Aunt Jane\'s Nieces and Uncle John - Edith Van Dyne
AUNT JANE'S NIECES AND UNCLE JOHN
BY
EDITH VAN DYNE
AUTHOR OF "AUNT JANE'S NIECES," "AUNT JANE'S NIECES ABROAD," "AUNT
JANE'S NIECES AT MILLVILLE," "AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT WORK." "AUNT
JANE'S NIECES IN SOCIETY," ETC.
1911
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I INTRODUCING "MUMBLES"
II UNCLE JOHN'S IDEA
III MYRTLE DEAN
IV AN INTERESTING PROTEGE
V A WONDER ON WHEELS
VI WAMPUS SPEEDS
VII THE CHAUFFEUR IMPROVES
VIII AMONG THE INDIANS
IX NATURE'S MASTERPIECE
X A COYOTE SERENADE
XI A REAL ADVENTURE AT LAST
XII CAPTURED
XIII THE FIDDLER
XIV THE ESCAPE
XV THE ROMANCE OF DAN'L
XVI THE LODGING AT SPOTVILLE
XVII YELLOW POPPIES
XVIII THE SILENT MAN
XIX "THREE TIMES"
XX ON POINT LOMA
XXI A TALE OF WOE
XXII THE CONFESSION
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCING "MUMBLES"
Major Gregory Doyle paced nervously up and down the floor of the cosy
sitting room.
"Something's surely happened to our Patsy!" he exclaimed.
A little man with a calm face and a bald head, who was seated near the
fire, continued to read his newspaper and paid no attention to the
outburst.
"Something has happened to Patsy!" repeated the Major, "Patsy" meaning
his own and only daughter Patricia.
"Something is always happening to everyone," said the little man,
turning his paper indifferently. "Something is happening to me, for I
can't find the rest of this article. Something is happening to you,
for you're losing your temper."
"I'm not, sir! I deny it."
"As for Patsy," continued the other, "she is sixteen years old and
knows New York like a book. The girl is safe enough."
"Then where is she? Tell me that, sir. Here it is, seven o'clock, dark
as pitch and raining hard, and Patsy is never out after six. Can you,
John Merrick, sit there like a lump o' putty and do nothing, when your
niece and my own darlin' Patsy is lost--or strayed or stolen?"
"What would you propose doing?" asked Uncle John, looking up with a
smile.
"We ought to get out the police department. It's raining and cold,
and--"
"Then we ought to get out the fire department. Call Mary to put on
more coal and let's have it warm and cheerful when Patsy comes in."
"But, sir--"
"The trouble with you, Major, is that dinner is half an hour late. One
can imagine all sorts of horrible things on an empty stomach. Now,
then--"
He paused, for a pass-key rattled in the hall door and a moment later
Patsy Doyle, rosy and animated, fresh from the cold and wet outside,
smilingly greeted them.
She had an umbrella, but her cloak was dripping with moisture and in
its ample folds was something huddled and bundled up like a baby,
which she carefully protected.
"So, then," exclaimed the Major, coming forward for a kiss, "you're
back at last, safe and sound. Whatever kept ye out 'til this time o'
night, Patsy darlin'?" he added, letting the brogue creep into his
tone, as he did when stirred by any emotion.
Uncle John started to take off her wet cloak.
"Look out!" cried Patsy; "you'll disturb Mumbles."
The two men looked at her bundle curiously.
"Who's Mumbles?" asked one.
"What on earth is Mumbles?" inquired the other.
The bundle squirmed and wriggled. Patsy sat down on the floor and
carefully unwound the folds of the cloak. A tiny dog, black and
shaggy, put his head out, blinked sleepily at the lights, pulled his
fat, shapeless body away from the bandages and trotted solemnly over
to the fireplace. He didn't travel straight ahead, as dogs ought to
walk, but "cornerwise," as Patsy described it; and when he got to the
hearth he rolled himself into a ball, lay down and went to sleep.
