Patty's Success Part 18

"I can work on that bow-knot part, to-night," she said to herself; "and then to-morrow, I'll get up early and do the rest of the flowers before breakfast."

Her task had begun to look hopeless, but she was not yet ready to admit it, and she a.s.sured herself that, of course, the others would go much more rapidly than the first.

She took down her hair and braided it into a long pigtail; then she put on a comfortable kimono and sat down to work.

She st.i.tched, and she st.i.tched, and she st.i.tched, at the monotonous over and over bow-knots. Doggedly she kept on, though her shoulders ached, her eyes smarted, and her fingers trembled.

With a kind of whimsical pathos, she repeated to herself Hood's "Song of the s.h.i.+rt," and said, under her breath, "'St.i.tch, st.i.tch, st.i.tch, till the c.o.c.k is crowing aloof,' or whatever it is!"

Then she saw by her watch that it was eleven o'clock.

"I'll just finish this bow," she thought, "and then, I'll stop."

But before the bow was finished, there was a tap at her door.

"Who's there?" said Patty, in a voice which carried no invitation to enter.

"It's us," said Nan, firmly, if ungrammatically, "and we're coming in!"

Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield entered, and Patty, trying to make the best of it, looked up and smiled.

"How do you do?" she said. "Take seats, won't you? I'm just amusing myself, you see."

But the tired voice had a quiver in it, for all at once Patty saw that she had failed. She had worked hard all the afternoon and evening, and had not finished one of her thirty-six pieces! It was this discovery that upset her, rather than the unexpected visit from her parents.

"Girlie, this won't do," began her father, in his kindest tones.

"I know it!" cried Patty, throwing down her work, and flinging herself into her father's arms. "I can't do it, daddy, I can't! I haven't done one yet, and I never can do thirty-six!"

"Thirty-six!" exclaimed Nan. "Patty, are you crazy?"

"I think I must have been," said Patty, laughing a little hysterically, as she took the great pile of centrepieces from a wardrobe, and threw them into Nan's lap.

"But,--but you said a dozen!" said Nan, bewildered.

"Oh, no, I didn't," returned Patty. "_You_ said, did I bring a dozen, and I said yes. Also, I brought two dozen more."

"To do in a week!" said Nan, in an awe struck voice.

"Yes, to do in a week!" said Patty, mimicking Nan's tones; and then they both laughed.

But Mr. Fairfield didn't laugh. His limited knowledge of embroidery made him ignorant of how much work "three dozen" might mean, but he knew the effect it had already had on Patty, and he knew it was time to interfere.

"My child----" he began, but Patty interrupted him.

"Don't waste words, daddy, dear," she said. "It's all over. I've tried and failed; but remember, this is only my first attempt."

The fact that she realised her failure was in a way a relief, for the strain of effort was over, and she could now see the absurdity of the task she had undertaken.

She had reached what some one has called "the peace of defeat," and her spirits reacted as after an escape from peril.

"I must have been crazy, Nan," she said, sitting down beside her on the couch. "Just think; I've worked about six hours, and I've done about half of one piece. And I brought thirty-six!"

This statement of the case gave Mr. Fairfield a clearer idea, and he laughed, too.

"No, Patty; I think I need say nothing more. I see you know when you're beaten, and I fancy you won't touch needle to that pile of work again! I hope you can settle matters with your 'employer'; if not, I'll help you out. But I want to congratulate you on your pluck and perseverance, even if,--well, even if they were----"

"Crazy," supplemented Patty.

CHAPTER IX

SLIPS AND SLEEVES

The next morning Nan went with Patty to take the centrepieces back to the embroidery company.

"I shall really like to see that woman," said Nan, as they reached the shop.

"I'm sorry for her," said Patty; "she's so pathetically weary and hopeless-looking."

So she was, and when Nan saw her, she felt sorry for her, too.

"Couldn't work as fast as you thought?" she said to Patty, not unkindly, but with the hard smile that seemed to be permanently fastened to her face.

"No, I couldn't," confessed Patty. "I only worked part of one piece. I've brought all the rest back, in good order, and I want you to redeem them."

In her mechanical way, the woman took the untouched centrepieces, looked at them critically, and laid them aside. Then she took up the piece Patty had worked on.

"I'll have to deduct for this," she said; "a dollar and a half."

"What do you mean?" asked Nan, angry at what she considered gross injustice. "Miss Fairfield does not ask payment; she is giving you all that work."

"She has spoiled this piece for our use. She works nicely enough, but no two people work exactly alike, so no one else could now take this and complete the corner. So, you see the piece is valueless, and we must charge for it. Moreover, I should have to deduct fifty cents if it had been finished, because long st.i.tches show on the wrong side."

"And you don't allow that?" said Nan.

"Never. We deduct for that, or for soiling the work, or for using wrong colours."

"Well," said Patty, "return me as much of my deposit as is due me, and we'll consider the incident closed."

Stolidly, the woman opened a drawer, counted out sixteen dollars and a half, and gave it to Patty, who said good-day, and stalked out of the shop.

Nan followed, and when they were seated in the motor-car, both broke into peals of laughter.

"Oh, Patty," cried Nan, "what a financier you are! You nearly killed yourself working yesterday, and now you've paid a dollar and a half for the privilege!"