Patty's Success

Patty hesitated. She wanted to go, but also she wanted to get at that “occupation” of hers, for she had a new one in view.

She was about to say she would go skating, however, when she saw a twinkle in her father’s eye that made her change her mind.

“Can’t, Elise,” she said. “I’ve an engagement to-morrow. Will telephone you some day when I can go.”

“Well, don’t wait too long; the ice will be all gone.”

Then the young people went away, and Patty went thoughtfully upstairs to her room to dress for dinner.

CHAPTER XI
A BUSY MORNING

The next morning, Patty came down to breakfast, wearing a plain street costume, a small, but very well made hat, and a look of determination.

“Fresh start?” said her father, smiling kindly at her.

“Yes,” she replied; “and this time I conquer. I see success already perching on my banners.”

“Well, I don’t then!” declared Nan. “I see you coming home, not with your shield, but on it.”

“Now, don’t be a wet blanket and throw cold water on my plans,” said Patty, a little mixed in her metaphor, but smiling placidly at her stepmother. “This time it’s really a most sensible undertaking that I’m going to undertake.”

“Sounds as if you were going into the undertaking business,” said her father, “but I assume you don’t mean that.”

“No, I go into a pleasanter atmosphere than that suggests, and one in which I feel sure I can accomplish good work.”

“Well, Patty,” said Mr. Fairfield, “it’s lucky you’re of a sanguine temperament. I’m glad to see you’re not disheartened by failure.”

“Not I! To me a failure only means a more vigorous attempt next time. Now, Nan, I shall be away all day,—until about five o’clock. Won’t you play with Darby and Juliet a little, so they won’t get lonesome?”

“Oh, yes; I’ll amuse them. But, Patty, where are you going?”

“Never mind, pretty stepmothery; don’t ask questions, for they won’t be answered. If all goes well, I’ll tell you on my return.”

Mr. Fairfield looked serious.

“Patty,” he said, “you know you’re not to do anything unbecoming or ridiculous. Don’t you go and sell goods behind a counter, or anything extreme like that.”

“No, sir; I won’t. I promise not to put myself in the public eye in any such fashion. And you may trust me, father, not to do anything of which you’d disapprove, if you knew all about it.”

“That’s a good Patty-girl! Well, go ahead in your mad career, and if you keep your part of the bargain, I’ll keep mine.”

Patty started off, and this time she gave Miller an address not so far away as before. When he brought the motor-car to a standstill, before a fashionable millinery shop, he felt none of the surprise that he had when he took Patty to what he considered inappropriate places.

“Now, Miller,” said Patty, as she got out of the car, “you are not to wait for me, but I want you to return here for me at five o’clock.”

“Here, Miss Fairfield?”

“Yes; right here. Come exactly at five, and wait for me to come out.”

“Yes, Miss Fairfield,” said Miller, and Patty turned and entered the shop.

“I’m ’most sorry I sent him away,” she thought to herself, “for I may not want to stay. Well, I can go home in a street-car.”

Though Patty’s costume was plain and inconspicuous, it bore so evidently the stamp of taste and refinement, that the saleswoman who met her assumed she had come to buy a hat.

But it was early for fashionable ladies to be out shopping, so the rather supercilious young woman greeted Patty with a cautious air of reserve. It was so different from the effusive manner usually shown to Nan and Patty when they really went shopping, that Patty was secretly much amused. But as she was also secretly greatly embarrassed, it was with an uncertain air that she said:

“I am not shopping; I wish to see Madame Villard.”

“Madame is not here. What can I do for you?”

“I have come in answer to her advertisement for an assistant milliner.”

“Oh,” said the young woman, raising her eyebrows, and at once showing an air of haughty condescension. “You should have asked for the forewoman, not Madame.”

Patty’s sense of humour got the better of her resentment, and it was with difficulty she repressed a smile, as she answered:

“Indeed? Well, it is not yet too late to correct my error. Will you show me to the forewoman?”

Patty’s inflections were not in the least sarcastic, in fact her whole manner was gentle and gracious, but something in her tone, perhaps the note of amusement, made the saleswoman look at her suddenly and sharply.

