Then they returned to the bank for another long session together, and there was quite an eager bustle among the clerks as they stretched their necks to get a glimpse of Mr. Marvin’s companion.
“It’s John Merrick” passed from mouth to mouth, and the uniformed official strutted from one window to another, saying:
“I showed him in myself. And he came into the bank as quiet like as anyone else would.”
But he didn’t go away quietly, you may be sure. Mr. Marvin and Mr. Isham both escorted their famous client to the door, where the Marvin carriage had been ordered to be in readiness for Mr. Merrick’s service.
But Uncle John waived it aside disdainfully.
“I’ll walk,” he said. “There are some other errands to attend to.”
So they shook his hand and reminded him of a future appointment and let him go his way. In a moment the great Broadway crowd had swallowed up John Merrick, and five minutes later he was thoughtfully gazing into a shop window again.
By and bye he bethought himself of the time, and took a cab uptown. He had more than the twelve cents in his pocket, now, besides the check book which was carefully hidden away in an inside pocket; so the cost of the cab did not worry him. He dismissed the vehicle near an uptown corner and started to walk hastily toward Danny Reeves’s restaurant, a block away, Patsy was standing in the doorway, anxiously watching for him.
“Oh, Uncle John,” she cried, as he strolled “I’ve been really worried about you; it’s such a big city, and you a stranger. Do you know you’re ten minutes late?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, humbly; “but it’s a long way here from downtown.”
“Didn’t you take a car?”
“No, my dear.”
“Why, you foolish old Uncle! Come in at once. The Major has been terribly excited over you, and swore you should not be allowed to wander through the streets without someone to look after you. But what could we do?”
“I’m all right,” declared Uncle John, cordially shaking hands with Patsy’s father. “Have you had a good day?”
“Fine,” said the Major. “They’d missed me at the office, and were glad to have me back. And what do you think? I’ve got a raise.”
“Really?” said Uncle John, seeing it was expected of him.
“For a fact. It’s Patsy’s doing, I’ve no doubt. She wheedled the firm into giving me a vacation, and now they’re to pay me twelve a week instead of ten.”
“Is that enough?” asked Uncle John, doubtfully.
“More than enough, sir. I’m getting old, and can’t earn as much as a younger man. But I’m pretty tough, and mean to hold onto that twelve a week as long as possible.”
“What pay do you get, Patsy?” asked Uncle John.
“Almost as much as Daddy. We’re dreadfully rich, Uncle John; so you needn’t worry if you don’t strike a job yourself all at once.”
“Any luck today, sir,” asked the Major, tucking a napkin under his chin and beginning on the soup.
Uncle John shook his head.
“Of course not,” said Patsy, quickly. “It’s too early, as yet. Don’t hurry, Uncle John. Except that it’ll keep you busy, there’s no need for you to work at all.”
“You’re older than I am,” suggested the Major, “and that makes it harder to break in. But there’s no hurry, as Patsy says.”
Uncle John did not seem to be worrying over his idleness. He kept on questioning his brother-in-law and his niece about their labors, and afterward related to them the sights he had seen in the shop windows. Of course he could not eat much after the feast he had had at luncheon, and this disturbed Patsy a little. She insisted he was tired, and carried her men away to the tenement rooms as soon as possible, where she installed them at the table to play cribbage until bed-time.
The next day Uncle John seemed to be busy enough, although of course Patsy could not know what he was doing. He visited a real-estate office, for one thing, and then telephoned Isham, Marvin & Co. and issued a string of orders in a voice not nearly so meek and mild as it was when he was in Patsy’s presence. Whatever he had undertaken required time, for all during the week he left the tenement directly the Major and his daughter had gone to the city, and bustled about until it was time to meet them for dinner at the restaurant. But he was happy and in good spirits and enjoyed his evening game of cribbage with the Major exceedingly.
“You must be nearly bankrupt, by this time,” said Patsy on Tuesday evening.
“It’s an expensive city to live in,” sighed Uncle John.
She gave him fifty cents of his money, then, and on Friday fifty cents more.
“After a time,” she said, “you’ll manage to get along with less. It’s always harder to economize at first.”
“How about the bills?” he inquired. “Don’t I pay my share of them?”
“Your expenses are nothing at all,” declared the Major, with a wave of his hand.
“But my dinners at Danny Reeves’ place must cost a lot,” protested Uncle John.
“Surely not; Patsy has managed all that for a trifle, and the pleasure of your company more than repays us for the bit of expense.”
On Saturday night there was a pint of red wine for the two men, and then the weekly cigars were brought–very inexpensive ones, to be sure. The first whiff he took made Uncle John cough; but the Major smoked so gracefully and with such evident pleasure that his brother-in-law clung manfully to the cigar, and succeeded in consuming it to the end.
“Tomorrow is the day of rest,” announced Patsy, “so we’ll all go for a nice walk in the parks after breakfast.”
“And we sleep ’till eight o’clock, don’t we, Patsy?” asked the Major.
“Of course.”
“And the eggs for breakfast?”
“I’ve bought them already, three for a nickle. You don’t care for more than one, do you, Uncle John?”
“No, my dear.”
“It’s our Sunday morning extra–an egg apiece. The Major is so fond of them.”
