Patty wasn’t sleepy, and she dawdled around her room, now and then sipping the milk, and then looking over her engagements for the next day.

“Oh,” she thought, suddenly, “I’ve left my fan at the party.  I’m sorry, for it’s my pet fan.  Of course it will be safe there, but I think I’ll telephone Marie to look it up and put it away.”

Knowing that the Homers would not yet have retired, Patty picked up her telephone and called the number.

A masculine voice gave back a cheery “Hello!”

“Is this Mr. Homer?” said Patty.

“No, indeed.  I’m Kit Cameron.  Who are you, please?”

“Isn’t this The Wimbledon apartment house?”

“It sure is.”

“Isn’t this 6483?”

“No, it’s 6843.  Please tell me who you are?”

A spirit of mischief entered into Patty.  She knew this must be Marie
Homer’s cousin, who lived on the floor above the Homers, and who,
Mrs. Homer had said, detested girls.

“But I have the wrong number,” she said.  “I didn’t mean to call you.”

“But since you did call me, you must tell me who you are.”

“I’m a captive princess,” said Patty, in rather a melancholy tone.  “I’m imprisoned in the dungeon of a castle.”

“How awful!  May I get a squad of soldiers and come to your rescue, oh, fair lady?”

“Nay, nay, Sir Knight; and anyway you do not know that I am a fair lady.”

“Your voice tells me that.  Surely such musical tones could belong only to the most beautiful princess in the world.”

“Oh, yes, I am that,” and Patty laughed, roguishly; “but a well-behaved princess would not be talking to a strange man.  So I must say good-bye.”

“Oh, no, no! wait a minute; you haven’t told me your name yet.”

“And I don’t intend to.  You detest girls, anyway.”

“Yes, I always have, but you see I never met a princess before.”

“You haven’t met me yet.”

“But I shall!  Don’t make any mistake about that.”

“How can you?  I’m going to ring off now, and you have no way of tracing me.”

“I can find out from Central.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Because I forbid you to do so.”

“All right; then I can’t find out that way, but I’ll find out some other way.  I’ll go on a quest.”

“Goodness, what is a quest?”

“Oh, it just means that I henceforth devote my whole life to finding you.”

“But you can’t find me, when you don’t know my name.”

“I’ll make up a name for you.  I’ll call you Princess Poppycheek.”

“How could you guess I’m a brunette?”

“I can tell it from your voice.  You have snapping black eyes and dark curly hair, and the reddest of red cheeks.”

“Exactly right!” exclaimed Patty, giggling to think how far this description was from her blonde pink-and-white type.