  To get the right view of certain matters, let us go back a few days, and transport ourselves to Washington. On the thirteenth of February, Captain Farnsworth was busily engaged at his desk work, when Lena Richards came flying in at his doorway. “Don’t scold!” she cried, by way of forestalling his objections to her presence; “I must talk to somebody, and it might as well be you!” “It might as well be the President of the United States, and all his Cabinet, as far as I’m concerned,” and Farnsworth scowled at her, “but I’d rather you’d choose anybody than my unworthy self! What shall I do with you, Lena? You’re a little nuisance! Must I lock and bar the door to keep you out?” “Now, now, don’t be cross to a poor little lonesome girlie, what hasn’t got anybody to consult. Lemme ask you a few questions, do!” Lena was a wheedlesome creature, and quite in the habit of having her own way. She laughed at Bill’s frown and as she plumped herself down in an armchair, she spread out on Farnsworth’s desk a number of gay valentines. “This,” she began, “is for Dick Selden. Isn’t it a dandy! And this one is for my own Daddy. Won’t he be surprised to get one?” Lena chuckled happily, and looked up into Bill’s face for a show of approval. She seemed only a child; her sixteen years sat lightly on her slim little shoulders, and her dark, winsome face was lighted with such a glow of happy anticipation, that good-natured Farnsworth couldn’t bear to speak shortly to her. “All right, Baby,” he said, good-humouredly, “show me your valentines, and get it over with. Which one is for me?” “Oh, that I haven’t here! Of course I wouldn’t show you that one!” A merry laugh rippled from the rosy lips. “And you’ll send me one, won’t you, Captain?” “Why, I hadn’t thought of doing so. In fact, I hadn’t thought of sending any.” “What! Not to your sweetheart? Not to that lovely angel-faced girl whose pictures are all about here? I’m ashamed of you! What will she think?” Farnsworth suddenly realised his defection. “But,” he said, “she’ll forgive me. Patty will understand. She knows I’m terribly busy—more than busy,—I’m all in a moil, and working night and day to straighten it out——” “But, Captain! That isn’t enough to excuse not sending a valentine to the girl of your heart! Whee! If I were engaged to a man, and if he didn’t send me a valentine! I’d break that engagement so quick he wouldn’t know what hit him! Fie, fie, Captain! You’re a peach of a lover, you are!” Lena had risen and was dancing about the room. A restless elf, she rarely sat still long, and loved to fly about, looking at things here and there, poking and prying curiously into books or papers, and really bothering the life out of Farnsworth. Many times he had concluded to move to other quarters, where he might be free from her interruptions, but this house suited him so well otherwise, and, too, he was so busy, he disliked to take the necessary time to make the change. But Lena’s accusation gave his big, true heart a thrill. Was he really negligent of Patty? His own Posy-face Patty,—whom he loved with all his great soul! He knew he was not a society man, not much of an observer of the lighter conventions, and he wondered if Patty would expect a valentine from him, and be disappointed at not receiving it. “I’ll send her some flowers,” he exclaimed; “I can telegraph a florist in New York and have them delivered tomorrow,—that’s the day, isn’t it, Lena?” “Yes; but flowers are so—so impersonal, and careless. You ought to send her a real valentine. Here, you can have one of these.” “Can I? Really! Oh, you dear little girl! That would help a lot,—for I haven’t time to go out to the shops. Let me take your prettiest one, and I’ll pay you what it cost, and you can buy another.” “All right,” and Lena nodded her pretty head. “That goes! Now, I’ve only one here that I want to spare. This one.” Lena held up a pretty looking affair. It had a picture of an affectionate pair, leaning over a rustic stile, and surrounded by hearts and darts and Cupids and rose garlands. The lines printed inside the leaf, were: “Our love is high as Heaven And wide as rolling sea: The vows cannot be riven That bind my love and me. But should our pledge be broken Or should your love be dead, Send back this tender token And let us never wed.” Farnsworth looked at it carelessly. “All right,” he said, “if that’s the only one available, I’ll have to take that one. It’s all right, isn’t it?” “Yes, it’s a beauty! It cost a dollar,—but it’s good work.” “Cheap at the price!” laughed Farnsworth, taking out his pocketbook. “I don’t care such a lot for the sentiment, however. The first part is all right, but that second stanza is ridiculous!” “How, ridiculous? I think it’s lovely! You don’t think she’ll send it back, do you?” “I do not! Our vows cannot be riven,—as your poet hath it. But I could have made up a better jingle myself! That’s what I ought to have done! Made a real valentine for my sweetheart! Oh, I wish I weren’t so over-worked! Well, some day I’ll make up to her for this enforced neglect. Now, be off, Lena, if