During this performance a tense silence had pervaded the room. The
Major looked at the dog rather gloomily; Uncle John with critical eyes
that held a smile in them; Patsy with ecstatic delight.
"Isn't he a dear!" she exclaimed.
"It occurs to me," said the Major stiffly, "that this needs an
explanation. Do you mean to say, Patsy Doyle, that you've worried the
hearts out of us this past hour, and kept the dinner waiting, all
because of a scurvy bit of an animal?"
"Pshaw!" said Uncle John. "Speak for yourself, Major. I wasn't worried
a bit."
"You see," explained Patsy, rising to take off her things and put them
away, "I was coming home early when I first met Mumbles. A little boy
had him, with a string tied around his neck, and when Mumbles tried
to run up to me the boy jerked him back cruelly--and afterward kicked
him. That made me mad."
"Of course," said Uncle John, nodding wisely.
"I cuffed the boy, and he said he'd take it out on Mumbles, as soon as
I'd gone away. I didn't like that. I offered to buy the dog, but the
boy didn't dare sell him. He said it belonged to his father, who'd
kill him and kick up a row besides if he didn't bring Mumbles home.
So I found out where they lived and as it wasn't far away I went home
with him."
"Crazy Patsy!" smiled Uncle John.
"And the dinner waiting!" groaned the Major, reproachfully.
"Well, I had a time, you can believe!" continued Patsy, with
animation. "The man was a big brute, and half drunk. He grabbed up the
little doggie and threw it into a box, and then told me to go home and
mind my business."
"Which of course you refused to do."
"Of course. I'd made up my mind to have that dog."
"Dogs," said the Major, "invariably are nuisances."
"Not invariably," declared Patsy. "Mumbles is different. Mumbles is a
good doggie, and wise and knowing, although he's only a baby dog yet.
And I just couldn't leave him to be cuffed and kicked and thrown
around by those brutes. When the man found I was determined to have
Mumbles he demanded twenty-five dollars."
"Twenty-five dollars!" It startled Uncle John.
"For that bit of rags and meat?" asked the Major, looking at the puppy
with disfavor. "Twenty-five cents would be exorbitant."
"The man misjudged me," observed Patsy, with a merry laugh that
matched her twinkling blue eyes. "In the end he got just two
dollars for Mumbles, and when I came away he bade me good-bye very
respectfully. The boy howled. He hasn't any dog to kick and is
broken-hearted. As for Mumbles, he's going to lead a respectable life
and be treated like a dog."
"Do you mean to keep him?" inquired the Major.
"Why not?" said Patsy. "Don't you like him, Daddy?"
Her father turned Mumbles over with his toe. The puppy lay upon its
back, lazily, with all four paws in the air, and cast a comical glance
from one beady bright eye at the man who had disturbed him.
The Major sighed.
"He can't hunt, Patsy; he's not even a mouser."
"We haven't a mouse in the house."
"He's neither useful nor ornamental. From the looks o' the beast he's
only good to sleep and eat."
"What's the odds?" laughed Patsy, coddling Mumbles up in her arms.
"We don't expect use or ornamentation from Mumbles. All we ask is his
companionship."
Mary called them to dinner just then, and the girl hurried to her room
to make a hasty toilet while the men sat down at the table and eyed
their soup reflectively.
"This addition to the family," remarked Uncle John, "need not make
you at all unhappy, my dear Major. Don't get jealous of Mumbles, for
heaven's sake, for the little brute may add a bit to Patsy's bliss."
"It's the first time I've ever allowed a dog in the house."
"You are not running this present establishment. It belongs
exclusively to Patsy."
"I've always hated the sight of a woman coddling a dog," added the
Major, frowning.
"I know. I feel the same way myself. But it isn't the dog's fault.
It's the woman's. And Patsy won't make a fool of herself over that
frowsy puppy, I assure you. On the contrary, she's likely to get a lot
of joy out of her new plaything, and if you really want to make her
happy, Major, don't discourage this new whim, absurd as it seems. Let
Patsy alone. And let Mumbles alone."
