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      Patty's Social Season

      CHAPTER I

      FLOWERS!

      “Patty, do come along and get your luncheon before everything grows cold!”

      “‘And the stars are old, And the leaves of the judgment book unfold,’” chanted Patty, who had just learned this new song, and was apt to sing it at unexpected moments. She sat on the floor in the middle of the long drawing-room of her New York home. To say she was surrounded by flowers, faintly expresses it. She was hemmed in, barricaded, nearly smothered in flowers.

      They were or had been in enormous florist’s boxes, and as fast as Patty opened the boxes and read the cards which accompanied the blossoms, Jane took the boxes away.

      It was the great occasion of Patty’s début, and in accordance with the social custom, all her friends had sent her flowers as a message of congratulation.

      “You certainly have heaps of friends,” said Elise, who was helping arrange the bouquets.

      “Friends!” cried Patty; “nobody could have as many friends as this! These flowers must be also from my enemies, my casual acquaintances, and indeed from utter strangers! I think the whole hilarious populace of New York has gone mad on the subject of sending flowers!”

      Even as she spoke, Jane came in with several more boxes, followed by Miller, fairly staggering under an enormous box that was almost too much for one man to carry. Behind him was Nan, who went straight to Patty and held out both hands to assist her to rise.

      “Patty,” she said, “if you don’t come out this minute, you never can get out! A few more of these boxes, and the door will be completely blocked up.”

      “That’s so, Nan,” and Patty scrambled to her feet. “Come on, girls, let’s gather our foodings while we may. These flowers will keep; but I shudder to think of the accumulation when we come back from luncheon!”

      “I didn’t know there were so many flowers in the world,” said Mona Galbraith, who paused to look back into the drawing-room.

      “There aren’t,” said Patty solemnly; “it’s an optical illusion. Don’t you know how the Indian jugglers make you see flowers growing, when there aren’t any flowers there? Well, this is like that.”

      Following Nan, Patty’s pretty stepmother, the three girls, arm in arm, danced along to the dining-room, quite hungry enough to do justice to the tempting luncheon they found there.

      All the morning they had been untying the flower boxes and making a list of the donors.

      “Just think of the notes of thanks I have to write,” said Patty, groaning at the outlook.

      “Wish we could help you,” said Elise, “but I suppose you have to do those yourself.”

      “Yes; and I think it will take me the rest of my natural life! What’s the use of ‘coming out,’ if I have got to go right in again, and write all those notes? Why, there are hundreds!”

      “Thousands!” corrected Elise. And Mona said, “Looks to me like millions!”

      “Who sent that last big box, Patty?” asked Nan; “the one that just came.”

      “Dunno, Nancy; probably the Czar of Russia or the King of the Cannibal Islands. But I mean to take time to eat my luncheon in peace, even if the flowers aren’t all in place by the time the company comes.”

      “We can’t stay very long,” said Elise; “of course, Mona and I have to go home and dress and be back here at four o’clock, and it’s nearly two, now.”

      “All right,” said Patty; “the boys are coming, and they’ll do the rest. We couldn’t hang the flowers on the wall, anyway.”

      “We ought to have had a florist to attend to it,” said Nan, thoughtfully; “I had no idea there’d be so many.”

      “Oh, it’ll be all right,” returned Patty. “Father’s coming home early, and Roger and Ken will be over, and Mr. Hepworth will direct proceedings.”

      Even as she spoke the men’s voices were heard in the hall, and Patty jumped up from the table and ran to the drawing-room.

      “Did you ever see anything like it?” she exclaimed, and her visitors agreed that they never had.

      “It must be awful to be so popular, Patty,” said Roger. “If I ever come out, I shall ask my friends to send fruit instead of flowers.”

      “Patty would have to start a canning factory, if she had done that,” said Kenneth, laughing. “Let’s open this big box, Patty. Who sent it?”

      “I haven’t an idea, but there must be a card inside.”

      They opened the immense box, and found it full to the brim with exquisite Killarney roses.

      After some search, Roger discovered a small envelope, with a card inside. The card read, “Mr. William Farnsworth,” and written beneath the engraved name was the message, “With congratulations and best wishes.”

      “From Big Bill!” exclaimed Mona. “For goodness’ sake, Patty, why didn’t he send you more? But these didn’t come all the way from Arizona, where he is.”

      “No,” said Patty, looking at the label on the box; “he must have just sent an order to a New York florist.”

      “To two or three florists, I should think,” said Mr. Hepworth. “What can we do with them all?”

      But the crowd of merry young people set to work, and in an hour the floral chaos was reduced to a wonderful vision of symmetry and beauty. Under Mr. Hepworth’s directions, the flowers were banked on the mantels and window-seats, and hung in groups on the wall, and clustered on the door-frames in a profusion which had behind it a methodical and symmetrical intent.

      “It’s perfectly beautiful!” declared Nan, who, with her husband, was taking her first view of the finished effect. “It’s a perfect shame to spoil this bower of beauty by cramming it with a crowd of people, who will jostle your bouquets all to bits.”

      “Well, we can’t help it,” said Patty. “You see, we invited the people, as well as the flowers, so we must take the consequences. But they can’t reach those that are up high, and as soon as the party is over, I’m going to put them all in fresh water–”

      “What! the party?” and Kenneth looked astounded.

      “I mean the flowers,” said Patty, not deigning to laugh at his foolishness. “And then, to-morrow morning, I’m going to send them all to the hospital.”

      “The people?” said Kenneth again. “That’s thoughtful of you, Patty! I have no doubt they’ll be in condition to go. I’m about ready, myself.”

      “Well, you may go now,” and Patty smiled at him. “Your work is done here, and I’m going away to dress. Good-bye, Ken; this is the last time you’ll see me as a little girl. When next we meet, I shall be a young lady, a fully-fledged society lady, whose only thoughts will be for dancing and gaiety of all sorts.”

      “Nonsense,” said Kenneth; “you can’t scare me. You’ll be the same old Patty, foolish and irresponsible,—but sunshiny and sweet as ever.”

      “Thank you, Ken,” said Patty, for there was a note of earnestness in Kenneth’s voice that the girl was quick to catch. They had been friends since childhood, and while Patty did not take her “coming out” very seriously, yet she realised that it meant she was grown up and a child no longer.

      “Don’t let it all spoil you, Patty.” It was Mr. Hepworth who said this, as he was about to follow Kenneth out. “I have a right to lecture you, you know, and I want to warn you–”

      “Oh, don’t do it now, Mr. Hepworth,” said Patty, laughing; “the occasion is solemn enough, I’m sure, and if you lecture me, I shall burst into large weeps of tears! Do let me ‘come out’ without being lectured, and you can come round to-morrow and give me all the warnings you like.”

      “You’re right, little Patty,” and Hepworth looked at her kindly. “I ought not to spoil one of the happiest days of your life with too serious thought. Yours is a butterfly nature–”

      “But butterfly natures are nice; aren’t they, Mr. Hepworth?” and Patty looked

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