Perhaps it was partly owing to Patty’s natural sense of humour, or perhaps her overwrought nerves made her feel a little hysterically inclined, but somehow the situation suddenly struck her as being very funny. To think that she, Patty Fairfield, was about to be arrested because she couldn’t pay her cab fare, truly seemed like a joke.

But though it seemed like a joke, it wasn’t one. As Patty hesitated, the cabman grew more impatient and less respectful.

Patty’s feeling of amusement passed as quickly as it came, and she realised that she must do something at once. Nan was not at home, her father was too far away, and, curiously, the next person she thought of as one who could help her in her trouble was Mr. Hepworth.

This thought seemed like an inspiration. Instantly assuming an air of authority and dignity, she turned to the angry cabman and said, “You will be the one to be arrested unless you behave yourself more properly. Come with me to the nearest public telephone station. I have sufficient money with me to pay for a telephone message, and I will then prove to your satisfaction that your fare will be immediately paid.”

Patty afterward wondered how she had the courage to make this speech, but the fear of what might happen had been such a shock to her that it had reacted upon her timidity.

And with good results, for the cabman at once became meek and even cringing.

“There’s a telephone across the street, Miss,” he said.

“Very well,” said Patty; “come with me.”

“There’s a telephone here, Miss,” said the Italian woman, “if you would like to use it.”

“That’s better yet,” said Patty; “where’s the book?”

Taking the telephone book, Patty quickly turned the leaves until she found Mr. Hepworth’s studio number.

She had an aversion to speaking her own name before her present hearers, so when Mr. Hepworth responded she merely said, “Do you know who I am?”

Of course the others listening could not hear when Mr. Hepworth responded that he did know her voice, and then called her by name.

“Very well,” said Patty, still speaking with dignity, “I have had the misfortune to lose my purse, and I am unable to pay my cab fare. Will you be kind enough to answer the cabman over this telephone right now, and inform him that it will be paid if he will drive me to your address, which you will give him?”

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Hepworth politely, though he was really very much amazed at this message.

Patty turned to the cabman and said, somewhat sternly, “Take this receiver and speak to the gentleman at the other end of the wire.”

Sheepishly the man took the receiver and timidly remarked, “Hello.”

“What is your number?” asked Mr. Hepworth, and the cabman told him.

“Where are you?” was the next question, and the cabman gave the address of the costumer, which Patty had not remembered to do.

Mr. Hepworth’s studio was not very many blocks away, and he gave the cabman his name and address, saying, “Bring the young lady around here at once, as quickly as you can. I will settle with you on your arrival.”

Mr. Hepworth hung up his own receiver, much puzzled. His first impulse was to go to the address where Patty was, but as it would take some time for him to get around there by any means, he deemed it better that she should come to him.

As Patty felt safe, now that she was so soon to meet Mr. Hepworth, she gave her remaining change to the Italian woman, who had been kind, though stolidly disinterested, during the whole interview.

The cabman, having given his number to Mr. Hepworth, felt a responsibility for the safety of his passenger, and assisted her into the cab with humble politeness.

A few moments’ ride brought them to the large building in which was Mr. Hepworth’s studio, and that gentleman himself, hatted and gloved, stood on the curb awaiting them.

“What’s it all about?” he asked Patty, making no motion, however, to assist her from the cab.

But the reaction after her fright and embarrassment had made Patty so weak and nervous that she was on the verge of tears.

“I didn’t have any money,” she said; “I don’t know whether I lost it or not, and if you’ll please pay him, papa will pay you afterward.”

“Of course, child; that’s all right,” said Mr. Hepworth. “Don’t get out,” he added, as Patty started to do so. “Stay right where you are, and I’ll take you home.” He gave Patty’s address to the driver, swung himself into the cab beside Patty, and off they started.

“I wasn’t frightened,” said Patty, though her quivering lip and trembling hands belied her words; “but when he said he’d arrest me, I—I didn’t know what to do, and so I telephoned to you.”

“Quite right,” said Hepworth, in a casual tone, which gave no hint of the joy he felt in being Patty’s protector in such an emergency. “But I say, child, you look regularly done up. What have you been doing? Have you had your luncheon?”

“No,” said Patty, faintly.

“And it’s after two o’clock,” said Hepworth, sympathetically. “You poor infant, I’d like to take you somewhere for a bite, but I suppose that wouldn’t do. Well, here’s the only thing we can do, and it will at least keep you from fainting away.”

