Aunt Janes Nieces and Uncle John | Page 3

men--the stately Major and round little Uncle John--fairly
worshiped Patsy.
No one might suspect, from the simple life of this household, which
occupied the second corner flat at 3708 Willing Square, that Miss
Doyle was an heiress. Not only that, but perhaps one of the very richest
girls in New York. And the reason is readily explained when I state the
fact that Patsy's Uncle John Merrick, the round little bald-headed man
who sat contentedly eating his soup, was a man of many millions, and
this girl his favorite niece. An old bachelor who had acquired an
immense fortune in the far Northwest, Mr. Merrick had lately retired
from active business and come East to seek any relatives that might
remain to him after forty years' absence. His sister Jane had gathered
around her three nieces--Louise Merrick, Elizabeth De Graf and
Patricia Doyle--and when Aunt Jane died Uncle John adopted these

three girls and made their happiness the one care of his jolly, unselfish
life. At that time Major Doyle, Patsy's only surviving parent, was a
poor bookkeeper; but Uncle John gave him charge of his vast property
interests, and loving Patsy almost as devotedly as did her father, made
his home with the Doyles and began to enjoy himself for the first time
in his life.
At the period when this story opens the eldest niece, Louise Merrick,
had just been married to Arthur Weldon, a prosperous young business
man, and the remaining two nieces, as well as Uncle John, were feeling
rather lonely and depressed. The bride had been gone on her
honeymoon three days, and during the last two days it had rained
persistently; so, until Patsy came home from a visit to Beth and brought
the tiny dog with her, the two old gentlemen had been feeling dreary
enough.
Patsy always livened things up. Nothing could really depress this
spirited girl for long, and she was always doing some interesting thing
to create a little excitement.
"If she hadn't bought a twenty-five cent pup for two dollars," remarked
the Major, "she might have brought home an orphan from the gutters,
or a litter of tomcats, or one of the goats that eat the tin cans at Harlem.
Perhaps, after all, we should be thankful it's only--what's his name?"
"Mumbles," said Patsy, merrily. "The boy said they called him that
because he mumbled in his sleep. Listen!"
Indeed, the small waif by the fire was emitting a series of noises that
seemed a queer mixture of low growls and whines--evidence
unimpeachable that he had been correctly named.
At Patsy's shout of laughter, supplemented by Uncle John's chuckles
and a reproachful cough from the Major, Mumbles awakened and lifted
his head. It may be an eye discovered the dining-table in the next room,
or an intuitive sense of smell directed him, for presently the small
animal came trotting in--still traveling "cornerwise"--and sat up on his
hind legs just beside Patsy's chair.

"That settles it," said the Major, as his daughter began feeding the dog.
"Our happy home is broken up."
"Perhaps not," suggested Uncle John, reaching out to pat the soft head
of Mumbles. "It may be the little beggar will liven us all up a bit."
CHAPTER II
UNCLE JOHN'S IDEA
Two hours later Uncle John, who had been dozing in his big chair by
the fire while Patsy drummed on the piano, sat up abruptly and looked
around him with a suddenly acquired air of decision.
"I have an idea," he announced.
"Did you find it in your dreams, then?" asked the Major, sharply.
"Why, Daddy, how cross you are!" cried Patsy. "Can't Uncle John have
an idea if he wants to?"
"I'm afraid of his ideas," admitted the Major, suspiciously. "Every time
he goes to sleep and catches a thought, it means trouble."
Patsy laughed, looking at her uncle curiously, and the little man smiled
at her genially in return.
"It takes me a long time to figure a thing out," he said; "and when I've a
problem to solve a bit of a snooze helps wonderfully. Patsy, dear, it
occurs to me we're lonely."
"We surely are, Uncle!" she exclaimed.
"And in the dumps."
"Our spirits are at the bottom of the bottomless pit."
"So what we need is--a change."

"There it goes!" said the Major ruefully. "I knew very well any idea of
John Merrick's would cause us misery. But understand this, you
miserable home-wrecker, sir, my daughter Patsy steps not one foot out
of New York this winter."
"Why not?" mildly inquired Uncle John.
"Because you've spirited her away from me times enough, and deprived
her only parent of her society. First you gallivanted off to Europe, and
then to Millville, and next to Elmhurst; so now, egad, I'm going to keep
the girl with