“And so am I, Patsy.”
“And now we’ll have our cribbage and get to bed early. Heigho! but Sunday’s a great day for folks that work.”
CHAPTER XXVI.
A BUNCH OF KEYS.
Uncle John did not sleep well. Perhaps he had a guilty conscience. Anyway, he tossed about a good deal on the sofa-bed in the living-room, and wore himself out to such an extent that when Patsy got up at eight o’clock her uncle had fallen into his first sound sleep.
She never disturbed him until she had made the fire and cooked the coffee and boiled the three white eggs. By this time the Major was dressed and shaved, and he aroused Uncle John and bade him hurry into the closet and make his toilet, “so that Patsy could put the house to rights.”
Uncle John obeyed eagerly, and was ready as soon as the Major had brought the smoking rolls from the bakery. Ah, but it was a merry breakfast; and a delicious one into the bargain. Uncle John seemed hungry, and looked at the empty egg-shells regretfully.
“Next time, Patsy,” he said, “you must buy six eggs.”
“Look at his recklessness!” cried Patsy, laughing. “You’re just as bad as the Major, every bit. If you men hadn’t me for a guardian you’d be in the poorhouse in a month.”
“But we have you, my dear,” said Uncle John, smiling into her dancing eyes; “so we won’t complain at one egg instead of two.”
Just then someone pounded on the door, and the girl ran to open it. There was a messenger boy outside, looking smart and neat in his blue-and-gold uniform, and he touched his cap politely to the girl.
“Miss Patricia Doyle?”
“That’s me.”
“A parcel for you. Sign here, please.”
Patsy signed, bothering her head the while to know what the little package contained and who could have sent it. Then the boy was gone, and she came back slowly to the breakfast table, with the thing in her hand.
“What is it, Patsy?” asked the Major, curiously.
“I’m dying to know, myself,” said the girl.
Uncle John finished his coffee, looking unconcerned.
“A good way is to open it,” remarked the Major.
It was a very neat package, wrapped in fine paper and sealed with red wax. Patsy turned it over once or twice, and then broke the wax and untied the cord.
A bunch of keys fell out first–seven of them, strung on a purple ribbon–and then a flat, impressive looking letter was discovered.
The Major stared open-mouthed. Uncle John leaned back in his chair and watched the girl’s face.
“There’s a mistake,” said Patsy, quite bewildered. Then she read her name upon the wrapper, quite plainly written, and shook her head. “It’s for me, all right. But what does it mean?”
“Why not read the letter?” suggested the Major.
So she opened the big envelope and unfolded the stiff paper and read as follows:
“Miss Patricia Doyle, Becker’s Flats, Duggan Street, New York. Dear Miss Doyle: An esteemed client of our house, who desires to remain unknown, has placed at your disposal the furnished apartments ‘D,’ at 3708 Willing Square, for the period of three years, or as long thereafter as you may care to retain them. Our client begs you to consider everything the apartments contain as your own, and to use it freely as it may please you. All rentals and rates are paid in advance, and you are expected to take possession at once. Moreover, our firm is commanded to serve you in any and every way you may require, and it will be our greatest pleasure to be of use to you. The keys to the apartments are enclosed herewith.
“Most respectfully,
“Isham, Marvin & Co.”
Having read this to the end, in a weak voice and with many pauses, Miss Patricia Doyle sat down in her chair with strange abruptness and stared blankly at her father. The Major stared back. So did Uncle John, when her eyes roved toward his face.
Patricia turned the keys over, and jingled them. Then she referred to the letter again.
“Apartments D, at 3708 Willing Square. Where’s that?”
The Major shook his head. So did Uncle John.
“Might look in a directory” suggested the latter, uncertainly.
“Of course,” added the Major.
“But what does it all mean?” demanded Patsy, with sudden fierceness. “Is it a joke? Isham, Marvin & Co., the great bankers! What do I know of them, or they of me?”
“That isn’t the point,” observed the Major, reflectively. “Who’s their unknown and mysterious client? That’s the question.”
“To be sure,” said Uncle John. “They’re only the agents. You must have a fairy godmother, Patsy.”
She laughed at the idea, and shook her head.
“They don’t exist in these days, Uncle John. But the whole thing must be a joke, and nothing more.”
“We’ll discover that,” asserted the Major, shrewdly scrutinizing the letter, which he had taken from Patsy’s hands. “It surely looks genuine enough, on the face of it. I’ve seen the bank letter-head before, and this is no forgery, you can take my word. Get your things on, Patsy. Instead of walking in the park we’ll hunt up Willing Square, and we’ll take the keys with us.”
“A very good idea,” said Uncle John. “I’d like to go with you, if I may.”
“Of course you may,” answered the girl. “You’re one of the family now, Uncle John, and you must help us to unravel the mystery.”
The Major took off his carpet slippers and pulled on his boots, while Patricia was getting ready for the walk. Uncle John wandered around the room aimlessly for a time, and then took off his black tie and put on the white one.
Patsy noticed this, when she came out of her closet, and laughed merrily.
“You mustn’t be getting excited, Uncle John, until we see how this wonderful adventure turns out.” she said. “But I really must wash and iron that necktie for you, if you’re going to wear it on Sundays.”
