Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  “Might look in a directory” suggested the latter, uncertainly.

  “Of course,” added the Major.

  “But what does it all mean?” demanded Patsy, with sudden fierceness. “Is it a joke? Isham, Marvin & Co., the great bankers! What do I know of them, or they of me?”

  “That isn’t the point,” observed the Major, reflectively. “Who’s their unknown and mysterious client? That’s the question.”

  “To be sure,” said Uncle John. “They’re only the agents. You must have a fairy godmother, Patsy.”

  She laughed at the idea, and shook her head.

  “They don’t exist in these days, Uncle John. But the whole thing must be a joke, and nothing more.”

  “We’ll discover that,” asserted the Major, shrewdly scrutinizing the letter, which he had taken from Patsy’s hands. “It surely looks genuine enough, on the face of it. I’ve seen the bank letter-head before, and this is no forgery, you can take my word. Get your things on, Patsy. Instead of walking in the park we’ll hunt up Willing Square, and we’ll take the keys with us.”

  “A very good idea,” said Uncle John. “I’d like to go with you, if I may.”

  “Of course you may,” answered the girl. “You’re one of the family now,

  Uncle John, and you must help us to unravel the mystery.”

  The Major took off his carpet slippers and pulled on his boots, while Patricia was getting ready for the walk. Uncle John wandered around the room aimlessly for a time, and then took off his black tie and put on the white one.

  Patsy noticed this, when she came out of her closet, and laughed merrily.

  “You mustn’t be getting excited, Uncle John, until we see how this wonderful adventure turns out.” she said. “But I really must wash and iron that necktie for you, if you’re going to wear it on Sundays.”

  “Not a bad idea,” said the Major. “But come, are we all ready?”

  They walked down the rickety steps very gravely and sedately, Patsy jingling the keys as they went, and made their way to the corner drug store, where the Major searched in the directory for Willing Square.

  To his surprise it proved to be only a few blocks away.

  “But it’s in the dead swell neighborhood,” he explained, “where I have no occasion to visit. We can walk it in five minutes.”

  Patsy hesitated.

  “Really, it’s no use going, Dad,” she protested. “It isn’t in reason that I’d have a place presented me in a dead swell neighborhood. Now, is it?”

  “We’ll have to go, just the same,” said Uncle John. “I couldn’t sleep a wink tonight if we didn’t find out what this all means.”

  “True enough,” agreed the Major. “Come along, Patsy; it’s this way.”

  Willing Square was not very big, but it was beautiful with flowers and well tended and 3708 proved to be a handsome building with a white marble front, situated directly on a corner. The Major examined it critically from the sidewalk, and decided it contained six suites of apartments, three on each side.

  “D must be the second floor to the right.” he said, “and that’s a fine location, sure enough.”

  A porter appeared at the front door, which stood open, and examined the group upon the sidewalk with evident curiosity.

  Patsy walked up to him, and ignoring the big gold figures over the entrance she enquired:

  “Is this 3708 Willing Square?”

  “Yes, Miss,” answered the porter; “are you Miss Doyle?”

  “I am,” she answered, surprised.

  “One flight up, Miss, and turn to the right,” he continued, promptly; and then he winked over the girl’s head at Uncle John, who frowned so terribly that the man drew aside and disappeared abruptly. The Major and Patsy were staring at one another, however, and did not see this by-play.

  “Let’s go up,” said the Major, in a husky voice, and proceeded to mount the stairs.

  Patsy followed close behind, and then came Uncle John. One flight up they paused at a door marked “D”, upon the panel of which was a rack bearing a card printed with the word “Doyle.”

  “Well, well!” gasped the Major. “Who’d have thought it, at all at all!”

  Patsy, with trembling fingers, put a key in the lock, and after one or two efforts opened the door.

  The sun was shining brilliantly into a tiny reception hall, furnished most luxuriously.

  The Major placed his hat on the rack, and Uncle John followed suit.

