Aunt Jane's Nieces at Work
CHAPTER I
MISS DOYLE INTERFERES
"Daddy," said Patricia Doyle at the breakfast table in her cosy New York
apartment, "here is something that will make you sit up and take
notice."
"My dear Patsy," was the reply, "it's already sitting up I am, an'
taking waffles. If anything at all would make me take notice it's your
own pretty phiz."
"Major," remarked Uncle John, helping himself to waffles from a fresh
plate Nora brought in, "you Irish are such confirmed flatterers that you
flatter your own daughters. Patsy isn't at all pretty this morning.
She's too red and freckled."
Patsy laughed and her blue eyes danced.
"That comes from living on your old farm at Millville," she retorted.
"We've only been back three days, and the sunburn sticks to me like a
burr to a kitten."
"Pay no attention to the ould rascal, Patsy," advised the Major,
composedly. "An' stop wavin' that letter like a white flag of surrender.
Who's it from?"
"Kenneth."
"Aha! An' how is our lad?"
"Why, he's got himself into a peck of trouble. That's what I want to
talk to you and Uncle John about," she replied, her happy face growing
as serious as it could ever become.
"Can't he wiggle out?" asked Uncle John.
"Out of what?"
"His trouble."
"It seems not. Listen--"
"Oh, tell us about it, lassie," said the Major. "If I judge right
there's some sixty pages in that epistle. Don't bother to read it
again."
"But every word is important," declared Patsy, turning the letter over,
"--except the last page," with a swift flush.
Uncle John laughed. His shrewd old eyes saw everything.
"Then read us the last page, my dear."
"I'll tell you about it," said Patsy, quickly. "It's this way, you see.
Kenneth has gone into politics!"
"More power to his elbow!" exclaimed the Major.
"I can't imagine it in Kenneth," said Uncle John, soberly. "What's he in
for?"
"For--for--let's see. Oh, here it is. For member of the House of
Representatives from the Eighth District."
"He's flying high, for a fledgling," observed the Major.
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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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