rabbit. I’ll take that, please.”

But, alas, the Welsh Rabbit Patty had in mind was a golden, delectable confection, light and dainty of character. She was served with a goodly portion of a darkish, tough substance, of rubbery tendencies and strong cohesive powers.

In vain she essayed to eat it; it was unmanageable, and, to her taste, positively inedible. Yet the others were apparently enjoying it, so she made valiant efforts to consume her own.

“Fine, isn’t it?” said Alla, with enthusiasm, “why, you’re not eating any! You don’t like it! Take this away, Sam, and bring Miss Fairfield some of the Tamale stuff.”

And then, the Rabbit was succeeded by a concoction so much worse, that Patty was appalled at the mere sight and odour of it.

“Oh, please,” she said, hastily, “if I might be excused from eating anything tonight. You see, the perfume of the incense burning is so unusual for me, that it makes me a little—er, headachy. Don’t think me a silly, will you?”

Patty’s wheedlesome air won them all, and they took away the highly-spiced, and strongly-flavoured dish. Then Blaney came with a small cup of thick, muddy-looking coffee.

“Just the thing for you,” he declared, “set you up in a jiffy! Real Egyptian, no Turkish business. Just the thing for you!”

Patty gratefully accepted the coffee, but one taste was enough! It was thick with pulverized coffee grounds, it was sickishly sweet, and it was strong and black enough to please the blackest Egyptian who ever desired that brand.

“Thank you,” she said, hastily handing the cup back. “It is so—so powerful, a little is quite enough. I’m sure that is all I want.”

The others sipped the muddy fluid with apparent relish, and Patty began to wonder if she wished she had gone home with Philip. At any rate she was glad he would return for her, and she hoped it would be soon.

She asked where the Farringtons were.

“In the other room, I think,” said Alla. “We’ll find them after supper. Here are the sweetmeats now. You must try these.”

The sweetmeats were Oriental, of course. There was Turkish Delight and other sticky, fruity, queer-looking bits, that seemed to Patty just about the most unappetising candies she had ever seen.

She refused them, a little positively, for she dreaded being persuaded to taste them, and it was hard to refuse the insistence of the guests who offered them.

“You’ll learn,” said Miss Norton, the pianist of the program. “It took me a long time to acquire the taste. But I’ve got it now,” she added, as she helped herself bountifully to the saccharine bits.

Supper over, it was rumoured about that now Blaney would himself read from his own poems. A rustle of enthusiasm spread through the rooms, and Patty could easily see that this was the great event of the evening. She was glad now that she had stayed, for surely these poems would be a revelation of beauty and genius.

There was a zithern accompaniment by the girl in orange, but it was soft and unobtrusive, that the lines themselves might not be obscured.

Standing on the little platform, Blaney, in robes and turban, made a profound salaam, and then in his melodious voice breathed softly the following “Love Song “:

“Thy beauty is a star—

A star

Afar—

Ay,—far and far,

Ay, far.

And yet, a bar,—

A bar

Is between thee and me!

Thee and me——

Thee and me!”

The voice was so lovely that Patty scarcely sensed the words. With the haunting accompaniment, the whole was like a bit of music, and the words were negligible.

But in the hush which followed, Patty began to think that after all the words didn’t amount to much. However, everybody was raving over the performance, and begging for more.

“Did you care for it?” Blaney asked of Patty, with what seemed to be a great longing in his eyes.

Unwilling to seem disappointed, she replied, “Oh, yes, it was most significant.”

“I thank you,” he said, his eyes alight with pleasure, “you have used the right word!”

As Patty had spoken the first noncommittal word that came into her head, she was thankful it proved acceptable!