  Captain William Farnsworth sat in his room, opening his morning mail. Or rather, his morning mail was waiting to be opened, while he eagerly perused a letter from Miss Patricia Fairfield. “For the love of pickled peppers!” he exclaimed, in a self-addressed murmur, “she didn’t! she couldn’t!” For the letter said,—in part: “I am so glad you’re thinking of coming to New York in February! That’s soon here! Which day? What hour? Oh, my Little Billee, how can I wait to see you! I want to look in those dear, big, loving blue eyes, and have them answer the questions I want to ask. You know what the questions are! Oh, well, suppose I do know the answers,—I guess a little Patty Blossom can ask over again if her big Sir Galahad loves her,—and why,—and how much,—and a few such things,—that are important, if true! And there is nothing in this whole round world truer than our love,—is there, dear? I just live in it,—when I am alone, I thing of nothing but US, and, I’m afraid I am absent-minded, even when other people are about. Do come home soon,—come to your own Patty Posy. Tell me quick when to look for you! Why didn’t you tell me sooner there was hope of seeing you soon? My own dear big man, my own, my owner, my ownest, I’m now and forever “Your “Patty Blossom.” Farnsworth frowned,—he looked puzzled, amazed, hurt. Again he resorted to expletives. “Great jumping kangaroos!” he said to himself, “I can’t see it! Patty never did such a thing! never! But if not, how did she know? I believe the very walls have not only ears but tongues and pens in their hands, and a whole wireless outfit beside! I can’t suspect Patty,—and yet,—all women are curious,—and, of course, this doesn’t matter so much,—but if I can’t trust her in everything how can I trust her at all?” With a sigh, he laid the letter aside, and turned to his business correspondence. Farnsworth’s position was a responsible one, and it contained and involved many secrets that must be carefully guarded. Among these was the fact and date of his next trip to New York. It was on a matter of moment, and it was not desirable that his absence from Washington should be known. He had written Patty about it, but he had enclosed the message in a sealed envelope, with directions not to open it until he wired her to do so. Thus, he planned, she would know it in time, but the information could not leak out. And now it had leaked out. Patty knew and made no secret of the knowledge that he was expected in New York. Had she told others? And,—worst of all,—had she opened the sealed letter before he told her to? This was incredible,—yet, what other solution or theory was possible? And there was to be considered a grouchy old Colonel, who would make all sorts of trouble for Captain Farnsworth if it became known that he was careless with his personal correspondence. Because of his well-trained mind, and his power of concentration, Farnsworth forced himself to attend to matters in hand, but ever and again flashed across his preoccupied brain the fact that Patty had disregarded his instructions. He lived with a pleasant family in the Capital, and his quarters were the whole of the second floor of the small house. This gave him a good-sized sitting room, which was his private office, and here he transacted all business that didn’t require his presence at the more public buildings. He kept doggedly at work, determined not to let the disturbing episode interfere with his efficiency. And he succeeded, but only by dint of perseverance in his resolve not to think of Patty at all. This was difficult, for every glance of his eye fell on something remindful of her. A photograph on his desk; other little snapshots lurking among his papers; a paper-cutter she had given him; indeed, the pen he wrote with was her parting gift; and all spoke eloquently of the girl he had so reluctantly left behind him. “Busy, Captain?” called a gay voice, and a merry face peeped in at the door. “Always busy,” he returned, cheerily, “but never too busy to say good morning.” “Oh, I know what that means! That I must say good morning, and nothing more! But I do want just half a dozen more words.” The piquant face smiled coaxingly, as Lena Richards danced in. She was the daughter of the house, a dark-haired, olive-skinned little gipsy, who, being quite spoiled by her doting parents, assumed the right to have her own way with every one else. Farnsworth liked her as no one could help doing, but he was often obliged to speak more curtly than he liked to, or she would intrude too often on his time. She wore a smock of pink linen and her curly hair was bundled into a little Dutch cap. She came in, with the venturesome air of a mischievous child, and perched saucily on the corner of the big desk. “You see,” she began, “I’m in an awful scrape—well, that is, I’m not, but somebody else is——” “Who isn’t?” said Farnsworth, smiling at the roguish little face that wore such a troubled frown. “Yes, I s’pose everybody is, more or less, from the President down. And when you think of that, my little brother does seem small, but—you see, to me——” “It’s a national calamity?” “Personal rather than national,—yet it may be said to be international.” “Many of our troubles are. Your story interests me strangely,—my che-ild,—but truly, Lena, I can’t take time now to hear the yarn. I suppose your fudge was lumpy, or your new ribbons don’t match your frock,—is that it?” “You always talk as if I were a child!” and the scarlet