Aunt Jane's Nieces at Millville
Being no longer
absorbed in business, he had come to detest its every detail, and so
allowed his bankers to care for his fortune and his brother-in-law to
disburse his income, while he himself strove to enjoy life in a shy and
boyish fashion that was as unusual in a man of his wealth as it was
admirable. He had never married.
Patricia was the apple of Uncle John's eye, and the one goddess
enshrined in her doting father's heart. Glancing at her, as she sat here
at table in her plain muslin gown, a stranger would be tempted to wonder
why. She was red-haired, freckled as a robin's egg, pug-nosed and
wide-mouthed. But her blue eyes were beautiful, and they sparkled with a
combination of saucy mischief and kindly consideration for others that
lent her face an indescribable charm.
Everyone loved Patsy Doyle, and people would gaze longer at her
smiling-lips and dancing eyes than upon many a more handsome but less
attractive face. She was nearly seventeen years old, not very tall, and
her form, to speak charitably, was more neat than slender.
"A while ago," said the Major, resuming the conversation as he carved
the roast, "a young fellow came to me who had invented a new sort of
pump to inflate rubber tires. He wanted capital to patent the pump and
put it on the market. The thing looked pretty good, John; so I lent him
a thousand of your money."
"Quite right," returned Uncle John, nodding.
"But pretty soon he came back with a sad tale. He was in a bad fix.
Another fellow was contesting his patent and fighting hard to head him
off. It would take a lot of money to fight back--three thousand, at
least. But he was decent about it, after all. His father had left him a
little farm at Millville. He couldn't say what it was worth, but there
were sixty acres and some good buildings, and he would deed it to you as
security if you would let him have three thousand more."
"So you took the farm and gave him the money?"
"I did, sir. Perhaps I am to blame; but I liked the young fellow's
looks.
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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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