L. Frank Baum_Aunt Jane 06 (5 page)

"Uncle John," announced Patsy, "has invited you to join our party and
go to California with us."

Myrtle stared a moment, as if trying to realize what that meant. The
tiny Mumbles, sitting beside the chair with his head cocked to one
side, suddenly made a prodigious leap and landed in Myrtle's lap,
where he began licking her chin and wagging his stumpy tail as if
seconding the invitation. As the girl stroked his soft hair her eyes
filled with tears.

"Oh, you are all so kind to me!" she sobbed, losing her composure.
"But I can't go! Of course I can't go."

"Why not?" asked Beth, smiling.

"It would be an—impersition!" Poor Myrtle sometimes stumbled over big
words. "I know that. I can't let you burden your happy party with a
poor cripple, just because your hearts are kind and you pity me!"

"Nonsense!" said Beth. "You're not a cripple, dear; you're just an
invalid, and will soon be as strong as any of us. We have invited you,
Myrtle, because we all like you, and shall soon learn to love you. We
are selfish enough to want your companionship. It isn't pity, at all,
you see."

"I'm mighty glad," added Patsy, "your Uncle Anson ran away from
Leadville. If he hadn't done that we should have had to give you
up; but now we may keep you as long as we wish, for you haven't any
particular engagement to interfere with our plans."

All this was said so frankly and unaffectedly that little Myrtle was
led to abandon her suspicion and grew radiant with delight. Indeed,
she hugged and squeezed the squirming Mumbles until he resented such
strenuous fondling and escaped to Patsy's more moderate embraces.
Myrtle had never yet ridden in an automobile, and the prospect of
a long journey across the country in a big touring car, with
California's roses and sunshine at the end of it, was certainly
alluring enough to intoxicate one far more accustomed to pleasure than
this friendless, impoverished girl.

After the cousins had explained all their plans to Myrtle and assured
her she was to be their cherished guest for a long time—until she was
well and strong again, at the least—they broached the subject of
her outfit. The poor child flushed painfully while admitting the
meagerness of her wardrobe. All her possessions were contained in one
small canvas "hold-all," and she lacked many necessities which her
callous aunt had suggested that Uncle Anson might be induced to buy
for her once she had joined him in Leadville. Uncle John's nieces grew
more and more indignant as they discovered the details of this selfish
woman's crime—for Patsy declared it was nothing less than a crime to
send a helpless child far into the West to search for an unknown uncle
whose whereabouts were only conjectural.

That very afternoon Beth and Patsy began shopping for Myrtle, and
presently all sorts of parcels, big and little, began to arrive for
their new protégé. Myrtle was amazed and awed by the splendor of her
new apparel, and could scarcely believe her good fortune. It seemed
like a fairy tale to her, and she imagined herself a Cinderella with
two fairy godmothers who were young and pretty girls possessing the
purse of Fortunatus and the generosity of Glinda the Good. At night,
when she was supposed to be asleep, Myrtle crept from her bed, turned
on the electric light and gloated over her treasures, which she had
almost feared might vanish into thin air and leave her as desolate as
before.

Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, the girls took Myrtle out
with them to some of the shops, fitting her to shoes and gloves and
having her try on some ready-made gowns so that they might be quickly
altered for her use. Patsy also bought her a set of soft and pretty
furs, thinking she might need them on the journey if the weather
continued cool, and this seemed to cap the climax of Myrtle's
happiness.

"What 'stonishes me most," gasped the child, trying to get her breath
between the surprises she experienced, "is how you can think of so
many things to do for me. Of course I know you are rich; but I've
never before heard of rich people being so very generous to poor
ones."

"Once," said Beth, gravely, "we were poor ourselves, Patsy and I, and
had to work hard for our living. That was before our Uncle John came
and gave us a share of his money, together with his love and sympathy.
Isn't it natural, my dear, that we should now be eager to share our
good fortune with you, since we have more money than we can use
otherwise, and you are to be our little friend and companion?"

"Perhaps so," replied Myrtle, smiling gaily and much comforted by the
explanation. "But, oh dear! I'm so glad you found me!"

"We are glad, too," said Patsy. "But here it is, time for luncheon,
and we've wasted the whole morning in shopping. I'm sure the Major
will be cross if we do not hurry back to the hotel."