lips pouted petulantly. “Of course! I always think of you as a kiddy in a middy.” “This isn’t a middy, it’s a smock, and a very grown up one at that.” “Do smocks grow up? Thought they only grew old. Well, anyway, whatever your age, I’ve no time to waste on you this morning. My country needs me!” “You’re always so unkind to me,——” and two crystal drops formed in the big, brown eyes. Now, William Farnsworth was the sort of man who can’t stand seeing a woman in distress. And though he knew that this sixteen-year-old chit could have no real or deep trouble, he yet could not bring himself to speak sternly to her, and tell her to leave the room. Against his will, he obeyed the dictates of his kind heart, and taking out his watch, said: “I’ll give you ten minutes. Spill your story in Papa’s ear!” The dark little face lighted with gladness, and Lena murmured, “How good you are! Listen, then! You know my friend, Gracie Hadley?” “Haven’t the pleasure. Who’s she in America?” “Well, she’s just Gracie, that’s all. And—sh!”—Lena looked cautiously about, “don’t breathe it, but she’s in love with an English chap who’s over here. And her mother doesn’t approve——” “Why? Who’s the Britisher?” “I don’t want to tell you, ’cause it’s Gracie’s secret——” “All right; I don’t want to know anyway. But where do I come in? I hate to hurry you, but I’m assuming I play a part in this tragedy, and I want my cue, for honest to goodness, Lena, I’ve troubles of my own!” “Yes, I know, Captain, and I won’t be but a minute explaining. Well, Gracie has been corresponding with this man,——” “Oh, naughty! naughty!” “Hush! It’s all right; only of course, she doesn’t want her mother to know. Well, she tears up his letters, but—what do you think!” “Censor?” “No! but the man has given her her letters to him——” “Returned them!” “No; I mean yes,—but for this reason—you fluster me so,—with your snapping up!” “Well, well, go and tell it in your own way. But, for Heaven’s sake, hurry up!” “All right. You see he gave her these letters to save for him just while he’s away somewhere, and he wants them when he comes back.” “Can’t she write some more?” “Oh! You’re so unfeeling! So—why, you’re stupid!” “Pardon,—sorry! Fire away.” “Never mind details,—Gracie can’t keep them at home, for fear her mother will find them—she snoops awfully! And—I can’t keep them here,——” “For a similar reason?” “Yes; exactly! So,—Captain Farnsworth,—nice, dear Captain Farnsworth, won’t you let me hid them in here,—among your things?” “Goodness! Little One, is that all you want? Sure! Hide them wherever you like in my domain. Your eagle-eyed mother won’t find them in here! But, hold on! Nothing that wouldn’t get by the Censor, is there?” “Oh, goodness, no! Nothing like that!” “Guess I’ll have to have a glimpse of ’em, though. Not to pry into the lovers’ confidences, of course, but because I can’t harbour papers unless I’m satisfied of their contents.” “All right,—that goes! I’ll get them now;” and running from the room, Lena returned with a small packet of letters tied with blue ribbon. Farnsworth examined the envelopes, and glanced here and there at the written pages. “All right,” he said, re-tying the packet, “internal evidence proves conclusively to my mind that these documents are just what you describe them to be. Say we put them in the top drawer of my chiffonier; how’s that?” “Fine! Mother would never dream of looking in your room!” “I should hope not! And now may I, without undue haste, bid you a very good morning?” “S’pose I’ve got to go, if you put it like that. I did want to tell you more about Gracie; and there’s something I want to ask you.” “Not now, not now, my child. I am busy—see? B-U-S-Y! My Flag comes before my friends! Thus, you see my friends follow the Flag!” “You are so witty! And so kind. Thank you lots, Captain, and when you’re not so busy, may I talk to you again?” “If that time ever comes! But it never will unless you clear out! Scoot now!” Farnsworth held the door persuadingly open, and Lena didn’t scoot, but she went slowly and reluctantly out. “The pretty little nuisance!” muttered the Captain, as he closed and locked his door. Without further interruption, Bill put in the morning on his war work, and at last was free to consider the case against Patty Fairfield. “She’s true blue,” he thought, “far too true to do anything she deemed wrong or even indiscreet. But I suppose she didn’t realise how definite,—how imperative my instructions were,—maybe I didn’t tell her distinctly enough,—maybe she forgot,—or was really overcome with a desire to know what was in that sealed note. Oh, well, I must warn her further. I hate to hurt her,—I can’t let her think I distrust her,—and Lord knows I don’t! How I wish I had more time! But I’ve that appointment at two—and—whew! I’ll have to scribble to Patty pretty fast, whatever I say!” The result, after one or two torn-up attempts, was this: “My Own Patty Blossom,—my Posy Face,—my Best Beloved: I’ve only a minute to write this time, and so I must come to the point at once. Dear Heart,—did you open the sealed note before I told you to? Oh, well,—I know you did so never mind about that,—but, my precious little girl, don’t, please don’t ever do it again. You see, I send you notes thus, so that you can open them in haste when I wire you that you may. Now, if you open them sooner, I never know where we stand. In this matter, darling, please consider my wishes—and, especially because I meant to send a really