But Patty’s face was demure and showed only a desire to be conducted to the right person.

“Come this way,” said the young woman, shortly, and she led Patty, between some heavy curtains, to a back room.

“This is our forewoman, Miss O’Flynn,” she said, as she ushered Patty into her presence.

Miss O’Flynn was an important looking woman who took in every detail of Patty’s appearance in a series of careful and systematic glances.

She seemed puzzled at what she saw, and said, inquiringly:

“Miss–?”

“Miss Fairfield,” said Patty, pleasantly, “and I have come in answer to your advertisement.”

“For assistant milliner? You.”

Miss O’Flynn was surprised out of her usual calm by the amazing proposition of the young stranger.

“Yes,” said Patty, quite calm herself. “I can trim hats very prettily.”

“Did you trim the one you have on?”

“Well, no,” admitted Patty. “I brought this from Paris. But I am sure I can trim hats to suit you. May I try?”

“What experience have you had?”

“Well,—not any professional experience. You see, it is only recently that I have desired to earn my own living.”

“Oh,—sudden reverses,” murmured Miss O’Flynn, thinking she had solved the problem. “Well, my dear, you have evidently been brought up a lady, so it will be hard for you to find work. I am sorry to say I cannot employ you, as I engage only skilled workwomen.”

“But trimming hats doesn’t require professional skill,” said Patty. “Only good taste and a,—a sort of knack at bows and things.”

Miss O’Flynn laughed.

“Everything requires professional skill,” she returned. “A course of training is necessary for any position.”

“But if you’d try me,” said Patty, quite unconscious that her tone was pleading. “Just give me a day’s trial, and if I don’t make good, you needn’t pay me anything.”

Miss O’Flynn was more puzzled than ever. Insistent though Patty was, it didn’t seem to her the insistence of a poor girl wanting to earn her bread; it was more like the determination of a wilful child to attain its desire.

So, moved rather by curiosity to see how it would turn out, than a belief in Patty’s ability, she said, coldly:

“I will do as you ask. You may go to the workroom for to-day; but on the understanding that unless you show unusual skill or aptitude to learn, you are not to be paid anything, nor are you to come to-morrow.”

“All right,” said Patty, smiling jubilantly at having received her opportunity, at least.

Miss O’Flynn took her to a workroom, where several girls were busily engaged in various sorts of millinery work.

“Sit here, Miss Fairfield,” and Miss O’Flynn indicated a chair at one end of a long table. “You may line this hat.”

Then she gave Patty an elaborate velvet hat, trimmed with feathers, and materials for sewing. She also gave her white silk for the lining of the hat, and a piece stamped with gilt letters, which Patty knew must be placed inside the crown.

It all seemed easy,—too easy, in fact, for Patty aspired to making velvet rosettes, and placing ostrich plumes.

But she knew she was being tested, and she set to work at her task with energy.

Though she had never lined a hat before, she knew in a general way how it should be done, and she tried to go about it with an air of experience. The other girls at the table cast furtive glances at her.

Though they were not rude, they showed that air of hostile criticism, so often shown by habitués to a newcomer, though based on nothing but prejudiced curiosity.

But as Patty began to cut the lining, she saw involuntary smiles spring to their faces. She knew that she must be cutting it wrongly, but it seemed to her the only way to cut it, so she went on.

The girls began to nudge each other, and to smile more openly, and, to her own chagrin, Patty felt her cheeks growing red with embarrassment.

She was tempted to speak pleasantly to them, and ask what her mistake was, but a strange notion of honesty forbade this.

She had said at home that she believed it would be possible for her to earn her living without special instruction, and it seemed to her, that if she now asked for advice it would be like getting special training, though in a small degree.

So she went calmly on with her work; cut and fitted the hat lining, and carefully sewed it in the hat.

Remembering that the stitch she used on her “white work” had been criticised as too long, she now was careful to take very short stitches, and she used her utmost endeavour to make her work neat and dainty.

Miss O’Flynn passed her chair two or three times while the work was in progress, but she made no comment of any sort.

It was perhaps eleven o’clock when Patty completed the task. Next time Miss O’Flynn came by her she handed her the hat with an unmistakable air of triumph.

