"Well, the scene," said Kenneth, "is on Mount Olympus, and the characters are all the gods and goddesses, you know, but they're brought up to date. In fact, that's the name of the play, 'Mount Olympus Up to Date.' Aurora, you know, has an automobile instead of her old-fashioned car."
"But you don't have the automobile on the stage?"
"Oh, no! Aurora just comes in in her automobile rig and talks about her 'bubble.' Mercury has a bicycle; he's a trick rider, and does all sorts of stunts. And Venus is a summer girl, dressed up in a stunning gown and a Paris hat. And Hercules has a punching-bag--to make himself stronger, you know. And Niobe has quantities of handkerchiefs, dozens and dozens of them; she's an awfully funny character."
"Oh, I think it would be lovely!" said Patty. "Where can we get the book?"
"I'll send you one to-morrow, and you can see if you like it; and then if you do, you can get more."
"Oh, I'm sure the girls will all like it; and will you come out to see it?"
"Yes, I'd be glad to. I was in it last winter. I was Mercury."
"Oh, can you do trick work on bicycles?"
"Yes, a little," said Kenneth modestly.
"I wish you'd come out and be Mercury in our play."
"Aren't you going ahead rather fast, Patty, child?" said her father. "Your club hasn't decided to use this play yet."
"I know it, papa, and of course I mean if we do use it; but anyway, I'm president of the club, and somehow, if I want a thing, the rest of the girls generally seem to want it too."
"That's a fine condition of affairs that any president might be glad to bring about. You ought to be a college president."
"Perhaps I shall be some day," said Patty.
The dinner hour flew by all too quickly. Patty greatly enjoyed the sights and sounds of the brilliant, crowded room. She loved the lights and the music, the flowers and the palms, and the throngs of gaily dressed people.
Kenneth Harper enjoyed it too, and thought he had rarely met such attractive people as the Fairfields.
When he took his leave he thanked Mr. Fairfield courteously for his pleasant evening, and promised soon to call upon them at Boxley Hall.
They reached home by a late train, and Patty went up to her pretty bedroom, with her usual happy conviction that she was a very fortunate little girl and had the best father in the world.
Chapter XIV.
The Neighbour Again
Kenneth Harper did send the book, and, as Patty confidently expected, the girls of the club quite agreed with her that it was the best play for them to use.
At a meeting at Marian's, plans were made and parts were chosen. The goddesses were allotted to the members of the club, and the gods were distributed among their brothers and friends.
Guy Morris, being of gigantic mould, was cast for Hercules, and Frank Elliott for Ajax. When Patty told the girls that Kenneth Harper could do trick riding on a bicycle, they unanimously voted to invite him to take part in their entertainment.
It was decided to have the play about the middle of February, and the whole Tea Club grew enthusiastic over the plans for the wonderful performance.
One morning Patty sat in the library studying her part. She was very happy. Of course, Patty always was happy, but this morning she was unusually so. Her housekeeping was going on smoothly; the night before her father had expressed himself as being greatly pleased with the system and order which seemed everywhere noticeable in the house. It was Saturday morning, and she didn't have to go to school.
Moreover, she was very much interested in the play and in her own part in it, and had already planned a most beautiful gown, which the dressmaker, Madame LaFayette, was to make for her.
Patty's part in the play was that of Diana, and her costume was to be a beautiful one of hunter's green cloth with russet leather leggings and a jaunty cap. Being up-to-date, instead of being a huntress she was to represent an agent of the S.P.C.A.
This suited Patty exactly, for she had a horror of killing live things, and very much preferred doing all she could to prevent such slaughter. Moreover, the humour of the thing appealed to her, and the funny effect of the huntress Diana going around distributing S.P.C.A. leaflets, and begging her fellow-Olympians not to shoot, seemed to Patty very humourous and attractive.
This Saturday, then, she had settled down in the library to study her lines all through the long cosey morning, when, to her annoyance, the doorbell rang.
"I hope it's none of the girls," she thought. "I did want this morning to myself."
It wasn't any of the girls, but Pansy announced that a messenger had come from Miss Daggett's, and that Miss Daggett wished Miss Fairfield to return her call at once.
Patty smiled at the unusual message, but groaned at the thought of her interrupted holiday.
However, Miss Daggett was not one to be ignored or lightly set aside, so Patty put on her things and started.
Although Miss Daggett's house was next door to Boxley Hall, yet it was set in the middle of such a large lot, and was so far back from the street, and so surrounded by tall, thick trees, that Patty had never had a really good view of it.
She was surprised, therefore, to find it a very large, old-fashioned stone house, with broad veranda and steps guarded by two stone lions.
Patty rang the bell, and the door was opened very slightly. A small, quaint-looking old coloured man peeped out.
"Go 'way," he said, "go 'way at once! We don't want no tickets."
"I'm not selling tickets," said Patty, half angry and half amused.
"Well, we don't want no shoelacers, nor lead pencils, nor nuffin! You must be selling something."
"I am not selling anything," said Patty. "I came over because Miss Daggett sent for me."
"Laws 'a' massy, child, why didn't you say so before you spoke? Be you Miss Fairfield?"
"Yes," said Patty; "here's my card."
"Oh, never mind the ticket; if so be you's Miss Fairfield, jes' come right in, come right in."
The door was flung open wide and Patty entered a dark, old-fashioned hall. From that she was led into a parlour, so dark that she could scarcely see the outline of a lady on the sofa.
"How do you do, Miss Daggett?" she said, guessing that it was probably her hostess who seemed to be sitting there.
"How do you do?" said Miss Daggett, putting out her hand, without rising.
"I'm quite well, thank you," said Patty, and her eyes having grown a little accustomed to the dark, she grasped the old lady's hand, although, as she told her father afterwards, she was awfully afraid she would tweak her nose by mistake.
"And how are you, Miss Daggett?"
"Not very well, child, not very well, but you won't stay long, will you? I sent for you, yes, I sent for you on an impulse. I thought I'd like to see you, but I'd no sooner sent than I wished I hadn't. But you won't stay long, will you, dearie?"
"No," said Patty, feeling really sorry for the queer old lady. "No, I won't stay long, I'll go very soon; in fact, I'll go just as soon as you tell me to. I'll go now, if you say so."
"Oh, don't be silly. I wouldn't have sent for you if I'd wanted you to go right away again. Sit down, turn your toes out, and answer my questions."
"What