“Not a bad idea,” said the Major. “But come, are we all ready?”
They walked down the rickety steps very gravely and sedately, Patsy jingling the keys as they went, and made their way to the corner drug store, where the Major searched in the directory for Willing Square.
To his surprise it proved to be only a few blocks away.
“But it’s in the dead swell neighborhood,” he explained, “where I have no occasion to visit. We can walk it in five minutes.”
Patsy hesitated.
“Really, it’s no use going, Dad,” she protested. “It isn’t in reason that I’d have a place presented me in a dead swell neighborhood. Now, is it?”
“We’ll have to go, just the same,” said Uncle John. “I couldn’t sleep a wink tonight if we didn’t find out what this all means.”
“True enough,” agreed the Major. “Come along, Patsy; it’s this way.”
Willing Square was not very big, but it was beautiful with flowers and well tended and 3708 proved to be a handsome building with a white marble front, situated directly on a corner. The Major examined it critically from the sidewalk, and decided it contained six suites of apartments, three on each side.
“D must be the second floor to the right.” he said, “and that’s a fine location, sure enough.”
A porter appeared at the front door, which stood open, and examined the group upon the sidewalk with evident curiosity.
Patsy walked up to him, and ignoring the big gold figures over the entrance she enquired:
“Is this 3708 Willing Square?”
“Yes, Miss,” answered the porter; “are you Miss Doyle?”
“I am,” she answered, surprised.
“One flight up, Miss, and turn to the right,” he continued, promptly; and then he winked over the girl’s head at Uncle John, who frowned so terribly that the man drew aside and disappeared abruptly. The Major and Patsy were staring at one another, however, and did not see this by-play.
“Let’s go up,” said the Major, in a husky voice, and proceeded to mount the stairs.
Patsy followed close behind, and then came Uncle John. One flight up they paused at a door marked “D”, upon the panel of which was a rack bearing a card printed with the word “Doyle.”
“Well, well!” gasped the Major. “Who’d have thought it, at all at all!”
Patsy, with trembling fingers, put a key in the lock, and after one or two efforts opened the door.
The sun was shining brilliantly into a tiny reception hall, furnished most luxuriously.
The Major placed his hat on the rack, and Uncle John followed suit.
No one spoke a word as they marched in humble procession into the living-room, their feet pressing without sound into the thick rugs. Everything here was fresh and new, but selected with excellent taste and careful attention to detail. Not a thing; was lacking, from the pretty upright piano to the enameled clock ticking upon the mantel. The dining-room was a picture, indeed, with stained-glass windows casting their soft lights through the draperies and the side-board shining with silver and glass. There was a cellarette in one corner, the Major noticed, and it was well stocked.
Beyond was a pantry with well filled shelves and then the kitchen–this last filled with every article that could possibly be needed. In a store-room were enough provisions to stock a grocery-store and Patsy noted with amazement that there was ice in the refrigerator, with cream and milk and butter cooling beside it.
They felt now as if they were intruding in some fairy domain. It was all exquisite, though rather tiny; but such luxury was as far removed from the dingy rooms they had occupied as could well be imagined. The Major coughed and ahemmed continually; Patsy ah’d and oh’d and seemed half frightened; Uncle John walked after them silently, but with a pleased smile that was almost childish upon his round and rugged face.
Across the hall were three chambers, each with a separate bath, while one had a pretty dressing-room added.
“This will be Patsy’s room,” said the Major, with a vast amount of dignity.
“Of course,” said Uncle John. “The pins on the cushion spell ‘Patricia,’ don’t they?”
“So they do!” cried Patsy, greatly delighted.
“And this room,” continued the Major, passing into the next, “will be mine. There are fine battle-scenes on the wall; and I declare, there’s just the place for the colonel’s photograph over the dresser!”
“Cigars, too,” said Patsy, opening a little cabinet; “but ’twill be a shame to smoke in this palace.”
“Then I won’t live here!” declared the Major, stoutly, but no one heeded him.
“Here is Uncle John’s room,” exclaimed the girl, entering the third chamber.
“Mine?” enquired Uncle John in mild surprise.
“Sure, sir; you’re one of the family, and I’m glad it’s as good as the Major’s, every bit.”
Uncle John’s eyes twinkled.
“I hope the bed is soft,” he remarked, pressing it critically.
“It’s as good as the old sofa, any day,” said Patsy, indignantly.
Just then a bell tinkled, and after looking at one another in silent consternation for a moment, the Major tiptoed stealthily to the front door, followed by the others.
“What’ll we do?” asked Patsy, in distress.
“Better open it,” suggested Uncle John, calmly.
The Major did so, and there was a little maid bowing and smiling outside. She entered at once, closing the door behind her, and bowed again.
“This is my new mistress, I suppose,” she said, looking at Patsy. “I am your servant, Miss Patricia.”
Patsy gasped and stared at her. The maid was not much older than she was, but she looked pleasant and intelligent and in keeping with the rooms. She wore a gray dress with white collar and white apron and cap, and seemed so dainty and sweet that the Major and Uncle John approved her at once.
Patsy sat down, from sheer lack of strength to stand up.
“Who hired you, then?” she asked.