The girl came in just then, bringing sunshine with her. Patsy Doyle
was not very big for her years, and some people unkindly described her
form as "chubby." She had glorious red hair--really-truly red--and her
blue eyes were the merriest, sweetest eyes any girl could possess. You
seldom noticed her freckles, her saucy chin or her turned-up nose; you
only saw the laughing eyes and crown of golden red, and seeing them
you liked Patsy Doyle at once and imagined she was very good to look
at, if not strictly beautiful. No one had friends more loyal,
and these two old 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 me if I have to throttle every idea in your
wicked old head!"
"But I'm planning to take you along, this time. Major," observed Uncle
John reflectively.
"Oh. Hum! Well, I can't go. There's too much business to be attended
to--looking after your horrible money."
"Take a vacation. You know I don't care anything about the business.
It can't go very wrong, anyhow. What does it matter if my income isn't
invested properly, or the bond coupons cut when they're due? Drat the
money!"
"That's what I say," added Patsy eagerly. "Be a man, Major Doyle, and
put the business out of your mind. Let's go somewhere and have a good
romp. It will cheer us up."
The Major stared first at one and then at the other.
"What's the programme, John?" he asked stiffly.
"It's going to be a cold winter," remarked the little man, bobbing his
head up and down slowly.
"It is!" cried Patsy, clasping her hands fervently. "I can feel it in
my bones."
"So we're going," said Uncle John, impressively, "to California--where
they grow sunshine and roses to offset our blizzards and icicles."
"Hurray!" shouted Patsy. "I've always wanted to go to California."
"California!" said the Major, amazed; "why, it's farther away than
Europe. It takes a month to get there."
"Nonsense." retorted Uncle John. "It's only four days from coast to
coast. I have a time-table, somewhere," and he began searching in his
pockets.
There was a silence, oppressive on the Major's part, ecstatic as far
as Patsy was concerned. Uncle John found the railway folder, put on
his spectacles, and began to examine it.
"At my time of life," remarked Major Doyle, who was hale and hearty as
a boy, "such a trip is a great undertaking."
"Twenty-four hours to Chicago," muttered Uncle John; "and then three
days to Los Angeles or San Francisco. That's all there is to it."
"Four days and four nights of dreary riding. We'd be dead by that
time," prophesied the Major.
Uncle John looked thoughtful. Then he lay back in his chair and spread
his handkerchief over his face again.
"No, no!" cried the Major, in alarm. "For mercy's sake, John, don't
go to sleep and catch any more of those terrible ideas. No one knows
where the next one might carry us--to Timbuktu or Yucatan, probably.
Let's stick to California and settle the question before your hothouse
brain grows any more weeds."
"Yucatan," remarked Mr. Merrick, composedly, his voice muffled by the
handkerchief, "isn't a bad suggestion."
"I knew it!" wailed the Major. "How would Ethiopia or Hindustan strike
you?"
Patsy laughed at him. She knew something good was in store for her
and like all girls was enraptured at the thought of visiting new and
interesting scenes.
"Don't bother Uncle John, Daddy," she said. "You know very well he
will carry out any whim that seizes him; especially if you oppose the
plan, which you usually do."
"He's the most erratic and irresponsible man that ever lived,"
announced her father, staring moodily at the spread handkerchief which
covered Uncle John's cherub-like features. "New York is good enough
for anybody, even in winter; and now that you're in society, Patsy--"
"Oh, bother society! I hate it."
"True," he agreed; "it's a regular treadmill when it has enslaved one,
and keeps you going on and on without progressing a bit. The object of
society is to tire you out and keep you from indulging in any other
occupation."
"You know nothing about it," observed Patsy, demurely, "and that is
why you love to rail at society. The things you know, Daddy dear, are
the things you never remark upon."
"Huh!" grunted the Major, and relapsed into silence.
