L. Frank Baum_Aunt Jane 01 (21 page)

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."

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.