“I’ve done it,” Patty thought to herself, exultantly. “I’ve lined that hat, and, if I do say it that shouldn’t, it’s done perfectly; neat, smooth, and correct in every particular.”

While Patty was indulging in these self-congratulatory thoughts, Miss O’Flynn took the hat from her hand. She gave it a quick glance, then she looked at Patty.

Had Patty looked more meek, had she seemed to await Miss O’Flynn’s opinion of her work, the result might have been different.

But Patty’s expression was so plainly that of a conquering hero, she showed so palpably her pride in her own achievement, that Miss O’Flynn’s eyes narrowed, and her face hardened. Without a word to Patty, she handed the hat to a sad-eyed young woman at another table, and said:

“Line this hat, Miss Harrigan.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the girl; and even as Patty watched her, she began to snip deftly at Patty’s small, careful stitches, and in a few moments the lining was out, and the girl was shaping and cutting a new one, with a quick, sure touch, and with not so much as a glance in Patty’s direction.

The other girls,—the ones at Patty’s table,—looked horrified, but they did not look openly at Patty. Furtively, they darted glances at her from beneath half-closed lids, and then as furtively glanced at each other.

It all struck Patty humorously. To have her careful work discarded and snipped out, to be replaced by “skilled labour,” seemed so funny that she wanted to laugh aloud.

But she was also deeply chagrined at her failure, and so it was an uncertain attitude of mind that showed upon her face as Miss O’Flynn again approached her.

Without making any reference to the work she had already done, Miss O’Flynn gave Patty a hat frame and some thick, soft satin.

“Cover the frame neatly, Miss Fairfield,” was all she said, and walked away.

Patty understood.

It was her own independent and assured attitude that had led Miss O’Flynn to pursue this course. She didn’t for a moment think that all beginners were treated like this. But she had asked to be given a fair trial—and she was getting it.

Moreover, she half suspected that Miss O’Flynn knew she was not really under the necessity of earning her own living.

Though wearing her plainest clothes, all the details of her costume betokened an affluence that couldn’t be concealed.

Astute Patty began to think that Miss O’Flynn saw through her, and that she was cleverly getting even with her.

However, she took the hat frame and the satin, and set to work in thorough earnest. Though not poor, she could not have tried any harder to succeed had she been in direst want.

But as to her work, she was very much at sea.

She knew she had to get the satin on to the frame, without crease or wrinkle. She knew exactly how it ought to look when done, for she had a hat of that sort herself, and the material covered the foundation as creaselessly as paint.

“I’m sure it only needs gumption,” thought Patty, hopefully. “Here’s my real chance to prove that it doesn’t need a series of lessons to get some satin smoothly on a crinoline frame. If I do it neatly, she won’t ask some other girl to do it over.”

Paying no attention to the covert glances of her companions, Patty set to work. She cut carefully, she fitted neatly; she pinned and she basted; she smoothed and she patted; and finally she sewed, with tiny, close stitches, placed evenly and with great precision.

So absorbed did she become in her task that she failed to notice the departure of the others at noon. Alone she sat there at the table, snipping, sewing, pinning, and patting the somewhat refractory satin.

It was almost one o’clock when she finished, and looked up suddenly to see Miss O’Flynn standing watching her.

“Why are you doing this?” she said to Patty, as she took the hat from the girl’s hands.

Patty sat up, all at once, conscious of great pain in the back of her neck, from her continued cramped position at work.

“Because I want to earn money,” replied Patty, not pertly, but in a tone of obstinate intent. “Is it done right?”

Miss O’Flynn looked at Patty, with an air of kindliness and willingness to help her.

“Tell me all about it,” she said.

But Patty was in no mood for confidences, and with a shade of hauteur in her manner, she said again: “Is it done right? Does it suit you?”

At Patty’s rejection of her advances, Miss O’Flynn also became reserved again, and said, simply: “I cannot use it.”

“Why not?” demanded Patty. “It is covered smoothly and neatly. It shows no crease nor fold.”

“It is not right,” said Miss O’Flynn. “It is not done right, because you do not know how to do it. You have never been taught how to cover hats or how to line them; consequently you cannot do them right.”

