Patty's Fortune by Carolyn Wells

Author:Carolyn Wells
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781776597178
Publisher: The Floating Press

Chapter XII - Middy

*

“Whither away, Patty?” asked Nan, as Patty came downstairs one bright morning in late October, hatted and gowned for the street.

“I’m going out on multifarious errands. First, I shall make a certain florist I wot me of, wish he had never been born. What do you think? I ordered pink chrysanthemums and he sent yellow? Could villainy go further? And then I’ve some small shopping to do. Any errands?”

“No, unless you stop in at the photographer’s and see if my pictures are done.”

“All right I will. By, by.”

Patty got into the big car, with its open top, and drew in long breaths of the crisp autumn air.

“To Morley, the florist’s, first, Martin,” she told the chauffeur.

As they drove down Fifth Avenue, Patty nodded to acquaintances now and then. She was very happy, for she was planning a pleasant outing for her club of working girls, and it greatly interested her. She had long ago gotten over her foolish notion about the stage, and was now able to laugh at the recollection of her silly idea. But she occasionally sang at a concert for charity or for the entertainment of her friends, and her voice, by reason of study and practice, was growing stronger and fuller.

When she reached Morley’s the florist’s doorman assisted Patty from the car, and she went into the shop.

Though she had threatened to reprove him severely for his error about the flowers, Patty was really very polite, and merely called his attention to the mistake, which he promised to rectify at once. Then, selecting a small bunch of violets to pin on her coat, Patty went out.

The doorman, who had been looking in the window, to see when she started, sprang to attention, and then, as Patty stepped toward her car, she stood stock-still in amazement. For there, on the back seat, sat a smiling baby, a chubby rosy-cheeked child about two years old.

“Why, you cunning Kiddy!” exclaimed Patty, “where in the world did you come from? What are you doing in my car?”

The baby smiled at her, and holding out a little white-mittened hand, said: “F’owers? F’owers for Middy?”

“Who is she, Martin?” asked Patty of the chauffeur. “How did she get here?”

Martin looked around. The car was a long one, and he had not turned to look back since Patty went into the shop.

“Why, Miss Patty, I don’t know! Maybe some of your friends left her?”

“No, of course, no one would do that, and besides, I don’t know the child. Who are you, baby?”

“Middy,” said the little one. “I Middy.”

“You are, are you? Well, that doesn’t help much. Who brought you here, Middy?”

“Muddy.”

“Muddy, Middy. Your vocabulary seems to be limited! Well, what shall I do with you?”

The baby gurgled and smiled and reiterated a demand for “f’owers.”

“Yes, you may have the flowers,” and Patty gave her the violets, “but I don’t understand your presence here.”

Apparently it mattered not to the baby what Patty understood, and she smelled the flowers with decided evidences of satisfaction.

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