Pattys Suitors | Page 4

Patty looked so sweetly penitent that her hostess could but
smile at her. "But, truly, I just stepped out a single second to get a tiny breath of air. The
room IS warm, isn't it? May I stay here by you a few moments?"
"Yes, indeed," and Mrs. Homer drew the girl down beside her on the sofa. "You're not
robust, my child, and you mustn't run foolish risks."
"You're quite right, and I won't do it again. But on a night not quite so cold, that balcony,
flooded with moonlight, must be a romantic spot."
"It is, indeed," said Mrs. Homer, smiling. "My young people think so; and I hope you will
have many opportunities in the future to see it for yourself."
"Your young people? Have you other children besides Marie?"
"Yes; I have a daughter who is away at boarding-school. And, also, I have a nephew,
whose home is in this same building."
"Is he here to-night?"
"No; Kit hates dances. Of course, that's because he doesn't dance himself. He's a
musician."
"Kit? What a funny name."
"It's Christopher, really, Christopher Cameron; but he's such a happy-go-lucky sort of
chap, we naturally call him Kit."

"I think I should like him," said Patty. "Would he like me?"
"No," said Mrs. Homer, her eyes twinkling at Patty's look of amazement. "He detests
girls. Even my daughters, his cousins, are nuisances, he says. Still he likes to come down
here and sit on my balcony, and tease them. He lives with his parents in the apartment
just above us."
"He sounds an interesting youth," said Patty, and then, as Roger came up and asked her
for a dance, she promptly forgot the musical nephew.
At supper-time, Patty's crowd of intimates gathered around her, and they occupied a
pleasant corner of the dining-room.
"What'll you have, Patsums?" asked Roger, as a waiter brought a tray full of dainty
viands.
"Sandwiches and bouillon," said Patty, promptly; "I'm honestly hungry."
"The result of exercise in the open air," murmured Philip Van Reypen, as he took a seat
directly behind her.
Patty gave an involuntary giggle, and then turned upon Philip what she meant to be an icy
glare. He grinned back at her, which made her furious, and she deliberately and
ostentatiously ignored him.
"Hello, you two on the outs?" inquired Kenneth, casually.
"Oh, no!" said Philip, with emphasis; "far from it!"
So, as Patty found it impossible to snub such cheerfulness, she concluded to forgive and
forget.
"There's something doing after supper," remarked Roger. "Miss Homer dropped a hint,
and even now they're fixing something in the ballroom."
"What can it be?" said Elise, craning her neck to see through a doorway.
"It's a game," said Marie Homer, who had just joined the group. "I told mother, you all
considered yourselves too grown-up for games, but she said she didn't want to have the
whole evening given over to dancing. So you will play it, won't you?"
"Sure we will!" declared Kenneth, who admired the shy little girl.
Marie was new in their set, but they all liked her. She was timid only because she felt
unacquainted, and the good-natured crowd did all they could to put her at ease.
"Games!" exclaimed Philip; "why, I just love 'em! I'll play it, whatever it is."
"I too," said Patty. "It will be a jolly change from dancing."

CHAPTER II
ON THE TELEPHONE
When the young people returned to the ballroom, it presented a decidedly changed
appearance. Instead of an interior scene, it was a winter landscape.
The floor was covered with snow-white canvas, not laid on smoothly, but rumpled over
bumps and hillocks, like a real snow field. The numerous palms and evergreens that had
decorated the room, were powdered with flour and strewn with tufts of cotton, like snow.
Also diamond dust had been lightly sprinkled on them, and glittering crystal icicles hung
from the branches.
At each end of the room, on the wall, hung a beautiful bear-skin rug.
These rugs were for prizes, one for the girls and one for the boys. And this was the game.
The girls were gathered at one end of the room and the boys at the other, and one end was
called the North Pole, and the other the South Pole. Each player was given a small flag
which they were to plant on reaching the Pole.
This would have been an easy matter, but each traveller was obliged to wear snowshoes.
These were not the real thing, but smaller affairs made of pasteboard. But when they
were tied on, the wearer felt clumsy indeed, and many of the girls declared they could not
walk in them at all. And in addition each one was blindfolded.
However, everybody made an attempt, and at a given