The other girls had gone to luncheon, so the two were alone in the room. Patty knew that Miss O’Flynn was telling her the truth, and yet she resented it. A red spot burned in each cheek as she answered:

“But the hat is covered perfectly. What matter, then, whether I have been taught or not?”

“Excuse me, it is not covered perfectly. The stitches are too small–”

“Too small!” exclaimed Patty. “Why, I didn’t know stitches could be too small!”

The other smiled. “That is my argument,” she said. “You don’t know. Of course stitches should be small for ordinary sewing, and for many sorts of work. But not for millinery. Here long stitches are wanted, but they must be rightly set,—not careless long stitches.”

“Why?” said Patty, somewhat subdued now.

“Because a better effect can be produced with long stitches. You see, your stitches are small and true, but every one shows. With a skilful long stitch, no stitch is seen at all. It is what we call a blind stitch, and can only be successfully done by skilled workers, who have been taught, and who have also had practice.”

Patty was silent a moment, then she said:

“Miss O’Flynn, we agreed that I was to have a day’s trial.”

“Yes, Miss Fairfield; I will stand by my word.”

“Then may I select my own work for the afternoon?”

“Yes,” said Miss O’Flynn, wondering whether, after all, this pretty, young girl could be a harmless lunatic.

“Then I want to trim hats. Make bows, you know; sew on flowers or feathers; or adjust lace. May I do such things as that?”

Miss O’Flynn hesitated.

“Yes,” she said, finally; “if you will be careful not to injure the materials. You see, if your work should have to be done over, I don’t want the materials spoiled.”

“I promise,” said Patty, slowly.

“But, first, will you not go out for your lunch?”

“No, thank you; I’m not hungry. Please bring me my work at once.”

CHAPTER XII
THREE HATS

But Miss O’Flynn sent Patty a cup of hot bouillon, and some biscuit, which she ate right there at her work-table.

And it was a kindly act, for, though Patty didn’t realise it, she was really faint for want of food and also for fresh air.

The room, though large, had many occupants, and now the girls began to come back from their luncheon, and their chatter made Patty’s head ache.

But she was doing some deep thinking. Her theories about unskilled labour had received a hard blow; and she was beginning to think her millinery efforts were not going to be successful.

“But I’ve a chance yet,” she thought, as Miss O’Flynn came, bringing two hats, and a large box of handsome trimmings.

The other girls stared at this, for they knew that Patty’s morning efforts had been far from successful.

But Patty only smiled at them in a pleasant, but impersonal manner, as she took up her new work.

Her confidence returned. She knew she could do what she was now about to attempt, for, added to her natural taste and love of colour, she had been critically interested in hats while in Paris, and while visiting her friend, Lady Kitty, who was especially extravagant in her millinery purchases.

After a period of thought, Patty decided on her scheme of trimming for the two hats before her, and then set blithely to work.

One was to be a simple style of decoration, the other, much more complicated. Taking up the elaborate one first, Patty went at it with energy, and with an assured touch, for she had the effect definitely pictured in her imagination and was sure she could materialise it.

And she did. After about two hours’ hard work, Patty achieved a triumph. She held up the finished hat, and every girl at the table uttered an “ah!” of admiration at the beautiful sight.

Without response, other than a quiet smile, Patty took up the second hat. This was simple, but daring in its very simplicity. A black velvet Gainsborough, with broad, rolling brim. Patty turned it smartly up, at one side, and fastened it with a rosette of dull blue velvet and a silver buckle. Just then, Miss O’Flynn came in.

“Where did that hat come from?” she said, pointing to Patty’s finished confection.

“I trimmed it,” said Patty, nonchalantly. “Have you some silver hatpins, Miss O’Flynn?”

“You trimmed it!” exclaimed the forewoman, ignoring Patty’s question, and taking up the trimmed hat.

“Yes; do you like it?”

“It’s a marvel! It looks like a French hat. How did you know enough to trim it like this?”

“I thought it would look well that way.”

“But these twists of velvet; they have a touch!”

“Yes?” said Patty, inwardly exultant, but outwardly calm.

“And now,” she went on, “this hat is of another type.”