you don’t, I’ll pitch you out,—neck and crop!” “Oh, all right, Captain; but I was going to say if you’d address your valentine, I’d post it along with mine. There’s none too much time, you know.” “Thank you, Lena, you’re a good little thing. And I’m a bear,—a cross one, sometimes, I fear. Will you forgive me, and take my valentine with yours?” “’Course I will. Write the directions.” So Farnsworth dashed off Patty’s name and address on the big envelope, and Lena ran away with it. So, you see! Of course, the valentine Bill sent Patty was the counterpart of the one she sent him, and when you know all, you’ll find out that this wasn’t such a strange coincidence as it might seem. And of course, the valentine that Patty received, and that caused her such paroxysms of woe, was the one Lena mailed and not the return of the one she had sent to Farnsworth. It was a fine mixup, and Cupid, the little god of Love, must have flown madly about in his dismay and despair of ever getting it straightened out. Now, as is well known, the extra mail occasioned by the observance of the festival of St. Valentine, often causes delays in transmission. Which explains why both these important missives we’re interested in, reached their respective destinations a couple of days after they were normally due. And Patty, as we have seen, was pretty well broken up over the receipt of hers! Naturally, she supposed it to be the one she sent, returned to her by Farnsworth, and no one could wonder that she did think this. And so, when Captain Farnsworth found in his mail a big square envelope addressed in Patty’s well-known, well-loved handwriting, he knew it for a valentine before he opened it. “Bless her heart!” he said to himself. “Dear little girl to send me a valentine! And I’m jolly glad I sent her one! I must thank that bothersome little Lena for that!” He opened the envelope, and to his astonishment, he drew out what seemed to be the very valentine he had sent Patty. “What!” he cried aloud, a puzzled frown coming over his face. He looked at it carefully; being exactly the same, he naturally thought Patty had returned his missive. Bewildered, he read the lines, which he had scarcely sensed as he hastily glanced them over before sending. “Send back this tender token And let us never wed.” Patty had sent it! Had returned his “tender token!” “Should your love be dead”—was he, then, to infer that Patty’s love was dead? His Patty! Never, in a million years! If ever a girl was true blue, that girl was Patty Fairfield,—his own Patty Blossom! There could be no two opinions about that! With a sudden jerk, he picked up the telephone and called for New York. It took a long time to get the connection, and Captain Farnsworth grew more and more impatient. He did not storm at the operator, that was not his way. He patiently waited “just a minute,” till scores of minutes flew by, and at last he heard Jane’s voice. No, Miss Patty was not at home; she would be home about six. He would call up again? Very well. Good-bye. Farnsworth strode up and down his room. It was only half-past three, he would call her about half-past six. Meantime—he must work. But the big man couldn’t settle himself to work. The thing was so inexplicable, so disturbing. Had Patty meant it for a joke? Had she meant to tease him? If so it was a bit of bad taste,—and Patty was never guilty of bad taste. He couldn’t understand it at all. He tried to make out his reports, and of course, he succeeded in doing so, but it was a process greatly interrupted by long periods of distracted thought. Suppose Patty really meant it! Bosh! Meant it! His Patty? Never! He would believe anything but that! Could it have been a mistake? Did she slip his valentine in an envelope which she had addressed to him for the purpose of sending another one,—and then she had mixed them up? No; Patty was never careless, and least of all, where he was concerned. She was efficient, always, and he had had too much correspondence with her not to know how careful she was. And then, came to his mind dark thoughts of Philip Van Reypen. Suppose,—just suppose, Patty had found that she preferred Phil to himself,—could she have chosen a better or more definite way to tell him so? “Should your love be dead!” The big man writhed at the thought. He put it out of his mind as unworthy of him and unworthy of his love. And yet, that would explain it,—and what else would? What else could? But that explanation he refused to accept. Patty, his own gentle dear little Patty, he wouldn’t be cruel,—but—if she had such a thing to tell him, she would choose some way that seemed to her the least cruel—he knew that! Was she using his means—as he had unwittingly given her the chance,—oh, why had he sent that foolish thing? It was silly,—it was absurd,—it was bad taste on his part! But Lena had brought it, and it had seemed to him silly, but harmless. He worried and fretted, fumed and scowled, but he could come to no satisfactory conclusion or explanation. He looked at his watch until he almost wore it out, only to find each time that but a moment