When Patty Went to College | Page 8

past.
Patty was reading poetry and did not look up. She had assimilated some
ten pages of Shelley since the first bell rang, and as she was not sure
which would be taken up in class, she was now swallowing
Wordsworth in the same voracious manner. Patty's method in Romantic
Poetry was to be very fresh on the first part of the lesson, catch the
instructor's eye early in the hour, make a brilliant recitation, and pass
the remainder of the time in gentle meditation.
To-day, however, the unwonted bulk of her correspondence diverted
her mind from its immediate duty. She failed to catch the instructor's
eye, and the recitation proceeded without her assistance. Priscilla
watched her from the back seat as she read the Yale letter with a
skeptical frown, and made a grimace over the blue and the yellow; but
before she had reached the Hotel A----, Priscilla was paying attention to
the recitation again. It was coming her way, and she was anxiously
forming an opinion on the essential characteristics of Wordsworth's
view of immortality.
Suddenly the room was startled by an audible titter from Patty, who
hastily composed her face and assumed a look of vacuous
innocence--but too late. She had caught the instructor's eye at last.
"Miss Wyatt, what do you consider the most serious limitations of our
author?"
Miss Wyatt blinked once or twice. This question out of its context was
not illuminating. It was a part of her philosophy, however, never to
flunk flat; she always crawled.
"Well," she began with an air of profound deliberation, "that question
might be considered in two ways, either from an artistic or a
philosophic standpoint."
This sounded promising, and the instructor smiled encouragingly.
"Yes?" she said.

"And yet," continued Patty, after still profounder deliberation, "I think
the same reason will be found to be the ultimate explanation of both."
The instructor might have inquired, "Both what?" but she refrained and
merely waited.
Patty thought she had done enough, but she plunged on desperately: "In
spite of his really deep philosophy we notice a certain--one might
almost say dash about his poetry, and a lack of--er--meditation which I
should attribute to his immaturity and his a--rather wild life. If he had
lived longer I think he might have overcome it in time."
The class looked dazed, and the corners of the instructor's mouth
twitched. "It is certainly an interesting point of view, Miss Wyatt, and,
as far as I know, entirely original."
As they were crowding out at the end of the recitation Priscilla pounced
upon Patty. "What on earth were you saying about Wordsworth's youth
and immaturity?" she demanded. "The man lived to be over eighty, and
composed a poem with his last gasp."
"Wordsworth? I was talking about Shelley."
"Well, the class wasn't."
"How should I know?" Patty demanded indignantly. "She said 'our
author,' and I avoided specific details as long as I could."
"Oh, Patty, Patty! and you said he was wild--the lamblike
Wordsworth!"
"What were you laughing at, anyway?" demanded Georgie.
Patty smiled again. "Why, this" she said, unfolding the Hotel A----
letter. "It's from an Englishman, Mr. Todhunter, some one my father
discovered last summer and invited out to stay with us for a few days.
I'd forgotten all about him, and here he writes to know whether and
when he may call, and, if so, will it be convenient for him to come

to-night. That's a comprehensive sentence, isn't it? His train gets in at
half-past five and he'll be out about six."
"He isn't going to take any chances," said Priscilla.
"No," said Patty; "but I don't mind. I invited him to come out to dinner
some night, though I'd forgotten it. He's really very nice, and, in spite
of what the funny papers say about Englishmen, quite entertaining."
"Intentionally or unintentionally?" inquired Georgie.
"Both," said Patty.
"What's he doing in America?" asked Priscilla. "Not writing a book on
the American Girl, I hope."
"Not quite as bad as that," said Patty. "He's corresponding for a
newspaper, though." She smiled dreamily. "He's very curious about
college."
"Patty, I hope you were not guilty of trying to make an Englishman, a
guest in your father's house, believe any of your absurd fabrications!"
"Of course not," said Patty; "I was most careful in everything I told him.
But," she acknowledged, "he--he gets impressions easily."
"It is easy to get impressions when one is talking with you," observed
Georgie.
"He asked me," Patty continued, ignoring this remark, "what we
studied in college! But I remembered that he was an alien in a foreign
land, and I curbed my natural instincts, and outlined the courses in the
catalogue verbatim, and I explained the different methods of instruction,
and described the library and laboratories and lecture-rooms."
"Was