  No one spoke a word as they marched in humble procession into the living-room, their feet pressing without sound into the thick rugs. Everything here was fresh and new, but selected with excellent taste and careful attention to detail. Not a thing; was lacking, from the pretty upright piano to the enameled clock ticking upon the mantel. The dining-room was a picture, indeed, with stained-glass windows casting their soft lights through the draperies and the side-board shining with silver and glass. There was a cellarette in one corner, the Major noticed, and it was well stocked.

  Beyond was a pantry with well filled shelves and then the kitchen — this last filled with every article that could possibly be needed. In a store-room were enough provisions to stock a grocery-store and Patsy noted with amazement that there was ice in the refrigerator, with cream and milk and butter cooling beside it.

  They felt now as if they were intruding in some fairy domain. It was all exquisite, though rather tiny; but such luxury was as far removed from the dingy rooms they had occupied as could well be imagined. The Major coughed and ahemmed continually; Patsy ah’d and oh’d and seemed half frightened; Uncle John walked after them silently, but with a pleased smile that was almost childish upon his round and rugged face.

  Across the hall were three chambers, each with a separate bath, while one had a pretty dressing-room added.

  “This will be Patsy’s room,” said the Major, with a vast amount of dignity.

  “Of course,” said Uncle John. “The pins on the cushion spell

  ‘Patricia,’ don’t they?”

  “So they do!” cried Patsy, greatly delighted.

  “And this room,” continued the Major, passing into the next, “will be mine. There are fine battle-scenes on the wall; and I declare, there’s just the place for the colonel’s photograph over the dresser!”

  “Cigars, too,” said Patsy, opening a little cabinet; “but ‘twill be a shame to smoke in this palace.”

  “Then I won’t live here!” declared the Major, stoutly, but no one heeded him.

  “Here is Uncle John’s room,” exclaimed the girl, entering the third chamber.

  “Mine?” enquired Uncle John in mild surprise.

  “Sure, sir; you’re one of the family, and I’m glad it’s as good as the

  Major’s, every bit.”

  Uncle John’s eyes twinkled.

  “I hope the bed is soft,” he remarked, pressing it critically.

  “It’s as good as the old sofa, any day,” said Patsy, indignantly.

  Just then a bell tinkled, and after looking at one another in silent consternation for a moment, the Major tiptoed stealthily to the front door, followed by the others.

  “What’ll we do?” asked Patsy, in distress.

  “Better open it,” suggested Uncle John, calmly.

  The Major did so, and there was a little maid bowing and smiling outside. She entered at once, closing the door behind her, and bowed again.

  “This is my new mistress, I suppose,” she said, looking at Patsy. “I am your servant, Miss Patricia.”

  Patsy gasped and stared at her. The maid was not much older than she was, but she looked pleasant and intelligent and in keeping with the rooms. She wore a gray dress with white collar and white apron and cap, and seemed so dainty and sweet that the Major and Uncle John approved her at once.

  Patsy sat down, from sheer lack of strength to stand up.

  “Who hired you, then?” she asked.

  “A gentleman from the bank,” was the reply. “I’m Mary,
if you please, Miss. And my wages are all arranged for in advance, so there will be nothing for you to pay,” said the little maid.

  “Can you cook?” asked Patsy, curiously.

  “Yes, Miss,” with a smile. “The dinner will be ready at one o’clock.”

  “Oh; you’ve been here before, then?”

  “Two days, Miss, getting ready for you.”

  “And where will you sleep?”

  “I’ve a little room beyond the kitchen. Didn’t you see it, Miss

  Patricia?”

  “No, Mary.”

  “Anything more at present, Miss Patricia?”

  “No, Mary.”

  The maid bowed again, and disappeared toward the kitchen, leaving an awe-struck group behind her.

  The Major whistled softly. Uncle John seemed quite unconcerned. Patsy took out her handkerchief. The tears would come in spite of her efforts.

  “I — I — I’m going to have a good cry,” she sobbed, and rushed into the living-room to throw herself flat upon the divan.

