L. Frank Baum_Aunt Jane 06 (2 page)

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."

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 in society, Patsy—"

"Oh, bother society! I hate it."

"True," he agreed; "it's a regular treadmill when it has enslaved one,
and keeps you going on and on without progressing a bit. The object of
society is to tire you out and keep you from indulging in any other
occupation."

"You know nothing about it," observed Patsy, demurely, "and that is
why you love to rail at society. The things you know, Daddy dear, are
the things you never remark upon."

"Huh!" grunted the Major, and relapsed into silence.

Mumbles had finished his after-dinner nap and was now awakening to
activity. This dog's size, according to the Major, was "about 4x6; but
you can't tell which is the 4 and which the 6." He was distressingly
shaggy. Patsy could find the stump of his tail only by careful search.
Seldom were both eyes uncovered by hair at the same time. But, as his
new mistress had said, he was a wise little dog for one who had only
known the world for a few months, and his brain was exceedingly alert.
After yawning at the fire he rubbed his back against the Major's legs,
sat up beside Patsy and looked at her from one eye pleadingly. Next he
trotted over to Uncle John. The big white handkerchief attracted him
and one corner hung down from the edge of the reclining chair. Mumbles
sat up and reached for it, but could not quite get it in his teeth.
So he sat down and thought it over, and presently made a leap so
unexpectedly agile that Patsy roared with merriment and even the Major
grinned. Uncle John, aroused, sat up and found the puppy rolling on
the floor and fighting the handkerchief as if it had been some deadly
foe.

"Thank goodness," sighed the Major. "The little black rascal has
providently prevented you from evolving another idea."

"Not so," responded Mr. Merrick amiably. "I've thought the thing all
out, and completed our programme."

"Is it still to be California?" anxiously inquired Patsy.

"Of course. I can't give up the sunshine and roses, you know. But we
won't bore the Major by four solid days of railway travel. We'll break
the journey, and take two or three weeks to it—perhaps a month."

"Conquering Caesar! A month!" ejaculated the old soldier, a desperate
look on his face.

"Yes. Listen, both of you. We'll get to Chicago in a night and a day.
We will stop off there and visit the stockyards, and collect a few
squeals for souvenirs."

"No, we won't!" declared Patsy, positively.

"We might sell Mumbles to some Chicago sausage factory," remarked the
Major, "but not for two whole dollars. He wouldn't make more than half
a pound at twenty cents the pound."

"There are other sights to be seen in Chicago," continued Uncle John.
"Anyhow, we'll stop off long enough to get rested. Then on to Denver
and Pike's Peak."

"That sounds good," said Patsy.

"At Denver," said Uncle John, "we will take a touring car and cross
the mountains in it. There are good roads all the way from there to
California."

"Who told you so?" demanded the Major.

"No one. It's a logical conclusion, for I've lived in the West and
know the prairie roads are smoother than boulevards. However, Haggerty
told me the other day that he has made the trip from Denver to Los
Angeles by automobile, and what others can do, we can do."

"It will be glorious!" prophesied Patsy, delightedly.

The Major looked grave, but could find no plausible objection to
offer. He really knew nothing about the West and had never had
occasion to consider such a proposition before.

"We'll talk to Haggerty," he said. "But you must remember he's a
desperate liar, John, and can't be trusted as a guidepost. When do you
intend to start?"

"Why not to-morrow?" asked Uncle John mildly.

Even Patsy demurred at this.

"Why, we've got to get ready, Uncle," she said. "And who's going? Just
we three?"

"We will take Beth along, of course." Beth was Elizabeth De Graf,
another niece. "But Beth is fortunately the sort of girl who can pull
up stakes and move on at an hour's notice."

"Beth is always ready for anything," agreed Patsy. "But if we are
going to a warm climate we will need summer clothes."

"You can't lug many clothes in a motor car," observed the Major.

"No; but we can ship them on ahead."

"Haggerty says," remarked Uncle John, "that you won't need thin
clothes until you get out to California. In fact, the mountain trip is
rather cool. But it's perpetual sunshine, you know, even there, with
brisk, keen air; and the whole journey, Haggerty says, is one of
absolute delight."

"Who is Haggerty?" asked Patsy.

"A liar," answered the Major, positively.

"He's a very good fellow whom we sometimes meet in the city," said
Uncle John. "Haggerty is on the Board, and director in a bank or two,
and quite respectable. But the Major—"

"The Major's going to California just to prove that Haggerty can't
speak the truth," observed that gentleman, tersely heading off any
threatened criticism. "I see there is no opposing your preposterous
scheme, John, so we will go with you and make the best of it. But I'm
sure it's all a sad mistake. What else did Haggerty tell you?"

"He says it's best to pick up a motor car and a chauffeur in Denver,
rather than ship them on from here. There are plenty of cars to be
had, and men who know every inch of the road."

"That seems sensible," declared Patsy, "and we won't lose time waiting
for our own car to follow by freight. I think, Uncle John, I can be
ready by next Tuesday."

"Why, to-morrow's Saturday!" gasped the Major. "The business—"

"Cut the business off short," suggested his brother-in-law. "You've to
cut it somewhere, you know, or you'll never get away; and, as it's my
business, I hereby authorize you to neglect it from this moment until
the day of our return. When we get back you can pick up the details
again and worry over it as much as you please."

"Will we ever get back?" asked the Major, doubtingly.

"If we don't, the business won't matter."

"That's the idea," cried Patsy, approvingly. "Daddy has worked hard
all summer, Uncle John, looking after that annoying money of yours,
and a vacation will do him oodles of good."

Major Doyle sighed.

"I misdoubt the wisdom of the trip," said he, "but I'll go, of course,
if you all insist. Over the Rocky Mountains and across the Great
American Desert in an automobile doesn't sound very enticing, but—"

"Haggerty says—"

"Never mind Haggerty. We'll find out for ourselves."

"And, after all," said Patsy, "there are the sunshine and roses at the
end of the journey, and they ought to make up for any amount of bother
in getting there."

"Girl, you're attempting to deceive me—to deceive your old Daddy,"
said the Major, shaking his head at her. "You wouldn't have any fun
riding to California in a palace car; even the sunshine and roses
couldn't excite you under such circumstances; but if there's a chance
for adventure—a chance to slide into trouble and make a mighty
struggle to get out again—both you and that wicked old uncle of yours
will jump at it. I know ye both. And that's the real reason we're
going to travel in an automobile instead of progressing comfortably as
all respectable people do."

"You're a humbug," retorted Mr. Merrick. "You wouldn't go by train if
I'd let you."

"No," admitted the Major; "I must be on hand to rescue you when you
and Patsy go fighting windmills."

"We were due in Denver three hours ago, and it's an hour's run or more
yet," remarked Beth De Graf, walking briskly up and down the platform
of a way station where the train had stopped for orders.

"And it's beginning to snow," observed Patricia Doyle, beside her.
"I'm afraid this weather isn't very propitious for an automobile
trip."

"Uncle John doesn't worry," said Beth. "He believes there is perpetual
sunshine west of Denver."

"Yes; a man named Haggerty told him. But you'll notice that Daddy
doesn't seem to believe the tale. Anyhow, we shall soon know the
truth, Beth, and the trip is somewhat on the order of a voyage of
discovery, which renders it fascinating to look forward to. There is
such fun in not knowing just what is going to happen next."

"When one travels with Uncle John," returned Beth, smiling, "she
knows exactly—nothing. That is why I am always eager to accept if he
invites me to go anywhere with him."