But the Major was not cross when they met him in Uncle John's sitting
room. He beamed upon the three girls most genially, for he liked
Myrtle and fully approved all that was being done for her.

"Of course it's like Patsy," he had said to Mr. Merrick that morning.
"She couldn't help being a sweet ministering angel if she tried; and
Beth is growing more and more like her. It will do those girls good,
John, to have some human being to coddle and care for. If Patsy could
have a fault, it would be wasting so much affection on that bunch o'
rags Mumbles, who audaciously chewed up one of my pet slippers while I
was at dinner last evening. No dog is a fit thing to occupy a girl's
time, and this imp o' mischief Mumbles must take a back seat from now
on."

Uncle John laughed, for he knew his brother-in-law had never conquered
his antipathy for poor Mumbles, and realized why.

"Take care that you do not get jealous of Myrtle," he replied.
"You're a selfish old beast, and don't wish Patsy to love anyone but
yourself."

"And why should she?" was the inquiry. "Any dutiful daughter ought to
be satisfied with loving such a father as I am."

"And in that," remarked Uncle John, whimsically, "you remind me of
Wampus. You should strut around and say: 'Behold me! I am Patsy's
father!'"

The Major was full of news at luncheon time.

"What do you think, my dears?" he said, addressing the girls. "Your
crazy uncle must have had another snooze, unbeknown to us, for he's
got the wildest idea into his head that human brains—or lack of
them—ever conceived."

"You are not very respectful, sir," retorted Mr. Merrick stiffly,
as he ate his salad. "But we must not expect too much of a disabled
soldier—and an Irishman to boot—who has not been accustomed to good
society."

Major Doyle looked at his brother-in-law with an approving smile.

"Very well put, John," he said. "You're improving in repartee.
Presently you'll add that I'm unlettered and uncivilized, and no fit
associate for a person who has made an egregious fortune out of tin
cans in the wilds of Oregon."

"But what's the news?" asked Patsy impatiently. "What new idea has
Uncle John conceived?"

"First," replied the Major, "he has bought an automobile as big as a
baggage car. Next he has engaged a chauffeur who is a wild Canadian
Indian with a trace of erratic French blood in his veins—a
combination liable to result in anything. Mr. Wampus, the half-breed
calls himself, and from the looks of him he's murdered many a one in
his day."

"Oh, Major!"

"Show me an automobile driver that hasn't. Myrtle knows. It's no trick
to knock over a peaceful pedestrian or so, to say nothing of chickens,
cats and dogs mangled by the roadside. I confidently expect he'll make
a pancake of dear little Mumbles before he's five miles on the road.
Eh, Patsy?"

"Be sensible, Daddy."

"It's my strong point. If I'm any judge of character this Wampus is a
speed fiend."

"He is recommended as a very careful driver," said Mr. Merrick; "and
moreover he has signed a contract to obey my orders."

"Very good," said Beth. "I'm not afraid of Mr. Wampus. What next,
Major?"

"Next," continued Patsy's father, with a solemn wink at the row of
curious faces, "your inventive relative has ordered the automobile
rebuilt, thinking he's wiser than the makers. He's having a furnace
put in it, for one thing—it's a limousine, you know, and all enclosed
in glass. Also it's as big as a barn, as I said."

"You said a freight car," observed Patsy.

"True. A small barn or a big freight car. The seats are to be made
convertible into sleeping berths, so if we get caught out overnight we
have all the comforts of a hotel except the bell boys."

"I'll be the bell boy," promised Patsy.

"Also we're to take a portable kitchen along, like they use in the
army, with a gasoline stove all complete. The thing fits under the
back seat, I believe."

"All this," said Beth, "strikes me as being very sensible and a credit
to Uncle John's genius. I'm a good cook, as you know, and the kitchen
outfit appeals to me. But how about provisions?"

"Provisions are being provided," replied her uncle, genially
smiling at her praise. However scornfully the Major might view his
preparations he was himself mightily proud of them.

"Tinned stuff, I presume," remarked his brother-in-law. "John Merrick
has a weakness for tin cans, having got his money out of them."

"You're wrong," protested Uncle John. "I merely made my money from the
tin the cans were made of. But we won't get money out of these cans
when they're opened; it will be something better, such as sardines and
hominy, preserved cream and caviar, beans and boned chicken."