Mumbles had finished his after-dinner nap and was now awakening to
activity. This dog's size, according to the Major, was "about 4x6; but
you can't tell which is the 4 and which the 6." He was distressingly
shaggy. Patsy could find the stump of his tail only by careful search.
Seldom were both eyes uncovered by hair at the same time. But, as his
new mistress had said, he was a wise little dog for one who had only
known the world for a few months, and his brain was exceedingly alert.
After yawning at the fire he rubbed his back against the Major's legs,
sat up beside Patsy and looked at her from one eye pleadingly. Next he
trotted over to Uncle John. The big white handkerchief attracted him
and one corner hung down from the edge of the reclining chair. Mumbles
sat up and reached for it, but could not quite get it in his teeth.
So he sat down and thought it over, and presently made a leap so
unexpectedly agile that Patsy roared with merriment and even the Major
grinned. Uncle John, aroused, sat up and found the puppy rolling on
the floor and fighting the handkerchief as if it had been some deadly
foe.
"Thank goodness," sighed the Major. "The little black rascal has
providently prevented you from evolving another idea."
"Not so," responded Mr. Merrick amiably. "I've thought the thing all
out, and completed our programme."
"Is it still to be California?" anxiously inquired Patsy.
"Of course. I can't give up the sunshine and roses, you know. But we
won't bore the Major by four solid days of railway travel. We'll break
the journey, and take two or three weeks to it--perhaps a month."
"Conquering Caesar! A month!" ejaculated the old soldier, a desperate
look on his face.
"Yes. Listen, both of you. We'll get to Chicago in a night and a day.
We will stop off there and visit the stockyards, and collect a few
squeals for souvenirs."
"No, we won't!" declared Patsy, positively.
"We might sell Mumbles to some Chicago sausage factory," remarked the
Major, "but not for two whole dollars. He wouldn't make more than half
a pound at twenty cents the pound."
"There are other sights to be seen in Chicago," continued Uncle John.
"Anyhow, we'll stop off long enough to get rested. Then on to Denver
and Pike's Peak."
"That sounds good," said Patsy.
"At Denver," said Uncle John, "we will take a touring car and cross
the mountains in it. There are good roads all the way from there to
California."
"Who told you so?" demanded the Major.
"No one. It's a logical conclusion, for I've lived in the West and
know the prairie roads are smoother than boulevards. However, Haggerty
told me the other day that he has made the trip from Denver to Los
Angeles by automobile, and what others can do, we can do."
"It will be glorious!" prophesied Patsy, delightedly.
The Major looked grave, but could find no plausible objection to
offer. He really knew nothing about the West and had never had
occasion to consider such a proposition before.
"We'll talk to Haggerty," he said. "But you must remember he's a
desperate liar, John, and can't be trusted as a guidepost. When do you
intend to start?"
"Why not to-morrow?" asked Uncle John mildly.
Even Patsy demurred at this.
"Why, we've got to get ready, Uncle," she said. "And who's going? Just
we three?"
"We will take Beth along, of course." Beth was Elizabeth De Graf,
another niece. "But Beth is fortunately the sort of girl who can pull
up stakes and move on at an hour's notice."
"Beth is always ready for anything," agreed Patsy. "But if we are
going to a warm climate we will need summer clothes."
"You can't lug many clothes in a motor car," observed the Major.
"No; but we can ship them on ahead."
"Haggerty says," remarked Uncle John, "that you won't need thin
clothes until you get out to California. In fact, the mountain trip is
rather cool. But it's perpetual sunshine, you know, even there, with
brisk, keen air; and the whole journey, Haggerty says, is one of
absolute delight."
"Who is Haggerty?" asked Patsy.
"A liar," answered the Major, positively.