He signalled the cabman to stop at a drug shop, where there was a large soda fountain. Here he ordered for Patty a cup of hot bouillon. He made her drink it slowly, and was rejoiced to see that it did her good. She felt better at once, and when they returned to the cab she begged Mr. Hepworth to let her go on home alone, and not take any more of his valuable time.

“No, indeed,” said that gentleman; “it may not be according to the strictest rules of etiquette for me to be going around with you in a hansom cab, but it’s infinitely better than for you to be going around alone. So I’ll just take charge of you until I can put you safely inside your father’s house.”

“And the girls are coming at two o’clock for a rehearsal!” said Patty. “Oh, I shall be late.”

“The girls will wait,” said Mr. Hepworth, easily, and then during the rest of the ride he entertained Patty with light, merry conversation.

He watched her closely, however, and came to the conclusion that the girl was very nervous, and excitable to a degree that made him fear she was on the verge of a mental illness.

“When is this play of yours to come off?” he enquired.

“Next Thursday night,” said Patty, “if we can get ready for it, and we must; but oh, there is so much to do, and now I’ve wasted this whole morning and haven’t accomplished a thing, and I don’t know where Miss Sinclair is, and I didn’t see about the costumes, after all, and now I’ll be late for rehearsal. Oh, what shall I do?”

Mr. Hepworth had sufficient intuition to know that if he sympathised with Patty in her troubles she was ready to break down in a fit of nervous crying.

So he said, as if the matter were of no moment, “Oh, pshaw, those costumes will get themselves attended to some way or another. Why, I’ll go down there this afternoon and hunt them up, if you like. Just tell me what ones you want.”

This was help, indeed. Patty well knew that Mr. Hepworth’s artistic taste could select the costumes even better than her own, and she eagerly told him the necessary details.

Mr. Hepworth also promised to look after some other errands that were troubling Patty’s mind, so that when she finally reached home she was calm and self-possessed once more.

Mr. Hepworth quickly settled matters with the cabman, and then escorted Patty up the steps to her own front door, where, with a bow and a few last kindly words, he left her and walked rapidly away.

The girls who had gathered for rehearsal greeted her with a chorus of reproaches for being so late, but when Patty began to tell her exciting experiences, the rehearsal was forgotten in listening to the thrilling tale.

“Come on, now,” said Patty, a little later, “we must get to work. Get your places and begin your lines, while I finish these.”

Patty had refused to go to luncheon, and the maid had brought a tray into the library for her. So, with a sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other, she directed the rehearsal, taking her own part therein when the time came.

So the days went on, each one becoming more and more busy as the fateful time drew near.

Also Patty became more and more nervous. She had far more to do than any of the other girls, for they depended on her in every emergency, referred every decision to her, and seemed to expect her to do all the hardest of the work.

Moreover, the long strain of overstudy she had been through had left its effects on her system, and Patty, though she would not admit it, and no one else realised it, was in imminent danger of an attack of nervous prostration.

The last few days Nan had begun to suspect this, but as nothing could be done to check Patty’s mad career, or even to assist her in the many things she had to do, Nan devoted her efforts to keeping Patty strengthened and stimulated, and was constantly appearing to her with a cup of hot beef tea, or of strong coffee, or a dose of some highly recommended nerve tonic.

Although these produced good temporary effects, the continued use of these remedies really aggravated Patty’s condition, and when Thursday came she was almost a wreck, both physically and mentally, and Nan was at her wits’ end to know how to get the girl through the day.

At the summons of her alarm clock Patty rose early in the morning, for there was much to do by way of final preparation. Before breakfast she had attended to many left-over odds and ends, and when she appeared at the table she said only an absent-minded “good-morning,” and then knit her brows as if in deep and anxious thought.

Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield looked at each other. They knew that to say a word to Patty by way of warning would be likely to precipitate the breakdown that they feared, so they were careful to speak very casually and gently.

“Anything I can do for you to-day, Puss?” said her father, kindly.

“No,” said Patty, still frowning; “but I wish the flowers would come. I have to make twenty-four garlands before I go over to the schoolroom, and I must be there by ten o’clock to look after the building of the platform.”

“Can’t I make the garlands for you?” asked Nan.

“No,” said Patty, “they have to be made a special way, and you’d only spoil them.”

“But if you showed me,” urged Nan, patiently. “If you did two or three, perhaps I could copy them exactly; at any rate, let me try.”

“Very well,” said Patty, dully, “I wish you could do them, I’m sure.”

The flowers were delayed, as is not unusual in such cases, and it was nearly ten when they arrived.

Patty was almost frantic by that time, and Nan, as she afterward told her husband, had to “handle her with gloves on.”

