CHAPTER II
UNCLE JOHN MAKES PLANS
"The thought came to me a long time ago," Uncle John resumed; "but itwas only yesterday that I got all the details fixed and settled in mymind. I've been a rough old duffer, Patsy, and in all my hard workinglife never thought of such a thing as travelling or enjoying myselfuntil I fell in with you, and you taught me how pleasant it is toscatter sunshine in the hearts of others. For to make others happy meansa lot of joy for yourself--a secret you were trying to keep from me, youcrafty young woman, until I discovered it by accident. Now, here I amwith three nieces on my hands--"
"You may say two, sir," interrupted the Major. "Patsy can take care ofherself."
"Hold your tongue," said Uncle John. "I say I've got three nieces--asfine a trio of intelligent, sweet and attractive young women as you'llrun across in a month of Sundays. I dare you to deny it, sir. And theyare all at an age when an European trip will do them a world of good. Sooff we go, a week from Tuesday, in the first-class steamer 'PrincessIrene,' bound from New York for the Bay of Naples!"
Patsy's eyes showed her delight. They fairly danced.
"Have you told Beth and Louise?" she asked.
His face fell.
"Not yet," he said. "I'd forgotten to mention it to them."
"For my part," continued the girl, "I can get ready in a week, easily.But Beth is way out in Ohio, and we don't know whether she can go ornot."
"I'll telegraph her, and find out," said Uncle John.
"Do it to-day," suggested the Major.
"I will."
"And to-morrow you must see Louise," added Patsy. "I'm not sure she'llwant to go, dear. She's such a social butterfly, you know, that herengagements may keep her at home."
"Do you mean to say she's engaged?" asked Mr. Merrick, aghast.
"Only for the parties and receptions, Uncle. But it wouldn't surprise meif she was married soon. She's older than Beth or me, and has a host ofadmirers."
"Perhaps she's old enough to be sensible," suggested the Major.
"Well, I'll see her and her mother to-morrow morning," decided UncleJohn, "and if she can't find time for a trip to Europe at my expense,you and Beth shall go anyhow--and we'll bring Louise a wedding present."
With this declaration he took his hat and walking stick and started forthe telegraph station, leaving Patsy and her father to canvass theunexpected situation.
John Merrick was sixty years old, but as hale and rugged as a boy oftwenty. He had made his vast fortune on the Pacific Coast and during hisyears of busy activity had been practically forgotten by the Easternmembers of his family, who never had credited him with sufficientability to earn more than a precarious livelihood. But the man wasshrewd enough in a business way, although simple almost to childishnessin many other matters. When he returned, quite unheralded, to end hisdays "at home" and employ his ample wealth to the best advantage, he fora time kept his success a secret, and so learned much of thedispositions and personal characteristics of his three nieces.
They were at that time visiting his unmarried sister, Jane, at herestate at Elmhurst, whither they had been invited for the first time;and in the race for Aunt Jane's fortune he watched the three girlscarefully and found much to admire in each one of them. Patsy Doyle,however, proved exceptionally frank and genuine, and when Aunt Jane atlast died and it was found she had no estate to bequeath, Patsy provedthe one bright star in the firmament of disappointment. Supposing UncleJohn to be poor, she insisted upon carrying him to New York with her andsharing with him the humble tenement room in which she lived with herfather--a retired veteran who helped pay the family expenses by keepingbooks for a mercantile firm, while Patsy worked in a hair-dresser'sshop.
It was now that Uncle John proved a modern fairy godfather to AuntJane's nieces--who were likewise his own nieces. The three girls hadlittle in common except their poverty, Elizabeth De Graf being thedaughter of a music teacher, in Cloverton, Ohio, while Louise Merricklived with her widowed mother in a social atmosphere of the second classin New York, where the two women frankly intrigued to ensnare for Louisea husband who had sufficient means to ensure both mother and daughter acomfortable home. In spite of this worldly and unlovely ambition, whichtheir circumstances might partially excuse, Louise, who was butseventeen, had many good and womanly qualities, could they have beendeveloped in an atmosphere uninfluenced by the schemes of her vain andselfish mother.
Uncle John, casting aside the mask of poverty, came to the relief of allthree girls. He settled the incomes of substantial sums of money uponboth Beth and Louise, making them practically independent. For Patsy hebought a handsome modern flat building located at 3708 Willing Square,and installed her and the Major in its cosiest apartment, the rents ofthe remaining flats giving the Doyles an adequate income for all time tocome. Here Uncle John, believing himself cordially welcome, as indeed hewas, made his own home, and it required no shrewd guessing to arrive atthe conclusion that little Patsy was destined to inherit some day allhis millions.
The great banking and brokerage firm of Isham, Marvin & Co. had longmanaged successfully John Merrick's vast fortune, and at hissolicitation it gave Major Doyle a responsible position in its mainoffice, with a salary that rendered him independent of his daughter'ssuddenly acquired wealth and made him proud and self-respecting.
Money had no power to change the nature of the Doyles. The Majorremained the same simple, honest, courteous yet brusque old warrior whohad won Uncle John's love as a hard working book-keeper; and Patsy'sbright and sunny disposition had certain power to cheer any home,whether located in a palace or a hovel.