“A gentleman from the bank,” was the reply. “I’m Mary, if you please, Miss. And my wages are all arranged for in advance, so there will be nothing for you to pay,” said the little maid.
“Can you cook?” asked Patsy, curiously.
“Yes, Miss,” with a smile. “The dinner will be ready at one o’clock.”
“Oh; you’ve been here before, then?”
“Two days, Miss, getting ready for you.”
“And where will you sleep?”
“I’ve a little room beyond the kitchen. Didn’t you see it, Miss Patricia?”
“No, Mary.”
“Anything more at present, Miss Patricia?”
“No, Mary.”
The maid bowed again, and disappeared toward the kitchen, leaving an awe-struck group behind her.
The Major whistled softly. Uncle John seemed quite unconcerned. Patsy took out her handkerchief. The tears _would_ come in spite of her efforts.
“I–I–I’m going to have a good cry,” she sobbed, and rushed into the living-room to throw herself flat upon the divan.
“It’s all right,” said the Major, answering Uncle John’s startled look; “the cry will do her good. I’ve half a mind to join her myself.”
But he didn’t. He followed Uncle John into the tatter’s room and smoked one of the newly-discovered cigars while the elder man lay back in an easy chair and silently puffed his pipe.
By and bye Patsy joined them, no longer crying but radiant with glee.
“Tell me, Daddy,” said she, perching on the arm of the Major’s chair, “who gave me all this, do you think?”
“Not me,” answered the Major, positively. “I couldn’t do it on twelve a week, anyhow at all.”
“And you robbed me of all my money when I came to town,” said Uncle John.
“Stop joking,” said the girl. “There’s no doubt this place is intended for us, is there?”
“None at all,” declared the Major. “It’s ours for three years, and not a penny to pay.”
“Well, then, do you think it’s Kenneth?”
The Major shook his head.
“I don’t know the lad.” he said, “and he might be equal to it, although I doubt it. But he can’t touch his money till he comes of age, and it isn’t likely his lawyer guardian would allow such extravagances.”
“Then who can it be?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“It doesn’t seem to matter,” remarked Uncle John, lighting a fresh pipe. “You’re not supposed to ask questions, I take it, but to enjoy your new home as much as you can.”
“Ex–actly!” agreed the Major.
“I’ve been thinking,” continued Uncle John, “that I’m not exactly fit for all this style, Patsy. I’ll have to get a new suit of clothes to match my new quarters. Will you give me back ten dollars of that money to buy ’em with?”
“I suppose I’ll have to,” she answered, thoughtfully.
“We’ll have to go back to Becker’s flats to pack up our traps,” said the Major, “so we might as well go now.”
“I hate to leave here for a single moment,” replied the girl.
“Why?”
“I’m afraid it will all disappear again.”
“Nonsense!” said Uncle John. “For my part, I haven’t any traps, so I’ll stay here and guard the treasure till you return.”
“Dinner is served, Miss Patricia,” said the small maid, appearing in the doorway.
“Then let’s dine!” cried Patsy, clapping her hands gleefully; “and afterward the Major and I will make our last visit to Becker’s flats.”
CHAPTER XXVII.
LOUISE MAKES A DISCOVERY.
Uncle John did not stay to guard the treasure, after all, for he knew very well it would not disappear.
As soon as Patsy and the Major had departed for Becker’s flats, he took his own hat from the rack and walked away to hunt up another niece, Miss Louise Merrick, whose address he had casually obtained from Patsy a day or two before.
It was near by, and he soon found the place–a pretty flat in a fashionable building, although not so exclusive a residence district as Willing Square.
Up three flights he rode in the elevator, and then rang softly at the door which here the card of Mrs. Merrick.
A maid opened it and looked at him enquiringly.
“Are the ladies in?” he asked.
“I’ll see. Your card, sir?”
“I haven’t any.”
She half closed the door.
“Any name, then?”
“Yes, John Merrick.”
She closed the door entirely, and was gone several minutes. Then she came back and ushered him through the parlor into a small rear room.
Mrs. Merrick arose from her chair by the window and advanced to meet him.
“You are John Merrick?” she enquired.
“Your husband’s brother, ma’am,” he replied.
“How do you do, Uncle John?” called Louise, from the sofa. “Excuse my getting up, won’t you? And where in the world have you come from?”
Mrs. Merrick sat down again.
“Won’t you take a chair?” she said, stiffly.
“I believe I will,” returned Uncle John. “I just came to make a call, you know.”
“Louise has told me of you,” said the lady. “It was very unfortunate that your sister’s death deprived you of a home. An absurd thing, altogether, that fiasco of Jane Merrick’s.”
“True,” he agreed.
“But I might have expected it, knowing the woman’s character as I did.”
Uncle John wondered what Jane’s character had to do with the finding of Tom Bradley’s last will; but he said nothing.
“Where are you living?” asked Louise.
“Not anywhere, exactly,” he answered, “although Patsy has offered me a home and I’ve been sleeping on a sofa in her living-room, the past week.”
“I advise you to stay with the Doyles,” said Mrs. Merrick, quickly. “We haven’t even a sofa to offer you here, our flat is so small; otherwise we would be glad to be of some help to you. Have you found work?”