But by dint of tact and patience, Nan succeeded in persuading Patty, after making two or three garlands, to leave the rest for her to do. Although they were of complicated design, Nan was clever at such things, and could easily copy Patty’s work. And had she been herself, Patty would have known this. But so upset was she that even her common sense seemed warped.

When she reached the schoolroom there were a thousand and one things to see to, and nearly all of them were going wrong.

Patty flew from one thing to another, straightening them out and bringing order from confusion, and though she held herself well in hand, the tension was growing tighter, and there was danger of her losing control of herself at any minute.

Hilda Henderson was the only one who realised this, and, taking Patty aside, she said to her, quietly, “Look here, girl, I’ll attend to everything else; there’s not much left that needs special attention. And I want you to go right straight home, take a hot bath, and then lie down and rest until time to dress for the afternoon programme. Will you?”

Patty looked at Hilda with a queer, uncomprehending gaze. She seemed scarcely to understand what was being said to her.

“Yes,” she said, but as she turned she half stumbled, and would have fallen to the floor if Hilda had not caught her strongly by the arm.

“Brace up,” she said, and her voice was stern because she was thoroughly frightened. “Patty Fairfield, don’t you dare to collapse now! If you do, I’ll—I don’t know what I’ll do to you! Come on, now, I’ll go home with you.”

Hilda was really afraid to let Patty go alone, so hastily donning her hat and coat she went with her to her very door.

“Take this girl,” she said to Nan, “and put her to bed, and don’t let her see anybody or say anything until the programme begins this afternoon. I’ll look after everything that isn’t finished, if you’ll just keep her quiet.”

Nan was thoroughly alarmed, but she only said, “All right, Hilda, I’ll take care of her, and thank you very much for bringing her home.”

Patty sank down on a couch in a limp heap, but her eyes were big and bright as she looked at Hilda, saying, “See that the stars are put on the gilt wands, and the green bay leaves on the white ones. Lorraine’s spangled skirt is in Miss Oliphant’s room, and please be sure,—” Patty didn’t finish this sentence, but lay back among the cushions, exhausted.

“Run along, Hilda,” said Nan; “do the best you can with the stars and things, and I’ll see to it that Patty’s all right by afternoon.”

CHAPTER VIII
COMMENCEMENT DAY

Nan was a born nurse, and, moreover, she had sufficient common sense and tact to know how to deal with nervous exhaustion. Instead of discussing the situation she said, cheerily, “Now everything will be all right. Hilda will look after the stars and wands, and you can have quite a little time to rest before you go back to the schoolroom. Don’t try to go up to your room now, just stay right where you are, and I’ll bring you a cup of hot milk, which is just what you need.”

Patty nestled among the cushions which Nan patted and tucked around her, and after taking the hot milk felt much better.

“I must get up now, Nan,” she pleaded, from the couch where she lay, “I have so many things to attend to.”

“Patty,” said Nan, looking at her steadily, “do you want to go through with the commencement exercises this afternoon and the play to-night successfully, or do you want to collapse on the stage and faint right before all the audience?”

“I won’t do any such foolish thing,” said Patty, indignantly.

“You will,” said Nan, “unless you obey me implicitly, and do exactly as I tell you.”

Nan’s manner more than her words compelled Patty’s obedience, and with a sigh, the tired girl closed her eyes, saying, “All right, Nan, have your own way, I’ll be good.”

“That’s a good child,” said Nan, soothingly, “and now first we’ll go right up to your own room.”

Then Nan helped Patty into a soft dressing gown, made her lie down upon her bed, and threw a light afghan over her.

Then sitting beside her, Nan talked a little on unimportant matters and then began to sing softly. In less than half an hour Patty was sound asleep, and Nan breathed a sigh of relief at finding her efforts had been successful.

But there was not much time to spare, for the commencement exercises began at three o’clock.

So at two o’clock Patty found herself gently awakened, to see Nan at her bedside, arranging a dainty tray of luncheon which a maid had brought in.

“Here you are, girlie,” said the cheery voice, “sit up now, and see what we have for you here.”

Patty awoke a little bewildered, but soon gathered her scattered senses, and viewed with pleasure the broiled chicken and crisp salad before her.

Exhaustion had made her hungry, and while she ate, Nan busied herself in getting out the pretty costume that Patty was to wear at commencement.

But the sight of the white organdie frock with its fluffy ruffles and soft laces brought back Patty’s apprehensions.

“Oh, Nan,” she cried in dismay, “I’m not nearly ready for commencement! I haven’t copied my poem yet, and I haven’t had a minute to practice reading it for the last two weeks. What shall I do?”

