L. Frank Baum_Aunt Jane 01 (18 page)

"Quite right, sir," approved the Major, sympathetically, "although
it's easier not to expect anything at all, than to set your heart on a
thing and then not get it. In your case, it won't matter. Our house is
yours, and there's plenty and to spare."

"Thank you," said Uncle John, his face grave but his eyes merry.

"Oh, Major!" cried Patsy, suddenly. "There's Danny Reeves's
restaurant. Let's get off and have our dinner now; I'm as hungry as a
bear."

So they stopped the car and descended, lugging all the parcels into
the little restaurant, where they were piled into a chair while the
proprietor and the waiters all gathered around Patsy to welcome her
home.

My, how her eyes sparkled! She fairly danced for joy, and ordered the
dinner with reckless disregard of the bill.

"Ah, but it's good to be back," said the little Bohemian, gleefully.
"The big house at Elmhurst was grand and stately, Major, but there
wasn't an ounce of love in the cupboard."

"Wasn't I there. Patsy?" asked Uncle John, reproachfully.

"True, but now you're here; and our love, Uncle, has nothing to do
with Elmhurst. I'll bet a penny you liked it as little as I did."

"You'd win," admitted the little man.

"And now," said the girl to the smiling waiter, "a bottle of red
California wine for Uncle John and the Major, and two real cigars.
We'll be merry tonight if it bankrupts the Doyle family entirely."

But, after a merry meal and a good one, there was no bill at all when
it was called for.

Danny Reeves himself came instead, and made a nice little speech,
saying that Patsy had always brought good luck to the place, and this
dinner was his treat to welcome her home.

So the Major thanked him with gracious dignity and Patsy kissed Danny
on his right cheek, and then they went away happy and content to find
the little rooms up the second flight of the old tenement.

"It's no palace," said Patsy, entering to throw down the bundles as
soon as the Major unlocked the door, "but there's a cricket in the
hearth, and it's your home, Uncle John, as well as ours."

Uncle John looked around curiously. The place was so plain after the
comparative luxury of Elmhurst, and especially of the rose chamber
Patsy had occupied, that the old man could not fail to marvel at the
girl's ecstatic joy to find herself in the old tenement again. There
was one good sized living-room, with an ancient rag-carpet partially
covering the floor, a sheet-iron stove, a sofa, a table and three or
four old-fashioned chairs that had probably come from a second-hand
dealer.

Opening from this were two closet-like rooms containing each a bed and
a chair, with a wash-basin on a bracket shelf. On the wails were a
few colored prints from the Sunday newspapers and one large and fine
photograph of a grizzled old soldier that Uncle John at once decided
must represent "the Colonel."

Having noted these details, Patsy's uncle smoothed back his stubby
gray hair with a reflective and half puzzled gesture.

"It's cozy enough, my child; and I thank you for my welcome," said he.
"But may I enquire where on earth you expect to stow me in this rather
limited establishment?"

"Where? Have you no eyes, then?" she asked, in astonishment. "It's the
finest sofa in the world, Uncle John, and you'll sleep there like a
top, with the dear Colonel's own picture looking down at you to keep
you safe and give you happy dreams. Where, indeed!"

"Ah; I see," said Uncle John.

"And you can wash in my chamber," added the Major, with a grand air,
"and hang your clothes on the spare hooks behind my door."

"I haven't many," said Uncle John, looking thoughtfully at his red
bundle.

The Major coughed and turned the lamp a little higher.

"You'll find the air fine, and the neighborhood respectable," he said,
to turn the subject. "Our modest apartments are cool in summer and
warm in winter, and remarkably reasonable in price. Patsy gets our
breakfast on the stove yonder, and we buy our lunches down town, where
we work, and then dine at Danny Reeves's place. A model home, sir, and
a happy one, as I hope you'll find it."

"I'm sure to be happy here," said Uncle John, taking out his pipe.
"May I smoke?"

"Of course; but don't spoil the lace curtains, dear," answered Patsy,
mischievously. And then, turning to her father, she exclaimed: "Oh,
daddy! What will the Uncle do all the day while we're at work?"

"That's as he may choose," said the Major, courteously.

"Couldn't we get him a job?" asked Patsy, wistfully. "Not where
there'll be much work, you know, for the Uncle is old. But just to
keep him out of mischief, and busy. He can't hang around all day and
be happy, I suppose."

"I'll look around," answered the Major, briskly, as if such a "job"
was the easiest thing in the world to procure. "And meantime—"

"Meantime," said Uncle John, smiling at them, "I'll look around
myself."

"To be sure," agreed the Major. "Between the two of us and Patsy, we
ought to have no trouble at all."

There was a moment of thoughtful silence after this, and then Patsy
said:

"You know it won't matter, Uncle John, if you don't work. There'll
easy be enough for all, with the Major's wages and my own."

"By the bye," added the Major, "if you have any money about you, which
is just possible, sir, of course, you'd better turn it over to Patsy
to keep, and let her make you an allowance. That's the way I do—it's
very satisfactory."

"The Major's extravagant," exclaimed Patsy; "and if he has money he
wants to treat every man he meets."

Uncle John shook his head, reproachfully, at the Major.

"A very bad habit, sir," he said.