"He's a very good fellow whom we sometimes meet in the city," said
Uncle John. "Haggerty is on the Board, and director in a bank or two,
and quite respectable. But the Major--"
"The Major's going to California just to prove that Haggerty can't
speak the truth," observed that gentleman, tersely heading off any
threatened criticism. "I see there is no opposing your preposterous
scheme, John, so we will go with you and make the best of it. But I'm
sure it's all a sad mistake. What else did Haggerty tell you?"
"He says it's best to pick up a motor car and a chauffeur in Denver,
rather than ship them on from here. There are plenty of cars to be
had, and men who know every inch of the road."
"That seems sensible," declared Patsy, "and we won't lose time waiting
for our own car to follow by freight. I think, Uncle John, I can be
ready by next Tuesday."
"Why, to-morrow's Saturday!" gasped the Major. "The business--"
"Cut the business off short," suggested his brother-in-law. "You've to
cut it somewhere, you know, or you'll never get away; and, as it's my
business, I hereby authorize you to neglect it from this moment until
the day of our return. When we get back you can pick up the details
again and worry over it as much as you please."
"Will we ever get back?" asked the Major, doubtingly.
"If we don't, the business won't matter."
"That's the idea," cried Patsy, approvingly. "Daddy has worked hard
all summer, Uncle John, looking after that annoying money of yours,
and a vacation will do him oodles of good."
Major Doyle sighed.
"I misdoubt the wisdom of the trip," said he, "but I'll go, of course,
if you all insist. Over the Rocky Mountains and across the Great
American Desert in an automobile doesn't sound very enticing, but--"
"Haggerty says--"
"Never mind Haggerty. We'll find out for ourselves."
"And, after all," said Patsy, "there are the sunshine and roses at the
end of the journey, and they ought to make up for any amount of bother
in getting there."
"Girl, you're attempting to deceive me--to deceive your old Daddy,"
said the Major, shaking his head at her. "You wouldn't have any fun
riding to California in a palace car; even the sunshine and roses
couldn't excite you under such circumstances; but if there's a chance
for adventure--a chance to slide into trouble and make a mighty
struggle to get out again--both you and that wicked old uncle of yours
will jump at it. I know ye both. And that's the real reason we're
going to travel in an automobile instead of progressing comfortably as
all respectable people do."
"You're a humbug," retorted Mr. Merrick. "You wouldn't go by train if
I'd let you."
"No," admitted the Major; "I must be on hand to rescue you when you
and Patsy go fighting windmills."
CHAPTER III
MYRTLE DEAN
"We were due in Denver three hours ago, and it's an hour's run or more
yet," remarked Beth De Graf, walking briskly up and down the platform
of a way station where the train had stopped for orders.
"And it's beginning to snow," observed Patricia Doyle, beside her.
"I'm afraid this weather isn't very propitious for an automobile
trip."
"Uncle John doesn't worry," said Beth. "He believes there is perpetual
sunshine west of Denver."
"Yes; a man named Haggerty told him. But you'll notice that Daddy
doesn't seem to believe the tale. Anyhow, we shall soon know the
truth, Beth, and the trip is somewhat on the order of a voyage of
discovery, which renders it fascinating to look forward to. There is
such fun in not knowing just what is going to happen next."
"When one travels with Uncle John," returned Beth, smiling, "she
knows exactly--nothing. That is why I am always eager to accept if he
invites me to go anywhere with him."
The passengers thronging the platform--"stretching their legs" after
the confinement of the tedious railway journey--eyed these two girls
admiringly. Beth was admitted a beauty, and one of the society
journals had lately announced that she had few peers in all the great
metropolis. Chestnut brown hair; dark, serious and steady eyes; an
exquisite complexion and rarely regular features all conspired to
render the young girl wonderfully attractive. Her stride was athletic,
free and graceful; her slender form well poised and dignified. Patsy,
the "plug-ugly," as she called herself, was so bright and animated and
her blue eyes sparkled so constantly with fun and good humor, that
she attracted fully as much attention as her more sedate and more
beautiful cousin, and wherever she went was sure to make a host of
friends.