“It’s not finished?” asked Miss O’Flynn, eyeing the hat in uncertainty, “and yet,—any other trimming would spoil its lines.”

“Just so,” said Patty, placidly. “You see, all it needs now, is two large silver hatpins, like this,—see.”

Patty pulled two hatpins from her own hat, which she still had on, and placed them carefully in the hat she held in her hand.

“These pins are too small,—but you see what I mean.”

Miss O’Flynn did see. She saw that two larger pins would finish the hat with just the right touch, while any other decoration would spoil it.

She looked at Patty curiously.

“You’re a genius, Miss Fairfield,” she said. “Will you trim another hat?”

“Yes,” said Patty, looking at her watch. “It’s only four o’clock. May I have an evening hat, please?”

“You may have whatever you like. Come and select for yourself.”

Patty went to the cases, and chose a large white beaver, with soft, broad brim.

“I will make you a picture hat, to put in your window,” she said, smiling.

She selected some trimmings and returned to her seat at the table.

It was rather more than half an hour later when she showed Miss O’Flynn her work.

“There’s not much work on it,” Patty said, slowly. “I spent the time thinking it out.”

There was not much work on it, to be sure; and yet it was a hat of great distinction.

The white brim rolled slightly back, and where it touched the low crown it met two immense roses, one black and one of palest pink. Two slight sprays of foliage, made of black velvet leaves, nestled between the roses, and completed the trimming.

The roses were of abnormal size and great beauty, but it was the mode of their adjustment that secured the extremely chic effect.

Miss O’Flynn’s eyes sparkled.

“It’s a masterpiece,” she said, clasping her hands in admiration. “You have trimmed hats before, Miss Fairfield?”

“No,” said Patty, “but I always knew I could do it.”

“Yes, you can,” said Miss O’Flynn. “Will you come now, and talk to Madame?”

Ushered into the presence of Madame Villard, Patty suddenly experienced a revulsion of feeling.

Her triumph over Miss O’Flynn seemed small and petty. She was conscious of a revolt against the whole atmosphere of the place. The suavity of Miss O’Flynn’s manner, the artificial grandeur of Madame Villard, filled her with aversion, and she wanted only to get away, and get back to her own home.

Not for any amount per week would she come again to this dreadful place.

She knew it was unreasonable; she knew that if she were to earn her living it could not be in a sheltered, luxurious home, but must, perforce, be in some unattractive workroom.

“But rather a department store,” thought poor Patty, “than in this place, with these overdressed, overmannered women, who ape fine ladies’ manners.”

Patty was overwrought and nervous. Her long, hard day had worn her out, and it was no wonder she felt a distaste for the whole thing.

“You are certainly clever,” said Madame Villard, patronisingly, as she looked at the hats Miss O’Flynn held up for her inspection. “I am glad to offer you a permanent position here. You will have to learn the rudiments of the work, as the most gifted genius should always be familiar with the foundations of his own art. Will you agree to come to me every day?”

Patty hesitated. She hated the thought of coming every day, even if but for a week. And yet, here was the opportunity she was in search of. Trimming hats was easy enough work; probably they wouldn’t make her learn lining and covering at once.

Then the thought occurred to her that it wouldn’t be honest to pretend she was coming regularly, when she meant to do so only for a week.

“Suppose I try it for a week,” she suggested. “Then if either of us wishes to do so, we can terminate the contract.”

“Very well,” said Madame, who thought to herself she could make this young genius trim a great many hats in a week. “Do you agree to that?”

“At what salary?” asked Patty, faintly, for she felt as if she were condemning herself to a week of torture.

“Well,” said Madame Villard, “as you are so ignorant of the work, I ought not to give you any recompense at all; but as you evince such an aptitude for trimming I am willing to say, five dollars a week.”

“Five dollars a week,” repeated Patty, slowly. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

Patty did not mean to be rude or impertinent. Indeed, for the moment she was not even thinking of herself. She was thinking how a poor girl, who had her living to earn, would feel at an offer of five dollars for six long days of work in that dreadful atmosphere.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, mechanically, and she said it more because of Madame Villard’s look of amazement, than because of any regret at her own blunt speech. “I shouldn’t have spoken so frankly. But the compensation you offer is utterly inadequate.”

