The Lever Part 7

"Come in," she called, innocently.

Riley stood in the doorway, with a hand resting on each hip, astonished into silence by the peaceful scene before him. Patricia was seated in the middle of the bed, completely surrounded with pillows, and fanning herself nonchalantly.

"Phwat made ye slam th' dure?" he demanded.

"Did it slam?" she asked. "It must have been the draught. There's an awful draught around this apartment--haven't you noticed it, Riley?"

"I haven't noticed nuthin' excep' that ye are a bad little gurl."

"It's the 'divvle' in me--coming out, isn't it, Riley? That's what you told mamma Eleanor, and you ought to know."

"Shure, I ought ter know, an' I do know."

"I thought you did." Patricia smiled sweetly. "But if a person has the 'divvle' in him, it is much better to let it get out."

"'Twud take more room than there is here ter let it all out iv ye,"

retorted the irate Riley.

"You are no gentleman, Mr. Riley, to speak to a lady like that," she said, severely. "You may go now."

"Will ye be th' good gurl if I lave ye by yersel'?"

"How do I know if it's all out of me?"

"Shure, it oughter be," he declared, in despair. "Will ye thry?"

"Certainly, _I'll_ try." Patricia was demureness itself. "If anything happens, it will be the 'divvle's' fault, so you mustn't hold me responsible."

"It's ye'er own divvle, ain't it?--ye can make it do what ye want."

"_I_ don't know," protested Patricia. "I didn't even know I had a 'divvle.' It was you who discovered it; and people who discover things have to be responsible for them, don't they?"

Riley shook his head in desperation. His arguments were exhausted, and all that was left to him was retreat.

"I wuddent be that child's gov'ness f'r all th' money in th' world," he muttered, as he shuffled through the hall. "An' ter think they lift her home fr'm ch'ice. 'Twas th' lucky day f'r Miss Mary--but I wish her here."

Finding the coast clear, Patricia moved the scene of her activity to the reception-room. Here she undertook to put into execution the latest idea which had struck her fancy, which was nothing less than a medieval tournament on as elaborate a scale as the properties at hand would permit. The hotel had not been furnished with an eye to contests of chivalry, but chairs, turned wrong-side up and covered with table-cloths, made richly caparisoned steeds; and Patricia's imagination easily supplied the riders.

At first the Knights and their horses were ranged together at one end of the room.

"You are Front-de-B[oe]uf," the child announced, laying her hand upon the first overturned chair; "and you are Bois-Guilbert, and you Malvoisin. We ought to have some others, but there aren't any more table-covers."

Then she moved Front-de-B[oe]uf into the centre of the arena.

"You stay there 'til I get my s.h.i.+eld and lance," she said, and the war-like Knight made no protest.

Patricia next appeared with an open umbrella dexterously held in front of her, and a heavy cane belonging to her father in her hand.

Front-de-B[oe]uf may have been intimidated by the militant figure which approached him, but he stood his ground bravely.

"I'm the Disinherited Knight," Patricia announced to the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude, pausing a moment to receive their enthusiastic plaudits.

"Largesse, largesse, gallant Knights!" she cried, boldly. "That means that I'm bigger than any one else," she explained. "Love of the Ladies--Glory to the Brave!"

With this ample notice of her intentions, the Disinherited Knight charged Front-de-B[oe]uf with a frenzy which resulted in his utter disgrace. The trappings were torn from his steed by the fury of the onslaught, the horse itself was overthrown, and Patricia surveyed the carnage with the utmost satisfaction.

"We shall meet again, I trust, where there is none to separate us," she said, solemnly.

A truce was declared while she dragged Bois-Guilbert into the lists.

"To all brave English hearts and to the confusion of foreign tyrants,"

was the war-cry, and in a moment more Bois-Guilbert had shared the fate of his predecessor. This time, however, the Disinherited Knight did not escape unscathed, as the front foot of the adversary's steed made a dismal rent in her umbrella s.h.i.+eld.

Malvoisin alone remained, and he in turn took his stand against the redoubtable champion. But Malvoisin, contrary to history as Patricia knew it, proved the most stubborn adversary of the three. The heralds had not properly cleared away the debris from the tilting-field, so when the Disinherited Knight forced Malvoisin back, Bois-Guilbert supported him from behind. Patricia had found the other two so yielding that she was unprepared for this unexpected defence, and the result of her attack was the complete demolition of the umbrella and a bad fall for herself, in the course of which her lance struck the gla.s.s door of a bookcase standing near.

The noise of the fall, together with the crash of gla.s.s, brought Riley rus.h.i.+ng to the room. Patricia recognized his indignation without need of explanation. Forgetful of her b.u.mp, she again seized the cane, and repeating her cry, "To the confusion of foreign tyrants," she charged the old man with such vigor that he stepped aside with astonis.h.i.+ng agility, allowing her to pa.s.s him into the hall. This was all that the now thoroughly frightened Patricia desired to accomplish. Dropping the cane, she rushed into the bedroom, and retreated underneath the bed, whither she well knew Riley's infirmities would not permit him to follow.

"Come out o' there," the old man commanded, close behind her.

"It's lovely under here," the child answered; "I'd rather stay."

"Phwat in th' name o' Hiven have ye been doin'?"

"Playing tournament, Riley," came back the voice from under the bed.

"It's a splendid game. Do you want to learn it some time?"

"'Tis mesel' has sumthin' to learn ye," he retorted. "Come out o' there, I say."

"I couldn't think of it. I'm tired."

"Well, ye oughter be--smas.h.i.+n' up th' furnichure, an' makin' a noise like a wake. Wait 'til I gits hold iv ye."

"You are a foreign tyrant, Riley--I shall never yield to you."

"Furrin fiddlesticks--I'll lave th' whole mess f'r ye'er mother ter see when she gits home, d'ye mind."

"All right, Riley; I'll wait for her here."

Again the old man retreated, his indignation increasing as he waited for the return of the motor-party. Mrs. Gorham was given no opportunity even to remove her wraps before she was solemnly led to the scene of the disaster. Allen and Alice followed close behind, ignorant of the nature of the calamity, but feeling certain by Riley's manner that it was a serious one. They gazed for a moment at the wreck before them.

"What has happened, Riley?" Eleanor cried, anxiously.

"It looks as if a vacuum-cleaner had been at work," volunteered Allen.

The old man's emotions were so strong that he could scarcely speak.

"What has happened?" again demanded Eleanor.

"Miss Pat," was all that Riley could articulate.