Aunt Jane's Nieces Out West
"
"That," she said, calmly eating her dessert, "was a glance of
scorn--burning, bitter scorn!"
"I maintain it was a squint," declared Arthur.
"That isn't her only expression," announced Uncle John, who loved these
little exchanges of good-humored banter. "On Monday I will show you Patsy
as a terror-stricken damsel in distress."
"Also Beth, still more distressful," added Patsy; and then they told
Louise and Arthur about the picture.
"Fine!" he cried. "I'm deeply gratified that my own relatives--"
"By marriage."
"I am gratified that my secondhand cousins have been so highly honored.
I'd rather see a good moving picture than the best play ever produced."
"You'll see a good one this time," asserted Patsy, "for we are the
stars."
"I think that unscrupulous Mr. Werner deserves a reprimand," said Louise.
"Oh, he apologized," explained Beth. "But I'm sure he'd take the same
liberty again if he had the chance."
"He admits that his love of art destroys his sense of propriety,"
said Patsy.
As they rose from the table Arthur deliberately turned to view the party
in the other corner, and then to the amazement of his friends he coolly
walked over and shook the elder lady's hand with evident pleasure. Next
moment he was being introduced to the two girls. The three cousins and
their Uncle John walked out of the dining hall and awaited Arthur Weldon
in the lobby.
"It is some old acquaintance, of course," said Louise. "Arthur knows a
tremendous lot of people and remembers everyone he ever has met."
When he rejoined them he brought the lady and the two beautiful girls
with him, introducing Mrs. Montrose as one of his former acquaintances in
New York, where she had been a near neighbor to the Weldons. The girls,
who proved to be her nieces instead of her daughters, were named Maud and
Florence Stanton, Maud being about eighteen years of age and Florence
perhaps fifteen. Maud's beauty was striking, as proved by Patsy's
admiration at first sight; Florence was smaller and darker, yet very
dainty and witching, like a Dresden shepherdess.
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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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