A FORCED MARCH

After luncheon they all strolled out on the verandas or through the gardens, and Patty and Mona slipped away to hold a council of war by themselves.

“You’re a darling, Patty,” Mona said, “and I was perfectly amazed at those wonderful messes you fixed up for luncheon.”

“I don’t approve of the term you apply to my confections!”

“Well, you know what I mean.  They were all perfect, you fairly outdid Francois.”

“That’s better.  Now, Mona mine, we must acquire some servants, and that right speedily.”

“Yes, but how?  I think I’d better telephone the dinner guests not to come.”

“I’d hate to do that.  They’re Adele’s friends, and she’s so anxious to have them come here.”

“I know it, but what can we do?  I won’t let you cook again.”

“No, I don’t want to cook dinner.  Luncheon seems different, somehow.  But I do believe if I take Camilla, and scour all the plains around Spring Beach, I can catch something that can cook.”

“I’d hate to have a poor cook.”

“Yes, I know; I mean a first-class cook, though, perhaps not a chef.”

“Well, go ahead, Patty, but you’ll have to start at once.  Your cook ought to be here by four, and it’s almost three now.”

“’I slip, I slide, I gleam, I glance,’—­what comes next?  Never mind, I’ll just scoot.”

Throwing on a white pongee dust cloak over her pretty frock, Patty declared herself ready to start, and Mona ordered an electric runabout brought from the garage.

But Miss Patricia Fairfield had no intention of going alone upon her quest.  Walking up to a group of men talking on the veranda, she paused in front of Farnsworth.

“I want you,” she said, calmly.

“I am yours,” he responded with equal calm, and throwing away his cigar, turned to go with her.

“Don’t you want me?” asked Captain Sayre, eagerly.

“And me?” added Cromer.

“I know you want me,” put in Roger, “but you’re too shy to say so.”

“I want you all,” said Patty, beaming on the group, “but I like you one at a time, and this is Little Billee’s turn.”

“What’s up, my lady?” said Farnsworth, as he started the swift little car.

“Why, just this.  Turn toward the main road, please.  We’ve simply got to find a cook for Mona within an hour.  I know we can do it,—­ but, you tell me how.”

“Dead easy, child.  We’ll just go out and kidnap one.”

“But cooks aren’t found sitting in deserted baby carriages, to be tempted with candy.  Now be sensible.  Can’t you think of any plan?”

“Not a plan!  Can you?”

“Well, all I can think of is to go to see Susan.”

“Susan it is!  Where does the lady reside?”

“Down this way two blocks, then turn to the right.”

“She is won!  We are gone!  Over bank,
  bush and scar,
 They’ll have fleet steeds that follow!” quoth
  young Lochinvar.’”