or two had elapsed. At last he gave up trying to work and went out for a walk. The clear cold air freshened his brain but his heart still had a dull, queer ache in it. He did a few errands, forcing himself to concentrate his mind in their accomplishment, and at last the slow-going clock-hands crawled around to half-past six. Back in his own rooms, Bill called New York again, and asked for Patty’s number. The connection was a good one, and he finally heard the well-beloved voice say, “Hello,—Little Billee!” “Oh, Patty!” he cried, explosively, “oh, Patty Blossom! When will you marry me? What day? Tell me, quick!” “Why—why—you sent back——” “No, I didn’t! I didn’t send back anything! Never mind that fool valentine business! Answer my question, quick! Sometimes they snap off the connection, and if they did that I’d go wild! When, Patty?” “Why—oh—any time! Bill, dear,—any time!” “Bless you, darling! But what day? what date? Tell me.” “Oh,—I can’t——” “Yes, you can! Now,—and make it soon!” “Well, say in October——” “October your grandmother! Say April.” “Oh, nonsense, Bill, I can’t! And this is no thing to decide over a telephone! You come up here——” “I can’t,—not for a few days, and I’ve got to know this thing now,—see? NOW!” “Well, say June, then.” “No! you may say May, but not a day later. Say your birthday, that’s in May.” “May’s an unlucky month——” “Not for us,—it won’t be! On your birthday, then——” “Wait a minute, Bill, what made you return my valentine?” “What made you return mine?” “I didn’t!” “I didn’t! Oh, Patty, I see it,—it has just dawned on me! We sent duplicates! Where’d you get yours?” “At a bazaar thing——” “Yes, I see; and I got mine from—well,—I got it.” “Where?” “No matter now. I bought it and paid for it; and they chanced to be just alike! Puzzle it out at your leisure. Now, Posy-face, I’m coming to New York just as soon as I can manage it, but it may be a week or so,—I hope not, I hope to get there in a couple of days, but all I can say is, I’ll do the best I can, and you begin to get ready for that May affair.” “Not May, Bill—June!” “Oh, why? why not May? Well, wait till I see you, and perhaps I can persuade you to say May.” “Well, we’ll see, but I refuse to decide it over a telephone! Nobody ever did!” “As if that mattered! Well, you get busy with your preparations, and we’ll see——” “Now, you must say good-bye, dear. You know this is long distance and not a local call!” “I don’t care if it is! Tell me something,—Patty!” “Oh, I can’t tell you that at long distance!” “No; and if I hear your voice without seeing you, much longer, I’ll go off my head! Good-bye, then, you darling, Patty Blossom,——” “Oh, Little Billee! Don’t! Somebody’ll hear you!” “Let ’em! Good-bye, dearest,—my Best Beloved!” “Good-bye!” Patty hung up the receiver, and sat very still, her eyes shining like two big blue stars. She hadn’t quite straightened out the valentine mixup in her mind yet, but she didn’t care! It was all right! Little Billee loved her just the same as ever,—if not more! And she had promised to marry him in June! It was a sudden step. She had realised she was engaged to him,—and would marry him some day; but she never had, even in her own mind, set any definite date. “Well,” said Helen, coming in, “I discreetly stayed out, while you were telephoning, now I think I might be told if the call was from Washington.” “It was!” answered Patty; “it most certainly was!” “And you’re not crying as torrentially as you were?” “I am not!” and Patty smiled like a Chessy cat. “In fact, I think I may assure you I shall never cry again; at least, not if I continue to feel as happy as I do at this present speaking.” “Good for you, my fairy cousin! Now,—tell old Bumble all about it!” So Patty told her. “Well, of all things! Do you mean that he, just by chance, sent you a valentine exactly like the one you sent him?” “Yes; and I suppose they’re all over. You know every year there’s some funny or clever one that has a vogue everywhere.” “Queer, for him to select that for you!” “It was, but I don’t care! He did, and I did, so we can’t blame each other. But I was the baddy one, because I distrusted him! He hadn’t a doubt of me! When he,—as he supposed,—got back the one he sent me, he called up and asked me to set our wedding-day!” “Did he, really? Oh, Patty, that’s the sort of a man to marry! I always did like him, now I think he’s just perfectly stunning!” “I do, too, and I’m ashamed of my doubts and fears.” “Oh, that’s all right, he’ll never know.” “Yes, he will, I shall tell him. And maybe he’ll be so disappointed in me, and so hurt, that——” “That he’ll break off the engagement! Oh, yes! Oh, certainly! Patty, you are a goose, and always will be! Never let him know what a goose you are, or he sure will throw you over!” “Oh, I guess not!” Patty smiled happily. “Well, when is the day? What did he say?” “I wouldn’t say positively,—but, oh, Bumble, he’s so impatient!” “Of course he is! Any real lover would be, and especially any one who is expecting to marry Patty Fairfield!” |
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