  “It’s all right,” said the Major, answering Uncle John’s startled look; “the cry will do her good. I’ve half a mind to join her myself.”

  But he didn’t. He followed Uncle John into the tatter’s room and smoked one of the newly-discovered cigars while the elder man lay back in an easy chair and silently puffed his pipe.

  By and bye Patsy joined them, no longer crying but radiant with glee.

  “Tell me, Daddy,” said she, perching on the arm of the Major’s chair, “who gave me all this, do you think?”

  “Not me,” answered the Major, positively. “I couldn’t do it on twelve a week, anyhow at all.”

  “And you robbed me of all my money when I came to town,” said Uncle

  John.

  “Stop joking,” said the girl. “There’s no doubt this place is intended for us, is there?”

  “None at all,” declared the Major. “It’s ours for three years, and not a penny to pay.”

  “Well, then, do you think it’s Kenneth?”

  The Major shook his head.

  “I don’t know the lad.” he said, “and he might be equal to it, although I doubt it. But he can’t touch his money till he comes of age, and it isn’t likely his lawyer guardian would allow such extravagances.”

  “Then who can it be?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “It doesn’t seem to matter,” remarked Uncle John, lighting a fresh pipe. “You’re not supposed to ask questions, I take it, but to enjoy your new home as much as you can.”

  “Ex — actly!” agreed the Major.

  “I’ve been thinking,” continued Uncle John, “that I’m not exactly fit for all this style, Patsy. I’ll have to get a new suit of clothes to match my new quarters. Will you give me back ten dollars of that money to buy ‘em with?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to,” she answered, thoughtfully.

  “We’ll have to go back to Becker’s flats to pack up our traps,” said the Major, “so we might as well go now.”

  “I hate to leave here for a single moment,” replied the girl.

  “Why?”

  “I’m afraid it will all disappear again.”

  “Nonsense!” said Uncle John. “For my part, I haven’t any traps, so

  I’ll stay here and guard the treasure till you return.”

  “Dinner is served, Miss Patricia,” said the small maid, appearing in the doorway.

  “Then let’s dine!” cried Patsy, clapping her hands gleefully; “and afterward the Major and I will make our last visit to Becker’s flats.”

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  LOUISE MAKES A DISCOVERY.

  Uncle John did not stay to guard the treasure, after all, for he knew very well it would not disappear.

  As soon as Patsy and the Major had departed for Becker’s flats, he took his own hat from the rack and walked away to hunt up another niece, Miss Louise Merrick, whose address he had casually obtained from Patsy a day or two before.

  It was near by, and he soon found the place — a pretty flat in a fashionable building, although not so exclusive a residence district as Willing Square.

  Up three flights he rode in the elevator, and then rang softly at the door which here the card of Mrs. Merrick.

  A maid opened it and looked at him enquiringly.

  “Are the ladies in?” he asked.

  “I’ll see. Your card, sir?”

  “I haven’t any.”

  She half closed the door.

  “Any name, then?”

  “Yes, John Merrick.”

  She closed the door entirely, and was gone several minutes. Then she came back and ushered him through the parlor into a small rear room.

  Mrs. Merrick arose from her chair by the window and advanced to meet him.

  “You are John Merrick?” she enquired.

  “Your husband’s brother, ma’am,” he replied.

  “How do you do, Uncle John?” called Louise, from the sofa. “Excuse my getting up, won’t you? And where in the world have you come from?”

  Mrs. Merrick sat down again.

  “Won’t you take a chair?” she said, stiffly.

  “I believe I will,” returned Uncle John. “I just came to make a call, you know.”

  “Louise has told me of you,” said the lady. “It was very unfortunate that your sister’s death deprived you of a home. An absurd thing, altogether, that fiasco of Jane Merrick’s.”

  “True,” he agreed.

  “But I might have expected it, knowing the woman’s character as I did.”

  Uncle John wondered what Jane’s character had to do with the finding of Tom Bradley’s last will; but he said nothing.

  “Where are you living?” asked Louise.