valuable paper to you, in order that you might hand it to me when I do come to New York, and I won’t have to carry it with me or trust it to the general mail. I can’t explain all these matters, as you know, dear, but I do want to feel that in the government work that is entrusted to me, I can as implicitly trust you to be my aid and helper. Can’t I, Sweetheart? Of course, I know I can, and I know your eager haste to learn my plans led you to open that letter before time. So, don’t do it again, and all will be well. Now, I’ve not another minute, but I must take time to say once again that I love you, and you’re all the world to me, my dear, dear little Posy Patty. “And I’m your faithful and devoted “Little Billee.” When Patty received this letter she read it and sat aghast. What could he mean? She had never opened a letter until he told her to! Many times she had received permission by mail or by wire, and then she had opened the sealed notes so frequently enclosed in Bill’s letters to her. But never before she got the word! Never,—never! Again she read the pages from Washington. Had Farnsworth imagined it or what had made him dream that she had done such a thing? She? Not to be trusted! When every thought she had, every deed she did was with the one trust and hope that she might help her Captain,—even in the smallest way! She went to her writing desk and from a locked drawer she took Bill’s sealed note, that had come with a recent letter. It was still sealed. Why would he think she had opened it? Oh, well, she thought, something has made him think so. I must write him at once that I didn’t. He’ll believe me, of course. I know his faith and trust, and they are not misplaced, that’s certain! So, a letter was quickly written and despatched telling the Captain that his aid and helper in New York had not been false to her trust in the minutest particular. But Patty was still puzzled and gave much thought to the matter. When Van Reypen came to say good-bye on the eve of his departure for camp, he found a quiet and worried little girl, who received him with but a slight smile. “Well, my Lady Fair, you look as if you’d lost your last friend,—or, perhaps, as if you were about to lose him! May I take this general air of gloom as a tribute to my regrettable absence? Is it just ’cause you’re going to lose your little old friend that you look so disconsolate?” “No, sir! it isn’t! In the first place, I don’t look sad, and in the second place, if I do, it isn’t because I’m doing any ‘Leah, the forsaken,’ act! I shall miss you, of course, but in these days we must learn to miss people!” “That’s true, Patty, and have you any idea,—any faint glimmering of a notion, how I shall miss you?” “Phil, I know all grades of missing! I’m no novice at it. Since this war called them, I’ve missed acquaintances, casual friends, old friends, relatives, and, of course, most of all, my own Little Billee. Now, I shall miss you,—and I know you’ll miss me,—but, you’ll soon get so interested in your work—in the great game,—that you’ll—oh, not forget me, I’m sure,—but my memory will become, let us say, a little blurred.” “Indeed it won’t! But, hold on here, if it isn’t my departure, what is it that has made your countenance sicklied o’er with a pale cast of—something or other?” “Rice powder, probably! Does it really make me look sickly? Good gracious!” Patty scrubbed at her cheeks with her handkerchief, until they were rosy indeed. “Nope; you can’t rub it off! It’s ingrained. Come now, what’s up?” “Well, I am bothered. Philip, how do war secrets leak out?” “How do they keep from it, you mean! Why, Patty, the end and aim of a majority of our citizens seems to be to chatter and make trouble thereby. What’s exploded now?” “Nothing that I can tell you,—only,—well,—never mind.” “You transparent little goose! Have you been and went and told something Farnsworth told you not to?” “No, I haven’t! But he thought I did, so it’s just as bad!” “No; not just as bad,—but, bad. What was it?” “Never mind, but he thought I opened a sealed envelope and it’s still sealed.” “Has it been out of your possession?” “Not for a minute!” “Good! and locked away when you are asleep?” “Always; locked in a secret drawer.” “Good, again. Then, you’re all right. But let me warn you, Patty, to be most exceedingly cautious. Farnsworth’s work is of the highest importance, and his plans must not be known in advance. I know this even better than you do, and I beg of you to be even over-careful of any orders he may give you.” “Oh, I am! I do! But you see, this matter must have leaked out some other way, and he thought it was because of my knowledge of it.” “Patty!” Philip spoke suddenly; “did you have that letter with you that day at the Timothy Grass Club?” “Yes; I had just received it that morning.” “Where did you carry it?” “In my fur stole; there’s a buttoned pocket in the end of it, and it’s a safe place.” “And that Munson,—that masquerader,—wore your stole!” “So he did!” and Patty looked frightened. “But, no! that’s all right, Phil. The enclosed note was still sealed when I reached home, and it is sealed yet!” “Very well; but don’t take any chances. Leave your letters at home and carefully locked up, if they contain anything outside your entirely personal affairs. I speak whereof I know, Patty, and you must be careful!” “I will, Philip, oh, truly I will,” and Patty gave the promise in all sincerity. |
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