“I haven’t tried to, yet, ma’am.”
“It will be hard to get, at your age, of course. But that is a matter in which we cannot assist you.”
“Oh, I’m not looking for help, ma’am.”
She glanced at his worn clothing and soiled white necktie, and smiled.
“But we want to do something for you,” said Louise. “Now,” sitting up and regarding him gravely, “I’m going to tell you a state secret. We are living, in this luxurious way, on the principal of my father’s life insurance. At our present rate of expenditure we figure that the money will last us two years and nine months longer. By that time I shall be comfortably married or we will go bankrupt–as the fates decide. Do you understand the situation?”
“Perfectly. It’s very simple,” said the old man.
“And rather uncertain, isn’t it? But in spite of this, we are better able to help you than any of your other relatives. The Doyles are hard-working folks, and very poor. Beth says that Professor De Graf is over head and ears in debt and earns less every year, so he can’t be counted upon. In all the Merrick tribe the only tangible thing is my father’s life insurance, which I believe you once helped him to pay a premium on.”
“I’d forgotten that,” said Uncle John.
“Well, we haven’t. We don’t want to appear ungenerous in your eyes. Some day we may need help ourselves. But just now we can’t offer you a home, and, as mother says, you’d better stay with the Doyles. We have talked of making you a small allowance; but that may not be necessary. When you need assistance you must come to us, and we’ll do whatever we can, as long as our money lasts. Won’t that be the better way?”
Uncle John was silent for a moment. Then he asked:
“Why have you thought it necessary to assist me?”
Louise seemed surprised.
“You are old and seemed to be without means,” she answered, “and that five thousand Aunt Jane left to you turned out to be a myth. But tell me, have you money, Uncle John?”
“Enough for my present needs,” he said, smiling.
Mrs. Merrick seemed greatly relieved.
“Then there is no need of our trying to be generous,” she said, “and I am glad of that on all accounts.”
“I just called for a little visit,” said Uncle John. “It seemed unfriendly not to hunt you up, when I was in town.”
“I’m glad you did,” replied Mrs. Merrick, glancing at the clock. “But Louise expects a young gentleman to call upon her in a few minutes, and perhaps you can drop in again; another Sunday, for instance.”
“Perhaps so,” said Uncle John, rising with a red face. “I’ll see.”
“Good bye, Uncle,” exclaimed Louise, rising to take his hand. “Don’t feel that we’ve hurried you away, but come in again, whenever you feel like it.”
“Thank you, my dear,” he said, and went away.
Louise approached the open window, that led to a broad balcony. The people in the next flat–young Mr. Isham, the son of the great banker, and his wife–were sitting on the balcony, overlooking the street, but Louise decided to glance over the rail to discover if the young gentleman she so eagerly awaited chanced to be in sight.
As she did so Mr. Isham cried in great excitement:
“There he is, Myra–that’s him!” and pointed toward the sidewalk.
“Whom?” enquired Mrs. Isham, calmly.
“Why John Merrick! John Merrick, of Portland, Oregon.”
“And who is John Merrick?” asked the lady.
“One of the richest men in the world, and the best client our house has. Isn’t he a queer looking fellow? And dresses like a tramp. But he’s worth from eighty to ninety millions, at least, and controls most of the canning and tin-plate industries of America. I wonder what brought him into this neighborhood?”
Louise drew back from the window, pale and trembling. Then she caught up a shawl and rushed from the room. Uncle John must be overtaken and brought back, at all hazards.
The elevator was coming down, fortunately, and she descended quickly and reached the street, where she peered eagerly up and down for the round, plump figure of the little millionaire. But by some strange chance he had already turned a corner and disappeared.
While she hesitated the young man came briskly up, swinging his cane.
“Why, Miss Louise,” he said in some surprise, “were you, by good chance, waiting for me?”
“No, indeed,” she answered, with a laugh; “I’ve been saying good-bye to my rich uncle, John Merrick, of Portland, who has just called.”
“John Merrick, the tin-plate magnate? Is he your uncle?”
“My father’s own brother,” she answered, gaily. “Come upstairs, please. Mother will be glad to see you!”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
PATSY LOSES HER JOB.
Uncle John reached Willing Square before Patsy and her father returned, but soon afterward they arrived in an antiquated carriage surrounded by innumerable bundles.
“The driver’s a friend of mine,” explained the Major, “and he moved us for fifty cents, which is less than half price. We didn’t bring a bit of the furniture or beds, for there’s no place here to put them; but as the rent at Becker’s flat is paid to the first of next month, we’ll have plenty of time to auction ’em all off.”
The rest of the day was spent most delightfully in establishing themselves in the new home. It didn’t take the girl long to put her few belongings into the closets and drawers, but there were a thousand little things to examine in the rooms and she made some important discovery at every turn.
“Daddy,” she said, impressively, “it must have cost a big fortune to furnish these little rooms. They’re full of very expensive things, and none of the grand houses Madam Borne has sent me to is any finer than ours. I’m sure the place is too good for us, who are working people. Do you think we ought to stay here?”