“That’s all attended to,” said Nan,—“the copying, I mean. You’ve been so busy doing other people’s work, that of course you haven’t had time to attend to your own, so I gave your poem to your father, and he had it typewritten for you, and here it is all ready. Now, while you dress, I’ll read it to you, and that will bring it back to your memory.”

“Nan, you are a dear,” cried Patty, jumping up and flying across the room to give her stepmother a hearty caress. “Whatever would I do without you? I’m all right now, and if you’ll just elocute that thing, while I array myself in purple and fine linen, I’m sure it will all come back to me.”

So Nan read Patty’s jolly little class poem line by line, and Patty repeated it after her as she proceeded with her toilette.

She was ready before the appointed time, and the carriage was at the door, but Nan would not let her go.

“No, my lady,” she said, “you don’t stir out of this house until the very last minute. If you get over there ahead of time, you’ll begin to make somebody a new costume, or build a throne for the fairy queen, or some foolish trick like that. Now you sit right straight down in that chair and read your poem over slowly, while I whip into my own clothes, and then we’ll go along together. Fred can’t come until a little later anyway. Sit still now, and don’t wriggle around and spoil that pretty frock.”

Patty obeyed like a docile child, and Nan flew away to don her own pretty gown for the occasion.

When she returned in a soft grey crêpe de chine, with a big grey hat and feathers, she was such a pretty picture that Patty involuntarily exclaimed in admiration.

“I’m glad you like it,” said Nan, “I want to look my best so as to do you credit, and in return I want you to do your best so as to do me credit.”

“I will,” said Patty, earnestly, “I truly will. You’ve been awfully good to me, Nan, and but for you I don’t know what I should have done.”

Away they went, and when they reached the schoolroom, and Patty went to join her classmates, while Nan took her place in the audience, she said as a parting injunction, “Now mind, Patty, this afternoon you’re to attend strictly to your own part in the programme. Don’t go around helping other people with their parts, because this isn’t the time for that. You’ll have all you can do to manage Patty Fairfield.”

Patty laughed and promised, and ran away to the schoolroom.

The moment she entered, half a dozen girls ran to her with questions about various details, and Nan’s warning was entirely forgotten. Indeed had it not been for Hilda’s intervention, Patty would have gone to work at a piece of unfinished scenery.

“Drop that hammer!” cried Hilda, as Patty was about to nail some branches of paper roses on to a wobbly green arbour. “Patty Fairfield, are you crazy? The idea of attempting carpenter work with that delicate frock on! Do for pity’s sake keep yourself decent until after you’ve read your poem at least!”

Patty looked at Hilda with that same peculiar vacantness in her glance which she had shown in the morning, and though Hilda said nothing, she was exceedingly anxious and kept a sharp watch on Patty’s movements.

But it was then time for the girls to march onto the platform, and as Patty seemed almost like herself, though unusually quiet, Hilda hoped it was all right.

The exercises were such as are found on most commencement programmes, and included class history, class prophecy, class song and all of the usual contributions to a commencement programme.

Patty’s class poem was near the end of the list, and Nan was glad, for she felt it would give the girl more time to regain her poise. Mr. Fairfield had arrived, and both he and Nan waited anxiously for Patty’s turn to come.

When it did come, Patty proved herself quite equal to the occasion.

Her poem was merry and clever, and she read it with an entire absence of self-consciousness, and an apparent enjoyment of its fun. She looked very sweet and pretty in her dainty white dress, and she stood so gracefully and seemed so calm and composed, that only those who knew her best noticed the feverish brightness of her eyes and a certain tenseness of the muscles of her hands.

But this was not unobserved by one in the audience. Mr. Hepworth, though seated far back, noted every symptom of Patty’s nervousness, however little it might be apparent to others.

Although she went through her ordeal successfully, he knew how much greater would be the excitement and responsibility of the evening’s performance and he wished he could help her in some way.

But there seemed to be nothing he could do, and though he had sent her a beautiful basket of roses, it was but one floral gift among so many that he doubted whether Patty even knew that he sent it; and he also doubted if she would have cared especially if she had known it.

Like most of the graduates, Patty received quantities of floral tributes. As the ushers came again and again with clusters or baskets of flowers, the audience heartily applauded, and Patty, though embarrassed a little, preserved a pretty dignity, and showed a happy enjoyment of it all.

As soon as the diplomas were awarded, and Patty had her cherished roll tied with its blue ribbon, Nan told Mr. Fairfield that it was imperative that Patty should be made to go straight home.

