LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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