Aunt Jane's Nieces
"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.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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