“The Doyles,” answered the Major, very seriously, “are one of the greatest and most aristocratic families in all Ireland, which is the most aristocratic country in the world. If I only had our pedigree I could prove it to you easily. There’s nothing too good for an Irish gentleman, even if he condescends to bookkeeping to supply the immediate necessities of life; and as you’re me own daughter, Patricia, though a Merrick on your poor sainted mother’s side, you’re entitled to all you can get honestly. Am I right, Uncle John, or do I flatter myself?”
Uncle John stroked the girl’s head softly.
“You are quite right,” he said. “There is nothing too good for a brave, honest girl who’s heart is in the right place.”
“And that’s Patsy,” declared the Major, as if the question were finally settled.
On Monday morning Mary had a dainty breakfast all ready for them at seven o’clock, and Patsy and her father departed with light hearts for their work. Uncle John rode part way down town with them.
“I’m going to buy my new suit, today, and a new necktie,” he said.
“Don’t let them rob you,” was Patsy’s parting injunction. “Is your money all safe? And if you buy a ten dollar suit of clothes the dealer ought to throw in the necktie to bind the bargain. And see that they’re all wool, Uncle John.”
“What, the neckties?”
“No, the clothes. Good-bye, and don’t be late to dinner. Mary might scold.”
“I’ll remember. Good-bye, my dear.”
Patsy was almost singing for joy when she walked into Madam Borne’s hair-dressing establishment.
“Don’t take off your things,” said the Madam, sharply, “Your services are no longer required.”
Patsy looked at her in amazement. Doubtless she hadn’t heard aright.
“I have another girl in your place,” continued Madam Borne, “so I’ll bid you good morning.”
Patsy’s heart was beating fast.
“Do you mean I’m discharged?” she asked, with a catch in her voice.
“That’s it precisely.”
“Have I done anything wrong, Madam?”
“It isn’t that,” said Madam, pettishly. “I simply do not require your services. You are paid up to Saturday night, and I owe you nothing. Now, run along.”
Patsy stood looking at her and wondering what to do. To lose this place was certainly a great calamity.
“You’ll give me a testimonial, won’t you, Madam?” she asked, falteringly.
“I don’t give testimonials,” was the reply.
“Do run away, child; I’m very busy this morning.”
Patsy went away, all her happiness turned to bitter grief. What would the Major say, and what were they to do without her wages? Then she remembered Willing Square, and was a little comforted. Money was not as necessary now as it had been before.
Nevertheless, she applied to one or two hair-dressers for employment, and met with abrupt refusals. They had all the help they needed. So she decided to go back home and think it over, before taking further action.
It was nearly ten o’clock when she fitted her pass-key into the carved door of Apartment D, and when she entered the pretty living-room she found an elderly lady seated there, who arose to greet her.
“Miss Doyle?” enquired the lady.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Patsy.
“I am Mrs. Wilson, and I have been engaged to give you private instruction from ten to twelve every morning.”
Patsy plumped down upon a chair and looked her amazement.
“May I ask who engaged you?” she ventured to enquire.
“A gentleman from the bank of Isham, Marvin & Co. made the arrangement. May I take off my things?”
“If you please,” said the girl, quietly. Evidently this explained why Madam Borne had discharged her so heartlessly. The gentleman from Isham, Marvin & Co. had doubtless interviewed the Madam and told her what to do. And then, knowing she would be at liberty, he had sent her this private instructor.
The girl felt that the conduct of her life had been taken out of her own hands entirely, and that she was now being guided and cared for by her unknown friend and benefactor. And although she was inclined to resent the loss of her independence, at first, her judgment told her it would not only be wise but to her great advantage to submit.
She found Mrs. Wilson a charming and cultivated lady, who proved so gracious and kindly that the girl felt quite at ease in her presence. She soon discovered how woefully ignorant Patsy was, and arranged a course of instruction that would be of most benefit to her.
“I have been asked to prepare you to enter a girls’ college,” she said, “and if you are attentive and studious I shall easily accomplish the task.”
Patsy invited her to stay to luncheon, which Mary served in the cosy dining-room, and then Mrs. Wilson departed and left her alone to think over this new example of her unknown friend’s thoughtful care.
At three o’clock the door-bell rang and Mary ushered in another strange person–a pretty, fair-haired young lady, this time, who said she was to give Miss Doyle lessons on the piano.
Patsy was delighted. It was the one accomplishment she most longed to acquire, and she entered into the first lesson with an eagerness that made her teacher smile approvingly.
Meantime the Major was having his own surprises. At the office the manager met him on his arrival and called him into his private room.
“Major Doyle,” said he, “it is with great regret that we part with you, for you have served our house most faithfully.”
The Major was nonplussed.
“But,” continued the manager, “our bankers, Messers. Isham, Marvin & Co., have asked us to spare you for them, as they have a place requiring a man of your abilities where you can do much better than with us. Take this card, sir, and step over to the bankers and enquire for Mr. Marvin. I congratulate you, Major Doyle, on your advancement, which I admit is fully deserved.”
The Major seemed dazed. Like a man walking in a dream he made his way to the great banking house, and sent in the card to Mr. Marvin.
That gentleman greeted him most cordially.