Patty glanced at her watch, and then began drawing on her gloves with an air of finality.

“But wait,—wait, Miss Fairfield,” exclaimed the Madame, who had no wish to let her new-found genius thus slip away from her. “I like your work. I may say I think it shows touches of real talent. Also, you have unusually good taste. In view of these things, I will overlook still further your ignorance of the details of the work, and I will give you seven dollars a week.”

“Madame,” said Patty, “I am inexperienced in the matter of wages, but I feel sure that you either employ inferior workwomen or that you underpay them. I don’t know which, but I assure you that I could not think of accepting your offer of seven dollars a week.”

“Would you come for ten?” asked Madame Villard, eagerly.

“No,” said Patty, shortly.

“For twelve, then? This is my ultimate offer, and you would do well to consider it carefully. I have never paid so much to any workwoman, and I offer it to you only because I chance to like your style of work.”

“And that is your ultimate offer?” said Patty, looking at her squarely.

“Yes, and I am foolish to offer that; but, as we agreed, it is only for one week, and so–”

“Spare your arguments, madame; I do not accept your proposal. Twelve dollars a week is not enough. And now, I will bid you good-afternoon. Am I entitled to pay for my day’s work?”

With Patty’s final refusal, the manner of Madame Villard had changed. No longer placating and bland, she frowned angrily as she said:

“Pay, indeed! You should be charged for the materials you spoiled in your morning’s work.”

“But in the afternoon,” said Patty, “I trimmed three hats that will bring you big profits.”

“Nothing of the sort,” snapped Madame. “The hats you trimmed are nothing of any moment. Any of my girls could have done as well.”

“Then why don’t you pay them twelve dollars a week?” cried Patty, whose harassed nerves were making her irritable. “I will call our financial account even, but if any of your workwomen can trim hats that you like as well as those that I trimmed, I trust you will give them the salary you offered me. Good-afternoon.”

Patty bowed politely, and then, with a more kindly bow and smile to Miss O’Flynn, she went through the draperies, through the front salesroom, and out at the front door. The milliner and her forewoman followed her with a dignified slowness, but reached the window in time to see Patty get into an elaborately-appointed motor-car which rolled rapidly away.

“She’s one of those society women who spy out what wages we pay,” said Madame Villard, with conviction.

“She’s not old enough for that,” returned Miss O’Flynn, “but she’s not looking for real work, either. I can’t make her out.”

“Well, we have three stunning hats, anyway. Put them in the window to-morrow. And you may as well put Paris labels inside; they have an air of the real thing.”

That evening Patty regaled her parents with a truthful account of her day.

“I’m ‘foiled again’!” she said, laughing. “But the whole performance was so funny I must tell you about it.”

“Couldn’t you have coaxed fifteen dollars a week out of her?” asked Mr. Fairfield, after Patty had told how Madame Villard’s price had gradually increased.

“Oh, father, I was so afraid she would say fifteen! Then I should have felt that I ought to go to her for a week; for I may not get another such chance. But I couldn’t live in that place a week, I know I couldn’t!”

“Why?” asked Nan, curiously.

“I don’t know exactly why,” returned Patty, thoughtfully. “But it’s mostly because it’s all so artificial and untrue. Miss O’Flynn talks as if she were a superior being; Madame Villard talks as if she were a Royal personage. They talk about their customers and each other in a sort of make-believe grandiose way, that is as sickening as it is absurd. I don’t know how to express it, but I’d rather work in a place where everybody is real, and claims only such honour and glory as absolutely belong to them. I hate pretence!”

“Good little Patty!” said her father, heartily; “I’m glad you do. Oh, I tell you, my girl, you’ll learn some valuable lessons, even if you don’t achieve your fifteen dollars.”

“But I shall do that, too, father. You needn’t think I’m conquered yet. Pooh! What’s three failures to a determined nature like mine?”

“What, indeed!” laughed Mr. Fairfield. “Go ahead, my plucky little heroine; you’ll strike it right yet.”

“I’m sure I shall,” declared Patty, with such a self-satisfied air of complacency that both her hearers laughed.