Aunt Jane's Nieces
If you want to leave your money to the best o' the lot, you're as sure
of striking it right that way as any other."
"Nonsense!" said Jane Merrick, sharply. "I don't want to leave my
money to the best of the lot."
"No?"
"By no means. I want to leave it to the one I prefer--whether she's
the best or not."
"I see. Jane, I'll repeat my former observation. Your sex is a puzzle
that isn't worth solving. Good night, old girl."
"Good night, John."
CHAPTER XIII.
THE OTHER NIECE.
Patricia sat down opposite her Aunt Jane. She still wore her hat and
the gray wrap.
"Well, here I am," she exclaimed, with a laugh; "but whether I ought
to be here or not I have my doubts."
Aunt Jane surveyed her critically.
"You're a queer little thing," she said, bluntly. "I wonder why I took
so much trouble to get you."
"So do I," returned Patsy, her eyes twinkling. "You'll probably be
sorry for it."
Lawyer Watson, who had remained standing, now broke in nervously.
"I explained to Miss Doyle," said he, "that you were ill, and wanted
to see her. And she kindly consented to come to Elmhurst for a few
days."
"You see," said Patsy, "I'd just got Daddy away on his vacation, to
visit his old colonel. I've wanted him to go this three years back,
but he couldn't afford it until I got a raise this Spring. He'll have
a glorious old time with the colonel, and they'll fish and hunt and
drink whiskey all day, and fight the war all over again every evening.
So I was quite by myself when Mr. Watson came to me and wouldn't take
no for his answer."
"Why did you object to come here?" asked Aunt Jane.
"Well, I didn't know you; and I didn't especially want to know you.
Not that I bear grudges, understand, although you've been little of a
friend to my folks these past years. But you are rich and proud--and I
suspect you're a little cross, Aunt Jane--while we are poor and proud
and like to live our lives in our own way."
"Are you a working girl?" enquired Miss Merrick.
"Surely," said Patsy, "and drawing a big lump of salary every Saturday
night.
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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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