  “Not anywhere, exactly,” he answered, “although Patsy has offered me a home and I’ve been sleeping on a sofa in her living-room, the past week.”

  “I advise you to stay with the Doyles,” said Mrs. Merrick, quickly. “We haven’t even a sofa to offer you here, our flat is so small; otherwise we would be glad to be of some help to you. Have you found work?”

  “I haven’t tried to, yet, ma’am.”

  “It will be hard to get, at your age, of course. But that is a matter in which we cannot assist you.”

  “Oh, I’m not looking for help, ma’am.”

  She glanced at his worn clothing and soiled white necktie, and smiled.

  “But we want to do something for you,” said Louise. “Now,” sitting up and regarding him gravely, “I’m going to tell you a state secret. We are living, in this luxurious way, on the principal of my father’s life insurance. At our present rate of expenditure we figure that the money will last us two years and nine months longer. By that time I shall be comfortably married or we will go bankrupt — as the fates decide. Do you understand the situation?”

  “Perfectly. It’s very simple,” said the old man.

  “And rather uncertain, isn’t it? But in spite of this, we are better able to help you than any of your other relatives. The Doyles are hard-working folks, and very poor. Beth says that Professor De Graf is over head and ears in debt and earns less every year, so he can’t be counted upon. In all the Merrick tribe the only tangible thing is my father’s life insurance, which I believe you once helped him to pay a premium on.”

  “I’d forgotten that,” said Uncle John.

  “Well, we haven’t. We don’t want to appear ungenerous in your eyes. Some day we may need help ourselves. But just now we can’t offer you a home, and, as mother says, you’d better stay with the Doyles. We have talked of making you a small allowance; but that may not be necessary. When you need assistance you must come to us, and we’ll do whatever we can, as long as our money lasts. Won’t that be the better way?”

  Uncle John was silent for a moment. Then he asked:

  “Why have you thought it necessary to assist me?”

  Louise seemed surprised.

  “You are old and seemed
to be without means,” she answered, “and that five thousand Aunt Jane left to you turned out to be a myth. But tell me, have you money, Uncle John?”

  “Enough for my present needs,” he said, smiling.

  Mrs. Merrick seemed greatly relieved.

  “Then there is no need of our trying to be generous,” she said, “and I am glad of that on all accounts.”

  “I just called for a little visit,” said Uncle John. “It seemed unfriendly not to hunt you up, when I was in town.”

  “I’m glad you did,” replied Mrs. Merrick, glancing at the clock. “But Louise expects a young gentleman to call upon her in a few minutes, and perhaps you can drop in again; another Sunday, for instance.”

  “Perhaps so,” said Uncle John, rising with a red face. “I’ll see.”

  “Good bye, Uncle,” exclaimed Louise, rising to take his hand. “Don’t feel that we’ve hurried you away, but come in again, whenever you feel like it.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” he said, and went away.

  Louise approached the open window, that led to a broad balcony. The people in the next flat — young Mr. Isham, the son of the great banker, and his wife — were sitting on the balcony, overlooking the street, but Louise decided to glance over the rail to discover if the young gentleman she so eagerly awaited chanced to be in sight.

  As she did so Mr. Isham cried in great excitement:

  “There he is, Myra — that’s him!” and pointed toward the sidewalk.

  “Whom?” enquired Mrs. Isham, calmly.

  “Why John Merrick! John Merrick, of Portland, Oregon.”

  “And who is John Merrick?” asked the lady.

  “One of the richest men in the world, and the best client our house has. Isn’t he a queer looking fellow? And dresses like a tramp. But he’s worth from eighty to ninety millions, at least, and controls most of the canning and tin-plate industries of America. I wonder what brought him into this neighborhood?”

  Louise drew back from the window, pale and trembling. Then she caught up a shawl and rushed from the room. Uncle John must be overtaken and brought back, at all hazards.

  The elevator was coming down, fortunately, and she descended quickly and reached the street, where she peered eagerly up and down for the round, plump figure of the little millionaire. But by some strange chance he had already turned a corner and disappeared.