"I acknowledge it, Mr. Merrick," responded the Major. "But Patsy is
fast curing me. And, after all, it's a wicked city to be carrying a
fat pocketbook around in, as I've often observed."

"My pocketbook is not exactly fat," remarked Uncle John.

"But you've money, sir, for I marked you squandering it on the train,"
said Patsy, severely. "So out with it, and we'll count up, and see how
much of an allowance I can make you 'till you get the job."

Uncle John laughed and drew his chair up to the table. Then he emptied
his trousers' pockets upon the cloth, and Patsy gravely separated the
keys and jackknife from the coins and proceeded to count the money.

"Seven dollars and forty-two cents," she announced. "Any more?"

Uncle John hesitated a moment, and then drew from an inner pocket of
his coat a thin wallet. From this, when she had received it from his
hand, the girl abstracted two ten and one five dollar bills, all crisp
and new.

"Good gracious!" she cried, delightedly. "All this wealth, and you
pleading poverty?"

"I never said I was a pauper," returned Uncle John, complacently.

"You couldn't, and be truthful, sir," declared the girl. "Why, this
will last for ages, and I'll put it away safe and be liberal with
your allowance. Let me see," pushing the coins about with her slender
fingers, "you just keep the forty-two cents, Uncle John. It'll do for
car-fare and a bit of lunch now and then, and when you get broke you
can come to me."

"He smokes," observed the Major, significantly.

"Bah! a pipe," said Patsy. "And Bull Durham is only five cents a bag,
and a bag ought to last a week. And every Saturday night, sir, you
shall have a cigar after dinner, with the Major. It's it our regular
practice."

"Thank you, Patsy," said Uncle John, meekly, and gathered up his
forty-two cents.

"You've now a home, and a manager, sir, with money in the bank of
Patsy & Company, Limited," announced the Major. "You ought to be very
contented, sir."

"I am," replied Uncle John.

When Patsy and the Major had both departed for work on Monday morning
Uncle John boarded a car and rode downtown also. He might have
accompanied them part of the way, but feared Patsey might think him
extravagant if she found him so soon breaking into the working fund of
forty-two cents, which she charged him to be careful of.

He seemed to be in no hurry, for it was early yet, and few of the
lower Broadway establishments were open. To pass the time he turned
into a small restaurant and had coffee and a plate of cakes, in spite
of the fact that Patsy had so recently prepared coffee over the
sheet-iron stove and brought some hot buns from a near-by bakery. He
was not especially hungry; but in sipping the coffee and nibbling the
cakes he passed the best part of an hour.

He smiled when he paid out twenty-five cents of his slender store for
the refreshment. With five cents for car-fare he had now but twelve
cents left of the forty-two Patsy had given him! Talk about the
Major's extravagance: it could not be compared to Uncle John's.

Another hour was spent in looking in at the shop windows. Then,
suddenly noting the time. Uncle John started down the street at a
swinging pace, and presently paused before a building upon which was
a sign, reading: "Isham, Marvin & Co., Bankers and Brokers." A
prosperous looking place, it seemed, with a host of clerks busily
working in the various departments. Uncle John walked in, although the
uniformed official at the door eyed him suspiciously.

"Mr. Marvin in?" he inquired, pleasantly.

"Not arrived yet," said the official, who wore a big star upon his
breast.

"I'll wait," announced Uncle John, and sat down upon a leather-covered
bench.

The official strutted up and down, watching the customers who entered
the bank or departed, and keeping a sharp watch on the little man upon
the bench.

Another hour passed.

Presently Uncle John jumped up and approached the official.

"Hasn't Mr. Marvin arrived yet?" he enquired, sharply.

"An hour ago," was the reply.

"Then why didn't you let me know? I want to see him."

"He's busy mornings. Has to look over the mail. He can't see you yet."

"Well, he will see me, and right away. Tell him John Merrick is here."

"Your card, sir."

"I haven't any. My name will do."

The official hesitated, and glanced at the little man's seedy garb and
countryfied air. But something in the angry glance of the shrewd
eye made him fear he had made a mistake. He opened a small door and
disappeared.

In a moment the door burst open to allow egress to a big, red-bearded
man in his shirtsleeves, who glanced around briefly and then rushed at
Uncle John and shook both his hands cordially.

"My dear Mr. Merrick!" he exclaimed, "I'm delighted and honored to see
you here. Come to my room at once. A great surprise and pleasure, sir!
Thomas, I'm engaged!"

This last was directed at the head of the amazed porter, who, as the
door slammed in his face, nodded solemnly and remarked:

"Fooled ag'in, and I might 'a' known it. Drat these 'ere billionaires!
Why don't they dress like decent people?"

Uncle John had been advised by Patsy where to go for a good cheap
luncheon; but he did not heed her admonition. Instead, he rode in a
carriage beside the banker to a splendid club, where he was served
with the finest dishes the chef could provide on short notice.
Moreover, Mr. Marvin introduced him to several substantial gentlemen
as "Mr. John Merrick, of Portland"; and each one bowed profoundly and
declared he was "highly honored."

Yet Uncle John seemed in no way elated by this reception. He retained
his simple manner, although his face was more grave than Patsy had
often seen it; and he talked with easy familiarity of preferred stocks
and amalgamated interests and invested, securities and many other
queer things that the banker seemed to understand fully and to listen
to with respectful deference.

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?"