“If she stays there,” said Nan, “she’ll get excited and exhausted, and be good for nothing to-night. I gave her some stimulants this noon, although she didn’t know it, but the effects are wearing off and a reaction will soon set in. She must come home with us at once.”

“You are right, Mrs. Fairfield,” said Mr. Hepworth, who had crossed the room and joined them just in time to hear Nan’s last words. “Patty is holding herself together by sheer nervous force, and she needs care if she is to keep up through the evening.”

“That is certainly true,” said Nan. “Kenneth,” she added, turning to young Harper, who stood near by, “you have a good deal of influence with Patty. Go and get her, won’t you? Make her come at once.”

“All right,” said Kenneth, and he was off in a moment, while Mr. Hepworth looked after him, secretly wishing that the errand might have been entrusted to him.

But Kenneth found his task no easy one. Although Patty willingly consented to his request, and even started toward the dressing-room to get her wraps, she paused so many times to speak to different ones, or her progress was stopped by anxious-looking girls who wanted her help or advice, that Kenneth almost despaired of getting her away.

“Can’t you make her come, Hilda?” he said.

“I’ll try,” said Hilda, but when she tried, Patty only said, “Yes, Hilda, in just a minute. I want to coach Mary a little in her part, and I want to show Hester where to stand in the third act.”

“Never mind,” said Hilda, impatiently. “Let her stand on the roof, if she wants to, but for goodness’ sake go on home. Your people are waiting for you.”

Again Patty looked at her with that queer vacant gaze, and then Lorraine Hart stepped forward and took matters in her own hands.

“March!” she said, as she grasped Patty’s arm, and steered her toward the dressing-room. “Halt!” she said after they reached it, and then while Patty stood still, seemingly dazed, Lorraine put her cloak about her, threw her scarf over her head, wheeled her about, and marched her back to where Kenneth stood waiting.

“Take her quick,” she said. “Take her right to the carriage; don’t let her stop to speak to anybody.”

So Kenneth grasped Patty’s arm firmly and led her through the crowd of girls, out of the door, and down the walk to the carriage. Ordinarily, Patty would have resented this summary treatment, but still in a half-dazed way she meekly went where she was led.

Once in the carriage, Nan sat beside her and Mr. Fairfield opposite, and they started for home. No reference was made to Patty herself, but the others talked lightly and pleasantly of the afternoon performance.

On reaching home, Nan put Patty to bed at once, and telephoned for the Doctor.

But when Dr. Martin came, Nan met him downstairs, and told him all about the case. They then decided that the Doctor should not see Patty, as to realise the fact that she was in need of medical attendance might prove a serious shock.

“And really, Doctor,” said Nan, “if the girl shouldn’t be allowed at least to try to go through with the play this evening, I wouldn’t like to answer for the consequences.”

“I understand,” said Dr. Martin, “and though I think that with the aid of certain prescriptions I shall give you, she can probably get through the evening, it would be far better if she did not attempt it.”

“I know it Doctor,” said Nan, “and with some girls it might be possible to persuade them to give it up, but I can’t help feeling that if we even advised Patty not to go to-night, she would fly into violent hysterics.”

“Very likely,” said Dr. Martin, “and I think, Mrs. Fairfield, you are right in your diagnosis. If you will give her these drops exactly as I have directed, I think she will brace up sufficiently to go through her part all right.”

Nan thanked the Doctor, and hurried back to Patty’s room to look after her charge. She found Patty lying quietly, but in a state of mental excitement. When Nan came in, she began to talk rapidly.

“It’s all right, Nan, dear,” she said. “I’m not ill a bit. Please let me get up now, and dress so I can go around to the schoolroom a little bit early. There are two or three things I must look after, and then the play will go off all right.”

“Very well,” said Nan, humouring her, “if you will just take this medicine it will brace you up for the evening, and you can go through with the play as successfully as you did your part this afternoon.”

Patty agreed, and took the drops the Doctor had left, without a murmur.

Soon their soothing effect became apparent, and Patty’s nervous enthusiasm quieted down to such an extent that she seemed in no haste to go.

She ate her dinner slowly, and dawdled over her dressing, until Nan again became alarmed lest the medicine had been too powerful.

Poor Nan really had a hard time of it. Patty was not a tractable patient, and Nan was frequently at her wits’ end to know just how to manage her.

But at last she was ready, and they all started for the school again. Although Patty’s own people, and a few of her intimate girl friends knew of her overwrought state, most of the class and even the teachers had no idea how near to a nervous breakdown she was. For her demeanour was much as usual, and though she would have moments of dazed bewilderment, much of the time she was unusually alert and she flew about attending to certain last details in an efficient and clear-headed manner.