“We want you to act as special auditor of accounts,” said he. “It is a place of much responsibility, but your duties will not be arduous. You will occupy Private Office No. 11, and your hours are only from 10 to 12 each morning. After that you will be at liberty. The salary, I regret to say, is not commensurate with your value, being merely twenty-four hundred a year; but as you will have part of the day to yourself you will doubtless be able to supplement that sum in other ways. Is this satisfactory, sir?”
“Quite so,” answered the Major. Twenty-four hundred a year! And only two hours’ work! Quite satisfactory, indeed!
His little office was very cosy, too; and the work of auditing the accounts of the most important customers of the house required accuracy but no amount of labor. It was an ideal occupation for a man of his years and limited training.
He stayed in the office until two o’clock that day, in order to get fully acquainted with the details of his work. Then he closed his desk, went to luncheon, which he enjoyed amazingly, and then decided to return to Willing Square and await Patsy’s return from Madam Borne’s.
As he let himself in he heard an awkward drumming and strumming on the piano, and peering slyly through the opening in the portierre he was startled to find Patsy herself making the dreadful noise, while a pretty girl sat beside her directing the movements of her fingers.
The Major watched for several minutes, in silent but amazed exultation; then he tiptoed softly to his room to smoke a cigar and wait until his daughter was at liberty to hear his great news and explain her own adventures.
When Uncle John came home to dinner he found father and daughter seated happily together in a loving embrace, their faces wreathed with ecstatic smiles that were wonderful to behold.
Uncle John was radiant in a brand new pepper-and-salt suit of clothes that fitted his little round form perfectly. Patsy marvelled that he could get such a handsome outfit for the money, for Uncle John had on new linen and a new hat and even a red-bordered handkerchief for the coat pocket–besides the necktie, and the necktie was of fine silk and in the latest fashion.
The transformation was complete, and Uncle John had suddenly become an eminently respectable old gentleman, with very little to criticise in his appearance.
“Do I match the flat, now?” he asked.
“To a dot!” declared Patsy. “So come to dinner, for it’s ready and waiting, and the Major and I have some wonderful fairy tales to tell you.”
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE MAJOR DEMANDS AN EXPLANATION.
That was a happy week, indeed. Patsy devoted all her spare time to her lessons, but the house itself demanded no little attention. She would not let Mary dust the ornaments or arrange the rooms at all, but lovingly performed those duties herself, and soon became an ideal housekeeper, as Uncle John approvingly remarked.
And as she flitted from room to room she sang such merry songs that it was a delight to hear her, and the Major was sure to get home from the city in time to listen to the strumming of the piano at three o’clock, from the recess of his own snug chamber.
Uncle John went to the city every morning, and at first this occasioned no remark. Patsy was too occupied to pay much attention to her uncle’s coming and going, and the Major was indifferent, being busy admiring Patsy’s happiness and congratulating himself on his own good fortune.
The position at the bank had raised the good man’s importance several notches. The clerks treated him with fine consideration and the heads of the firm were cordial and most pleasant. His fine, soldierly figure and kindly, white-moustached face, conferred a certain dignity upon his employers, which they seemed to respect and appreciate.
It was on Wednesday that the Major encountered the name of John Merrick on the books. The account was an enormous one, running into millions in stocks and securities. The Major smiled.
“That’s Uncle John’s name,” he reflected. “It would please him to know he had a namesake so rich as this one.”
The next day he noted that John Merrick’s holdings were mostly in western canning industries and tin-plate factories, and again he recollected that Uncle John had once been a tinsmith. The connection was rather curious.
But it was not until Saturday morning that the truth dawned upon him, and struck him like a blow from a sledge-hammer.
He had occasion to visit Mr. Marvin’s private office, but being told that the gentleman was engaged with an important customer, he lingered outside the door, waiting.
Presently the door was partly opened.
“Don’t forget to sell two thousand of the Continental stock tomorrow,” he heard a familiar voice say.
“I’ll not forget, Mr. Merrick,” answered the banker.
“And buy that property on Bleeker street at the price offered. It’s a fair proposition, and I need the land.”
“Very well, Mr. Merrick. Would it not be better for me to send these papers by a messenger to your house?”
“No; I’ll take them myself. No one will rob me.” And then the door swung open and, chuckling in his usual whimsical fashion, Uncle John came out, wearing his salt-and-pepper suit and stuffing; a bundle of papers into his inside pocket.
The Major stared at him haughtily, but made no attempt to openly recognize the man. Uncle John gave a start, laughed, and then walked away briskly, throwing a hasty “good-bye” to the obsequious banker, who followed him out, bowing low.
The Major returned to his office with a grave face, and sat for the best part of three hours in a brown study. Then he took his hat and went home.
Patsy asked anxiously if anything had happened, when she saw his face; but the Major shook his head.
Uncle John arrived just in time for dinner, in a very genial mood, and he and Patsy kept up a lively conversation at the table while the Major looked stern every time he caught the little man’s eye.
But Uncle John never minded. He was not even as meek and humble as usual, but laughed and chatted with the freedom of a boy just out of school, which made Patsy think the new clothes had improved him in more ways than one.
When dinner was over the Major led them into the sitting-room, turned up the lights, and then confronted the little man with a determined and majestic air.
“Sir,” said he, “give an account of yourself.”
“Eh?”
“John Merrick, millionaire and impostor, who came into my family under false pretenses and won our love and friendship when we didn’t know it, give an account of yourself!”
