“Here’s me,” said Patty, dropping into the chair at Bill’s left hand, while Channing sat the other side of Patty. Laughingly, they all found places, and dinner was served.
It was an unusual experience. The hotel dining-room was ornate in design and appointments, and its green and gold colouring and soft glow of silk-shaded lights made a charming setting for the merry party round the big table. The other tables, and there were many of them, looked as if they might be occupied by the ghosts of the departed guests.
“It’s like being castaways on a beautiful and very comfortable desert island,” said Patty, as she looked appreciatively at a huge tray of hors d’œuvre offered her by a smiling waiter. “I do love these pickly-wickly things, and never before have I felt that I might take my time in choosing. But, here at – what’s the name of the hotel, Bill?”
“Never mind the name on its letter-heads,” he returned, “we’ll call it Freedom Castle. Everybody is to follow his or her own sweet will, – or somebody else’s if that seems pleasanter.”
“Who has the pleasantest will?” asked Patty, looking around; “I want to follow it.”
“I have,” said Chick, promptly. “My will is something fierce in the way of pleasantness. I daresay every one here will fall all over themselves in their haste to follow it. Ha, do I hear a familiar strain? I do!”
He did, for just then the hotel orchestra, a fine one, struck up a popular air.
“Music, too!” exclaimed Mona. “All the comforts of home, and none of the cares. This is just too perfect! Billy Boy, you’re a wonder!”
“To think of it being Bill’s hotel!” said Daisy, in an awed voice.
“To think of our being here without any bills,” put in Roger Farrington. “That’s the best part of it. It’s like being given the freedom of the city!”
“The freedom of the country,” Adele corrected; “that’s much better.”
The orchestra, on a platform, gorgeous in scarlet, gold-braided coats, began a fascinating fox-trot.
Kit Cameron looked across the table at Patty, with a nod of invitation.
Smiling assent, Patty rose, flinging her napkin on the table. Kit came round to her, and in a moment they were dancing to the music that had called them. Skilfully, Kit guided her among the maze of tables and chairs, for they were the two best dancers in the crowd, and they had no difficulty in avoiding obstacles.
“Have a turn, Adele?” asked Bill, laying down his fork.
“No, thank you; it’s all very well for the girls, but your chaperon is too nearly middle-aged for such capers.”
“Nonsense; but maybe you’re wise to save your energies for an evening dance.”
Several of the young people did dance a few turns, but Chick Channing speedily caused them to halt by announcing the arrival of mushrooms under glass.
“Whoosh!” cried Kit, “back to nature! We can dance at any old time, but mushrooms under glass are an event! I say, Bill, I’m glad the cook didn’t leave with the guests.”
“The whole serving force is under contract for a fortnight longer,” explained Farnsworth. “You can live on mushrooms, if you like.”
“It’s Paradise,” said Marie Homer, ecstatically; “I don’t ever want to go home. Does the mail come regularly?”
Everybody laughed at Marie’s look of anxiety, and Bill replied, “Yes, my child, you can get your daily letter from him up here.”
“He doesn’t write every day,” said Marie, so innocently that they all roared again.
“I wish I had somebody to write love-letters to me,” sighed Patty. “It must make life very interesting.”
“I’ll write them to you,” offered Chick. “It’s no trouble at all, and I’m the little old complete love-letter writer.”
“You’re right here in the spot, though, so that’s no fun. I mean somebody who isn’t here, – like Marie’s somebody.”
“Well, you must have plenty of absent adorers. Can’t you encourage their correspondence?”
“But then I’d have to write first, and I hate to do that, it’s so – so sort of forward.”
“That, to be sure. But it’s better to be forward than forlorn.”
“Oh, I’m not exactly forlorn!” said Patty, indignantly. “I can be happy with all these others, if t’other dear charmer is away.”
“Can you, Patty?” whispered Bill. “Are you happy here?”
“Oho, Little Billee, I am beatifically happy! Just see that confection Louis is bringing in! Could I be anything but happy with that ahead of me?”
The dessert that had just appeared was indeed a triumph of the confectioner’s art. Composed of ice cream, meringue and spun sugar, it was built into an airy structure that delighted the sight as well as the palate. Everybody applauded, and Adele declared it was really a shame to demolish it.
“It would be a shame not to,” said Patty, her blue eyes dancing in anticipation of the delicious sweet.
“What a little gourmande you are,” said Chick, watching Patty help herself bountifully to the dessert.
“’Deed I am. I love sweet things, they always make me feel at peace with the world. I eat them mostly for their mental and moral effect on me, for my disposition is not naturally sweet, and so I do all I can to improve it.”
“And yet you give the effect of a sweet dispositioned person.”
“She is,” spoke up Daisy, overhearing. “Why, Chick, Patty is the sweetest nature ever was. Don’t you believe her taradiddles.”
“I know the lady so slightly, I’m not much of a judge. But I feel sure she’ll improve on acquaintance,” and Chick looked hopeful.
“I hope so, I’m sure,” and Patty’s humble expression of face was belied by the twinkle in her eye.
Then dinner was over, and Adele rose and led the way to the great salon or drawing-room.
“Come for a little walk on the veranda,” said Chick to Patty. “Let’s get more acquainted.”
Patty caught up a rose-coloured wrap from the hall rack, and they went out and strolled the length of the long veranda that went round three sides of the house.
“Splendid crowd,” said Chick, enthusiastically; “and right down fine of old Bill to do this thing.”
“He is fine,” said Patty, impulsively; “whatever he does is on a big scale.”
“His friendships are, I have reason to know that. He’s done heaps for me, dear old chap.”
“Have you known him long?”
“Three or four years. Met him through Mona. Good sort, Mona.”
“Yes, Mona’s a dear. She’s the sort that wears well. Where is your home, Mr. Chick?”
“Nowhere, at present. I’ve lived in Arizona, but I’ve come East to grow down with the country. I’m a mining engineer, at your service.”
“I’d love to employ you, but, do you know, I seldom have need of the services of a first-class mining engineer.”
“Oh, I’m not so awfully first-class. Bill thinks he can use me in his manœuvres. We talked it over a bit on the way up, and I hope so, I’m sure.”
“Then I hope so, too.”
“Thank you. You’re a kind lady. Shall we sit in this glassy