Never before in his life had Uncle John been so supremely happy, andnever before had Aunt Jane's three nieces had so many advantages andpleasures. It was to confer still further benefits upon these girls thattheir eccentric uncle had planned this unexpected European trip.
His telegram to Elizabeth was characteristic:
"Patsy, Louise and I sail for Europe next Tuesday. Will you join us asmy guest? If so, take first train to New York, where I will look afteryour outfit. Answer immediately."
That was a message likely to surprise a country girl, but it did notstrike John Merrick as in any way extraordinary. He thought he coulddepend upon Beth. She would be as eager to go as he was to have her, andwhen he had paid for the telegram he dismissed the matter from furtherthought.
Next morning Patsy reminded him that instead of going down town he mustpersonally notify Louise Merrick of the proposed trip; so he took across-town line and arrived at the Merrick's home at nine o'clock.
Mrs. Merrick was in a morning wrapper, sipping her coffee in an upperroom. But she could not deny herself to Uncle John, her dead husband'sbrother and her only daughter's benefactor (which meant indirectly herown benefactor), so she ordered the maid to show him up at once.
"Louise is still sweetly sleeping," she said, "and won't waken for hoursyet."
"Is anything wrong with her?" he asked, anxiously.
"Oh, dear, no! but everyone does not get up with the milkman, as you do,John; and the dear child was at the opera last night, which made herlate in getting home."
"Doesn't the opera let out before midnight, the same as the theatres?"he asked.
"I believe so; but there is the supper, afterward, you know."
"Ah, yes," he returned, thoughtfully. "I've always noticed that theopera makes folks desperately hungry, for they flock to the restaurantsas soon as they can get away. Singular, isn't it?"
"Why, I never thought of it in that light."
"But Louise is well?"
"Quite well, thank you."
"That's a great relief, for I'm going to take her to Europe with me nextweek," he said.
Mrs. Merrick was so astonished that she nearly dropped her coffee-cupand could make no better reply than to stare blankly at herbrother-in-law.
"We sail Tuesday," continued Uncle John, "and you must have my nieceready in time and deliver her on board the 'Princess Irene' at Hobokenat n
ine o'clock, sharp."
"But John--John!" gasped Mrs. Merrick, feebly, "it will take a month, atleast, to make her gowns, and--"
"Stuff and rubbish!" he growled. "That shows, Martha, how little youknow about European trips. No one makes gowns to go abroad with; you buy'em in Paris to bring home."
"Ah, yes; to be sure," she muttered. "Perhaps, then, it can be done, ifLouise, has no other engagements."
"Just what Patsy said. See here, Martha, do you imagine that any girlwho is half human could have engagements that would keep her fromEurope?"
"But the requirements of society--"
"You'll get me riled, pretty soon, Martha; and if you do you'll wish youhadn't."
This speech frightened the woman. It wouldn't do to provoke Uncle John,however unreasonable he happened to be. So she said, meekly:
"I've no doubt Louise will be delighted to go, and so will I."
"You!"
"Why--why--whom do you intend taking?"
"Just the three girls--Aunt Jane's three nieces. Also mine."
"But you'll want a chaperone for them."
"Why so?"
"Propriety requires it; and so does ordinary prudence. Louise, I know,will be discreet, for it is her nature; but Patsy is such a littleflyaway and Beth so deep and demure, that without a chaperone they mightcause you a lot of trouble."
Uncle John grew red and his eyes flashed.
"A chaperone!" he cried, contemptuously; "not any in mine, MarthaMerrick. Either we young folks go alone, without any death's head toperpetually glower at us, or we don't go at all! Three better girlsnever lived, and I'll trust 'em anywhere. Besides that, we aren't goingto any of your confounded social functions; we're going on a reg'larpicnic, and if I don't give those girls the time of their lives my nameain't John Merrick. A chaperone, indeed!"
Mrs. Merrick held up her hands in horror.
"I'm not sure, John," she gasped, "that I ought to trust my dear childwith an uncle who disregards so openly the proprieties."
"Well, I'm sure; and the thing's settled," he said, more calmly. "Don'tworry, ma'am. I'll look after Patsy and Beth, and Louise will look afterall of us--just as she does after you--because she's so discreet. Talkabout your being a chaperone! Why, you don't dare say your soul's yourown when Louise is awake. That chaperone business is allhumbuggery--unless an old uncle like me can be a chaperone. Anyhow, I'mthe only one that's going to be appointed. I won't wait for Louise towake up. Just tell her the news and help her to get ready on time. Andnow, I'm off. Good morning, Martha."
She really had no words of protest ready at hand, and it was long afterqueer old John Merrick had gone away that she remembered a dozeneffective speeches that she might have delivered.
"After all," she sighed, taking up her cup again, "it may be the bestthing in the world for Louise. We don't know whether that young Weldon,who is paying her attentions just now, is going to inherit his father'smoney or not. He's been a bit wild, I've heard, and it is just as wellto postpone any engagement until we find out the facts. I can do thatnicely while my sweet child is in Europe with Uncle John, and away fromall danger of entanglements. Really, it's an ill wind that blows nogood! I'll go talk with Louise."