Patsy laughed.
“What are you up to, Daddy?” she demanded. “What has Uncle John been doing?”
“Deceiving us, my dear.”
“Nonsense,” said Uncle John, lighting his old briar pipe, “you’ve been deceiving yourselves.”
“Didn’t you convey the impression that you were poor?” demanded the Major, sternly.
“No.”
“Didn’t you let Patsy take away your thirty-two dollars and forty-two cents, thinking it was all you had?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you worth millions and millions of dollars–so many that you can’t count them yourself?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then, sir,” concluded the Major, mopping the perspiration from his forehead and sitting down limply in his chair, “what do you mean by it?”
Patsy stood pale and trembling, her round eyes fixed upon her uncle’s composed face.
“Uncle John!” she faltered.
“Yes, my dear.”
“Is it all true? Are you so very rich?”
“Yes, my dear.”
“And it’s you that gave me this house, and–and everything else–and got the Major his fine job, and me discharged, and–and–“
“Of course, Patsy. Why not?”
“Oh, Uncle John!”
She threw herself into his arms, sobbing happily as he clasped her little form to his bosom. And the Major coughed and blew his nose, and muttered unintelligible words into his handkerchief. Then Patsy sprang up and rushed upon her father, crying;
“Oh, Daddy! Aren’t you glad it’s Uncle John?”
“I have still to hear his explanation,” said the Major.
Uncle John beamed upon them. Perhaps he had never been so happy before in all his life.
“I’m willing to explain,” he said, lighting his pipe again and settling himself in his chair. “But my story is a simple one, dear friends, and not nearly so wonderful as you may imagine. My father had a big family that kept him poor, and I was a tinsmith with little work to be had in the village where we lived. So I started west, working my way from town to town, until I got to Portland, Oregon.
“There was work in plenty there, making the tin cans in which salmon and other fish is packed, and as I was industrious I soon had a shop of my own, and supplied cans to the packers. The shop grew to be a great factory, employing hundreds of men. Then I bought up the factories of my competitors, so as to control the market, and as I used so much tin-plate I became interested in the manufacture of this product, and invested a good deal of money in the production and perfection of American tin. My factories were now scattered all along the coast, even to California, where I made the cans for the great quantities of canned fruits they ship from that section every year. Of course the business made me rich, and I bought real estate with my extra money, and doubled my fortune again and again.
“I never married, for all my heart was in the business, and I thought of nothing else. But a while ago a big consolidation of the canning industries was effected, and the active management I resigned to other hands, because I had grown old, and had too much money already.
“It was then that I remembered the family, and went back quietly to the village where I was born. They were all dead or scattered, I found; but because Jane had inherited a fortune in some way I discovered where she lived and went to see her. I suppose it was because my clothes were old and shabby that Jane concluded I was a poor man and needed assistance; and I didn’t take the trouble to undeceive her.
“I also found my three nieces at Elmhurst, and it struck me it would be a good time to study their characters; for like Jane I had a fortune to leave behind me, and I was curious to find out which girl was the most deserving. No one suspected my disguise. I don’t usually wear such poor clothes, you know; but I have grown to be careless of dress in the west, and finding that I was supposed to be a poor man I clung to that old suit like grim death to a grasshopper.”
“It was very wicked of you,” said Patsy, soberly, from her father’s lap.
“As it turned out,” continued the little man, “Jane’s desire to leave her money to her nieces amounted to nothing, for the money wasn’t hers. But I must say it was kind of her to put me down for five thousand dollars–now, wasn’t it?”
The Major grinned.
“And that’s the whole story, my friends. After Jane’s death you offered me a home–the best you had to give–and I accepted it. I had to come to New York anyway, you know, for Isham, Marvin & Co. have been my bankers for years, and there was considerable business to transact with them. I think that’s all, isn’t it?”
“Then this house is yours?” said Patsy, wonderingly.
“No, my dear; the whole block belongs to you and here’s the deed for it,” drawing a package of papers from his pocket. “It’s a very good property, Patsy, and the rents you get from the other five flats will be a fortune in themselves.”
For a time the three sat in silence. Then the girl whispered, softly:
“Why are you so good to me, Uncle John?”
“Just because I like you, Patsy, and you are my niece.”
“And the other nieces?”
“Well, I don’t mean they shall wait for my death to be made happy,” answered Uncle John. “Here’s a paper that gives to Louise’s mother the use of a hundred thousand dollars, as long as she lives. After that Louise will have the money to do as she pleases with.”
“How fine!” cried Patsy, clapping her hands joyfully.
“And here’s another paper that gives Professor De Graf the use of another hundred thousand. Beth is to have it when he dies. She’s a sensible girl, and will take good care of it.”
“Indeed she will!” said Patsy.
“And now,” said Uncle John, “I want to know if I can keep my little room in your apartments, Patsy; or if you’d prefer me to find another boarding place.”
“Your home is here as long as you live, Uncle John. I never meant to part with you, when I thought you poor, and I’ll not desert you now that I know you’re rich.”
“Well said, Patsy!” cried the Major.
And Uncle John smiled and kissed the girl and then lighted his pipe again, for it had gone out.