"Sounds fine!" cried Patsy with enthusiasm. "But how can you arrange
to carry so much, Uncle?"

"The limousine body is pretty big, as the Major says, and high enough
to allow me to put in a false bottom. In the space beneath it I shall
stow all the bedding, the eatables and kitchen utensils, and a small
tent. Then we shall be prepared for whatever happens."

"I doubt it," objected the Major. "There's gasoline to be reckoned
with. It's well enough to feed ourselves, but what if we ran short of
the precious feed for the engines?"

"The two tanks will hold sixty gallons. That ought to carry us any
reasonable distance," replied Mr. Merrick.

"You see, Daddy, our Uncle John is an experienced traveler, while you
are not," declared Patsy. "In all our journeys together I've found him
full of resources and very farsighted. This trip doesn't worry me at
all."

"Nor me," added Beth. "We are sure to have a delightful time under
Uncle's auspices."

"Wampus," said Uncle John, "is so pleased with my preparations that he
wants us to start in the car from here."

"Can you put it on runners, like a sledge?" asked the Major. "That's
the only way it could travel through this snow. Or perhaps you'll hire
a snowplow to go ahead of it."

"No; I told Wampus it was impracticable," was the reply. "We shall
load our machine on a flat car and ship it to Albuquerque, which is in
New Mexico and almost directly south of Denver. We shall then be over
the worst grades of the Rocky Mountains."

"And which way do we go then?" inquired Beth.

"I have not yet decided. We can go still farther south, into Texas,
or make our way down into Phoenix and across the prairies to Imperial
Valley, or follow the Santa Fe route by way of the Grand Canyon."

"Oh, let's go that way!" exclaimed Patsy.

"And freeze to death?" asked the Major. "It's the northernmost route."

"When we get to Albuquerque we will be below the line of frosts and
snow," explained Mr. Merrick. "The climate is genial all through that
section during winter. Haggerty says—"

"I guessed it!" groaned the Major. "If Haggerty recommends this trip
we'll surely be in trouble."

"Aside from Haggerty, Wampus knows that country thoroughly," said
Uncle John stoutly.

"Tell me: did Haggerty recommend Wampus?"

"No."

"Then there's hopes of the fellow. As you say, John, there is no need
to decide until we get to Albuquerque. When do we make the start?"

"Day after to-morrow. The car will be shipped to-morrow night, but our
party will follow by daylight, so as to see Colorado Springs, Pike's
Peak and Pueblo as we pass by them."

"So this is Albuquerque," observed Patsy Doyle, as they alighted from
the train. "Is it a big town playing peek-a-boo among those hills,
Uncle John, or is this really all there is to the place?"

"It's a pretty big town, my dear. Most of the houses are back on the
prairie, but fortunately our hold is just here at the depot."

It was a quaint, attractive building, made of adobe cement, in the
ancient mission style; but it proved roomy and extremely comfortable.

"Seems to me," whispered Myrtle to Beth, "we're high up on the
mountains, even yet."

"So we are," was the reply. "We're just between Glorietta Pass and the
Great Continental Divide. But the steepest of the Rockies are behind
us, and now the slopes are more gradual all the way to California. How
do you like it, dear?"

"Oh, the mountains are grand!" exclaimed Myrtle. "I had never imagined
anything so big and stately and beautiful." The other girls had seen
mountains before, but this was their friend's first experience, and
they took much pleasure in Myrtle's enthusiastic delight over all she
saw.

Adjoining the hotel was a bazaar, in front of which sat squatted upon
the ground two rows of Mojave Indians, mostly squaws, with their
curious wares spread out for sale upon blankets. There must have
been a score of them, and they exhibited odd pottery ornaments of
indistinguishable shapes, strings of glass beads and beadwork bags,
and a few really fine jardinieres and baskets. After the girls had
been to their rooms and established themselves in the hotel they
hurried out to interview the Indians, Myrtle Dean supporting herself
by her crutches while Patsy and Beth walked beside her. The lame girl
seemed to attract the squaws at once, and one gave her a bead necklace
while another pressed upon her a small brown earthenware fowl with
white spots all over it. This latter might have been meant to
represent a goose, an ostrich or a guinea hen; but Myrtle was
delighted with it and thanked the generous squaw, who responded merely
with a grunt, not understanding English. A man in a wide sombrero who
stood lazily by observed the incident and said: