Aunt Jane's Nieces Out West
"
"There's another possibility," remarked Uncle John. "He may be suffering
agonies with no one to help him."
Patsy's face was white as chalk. The last hour or two had brought her
considerable anxiety and her uncle's horrible suggestion quite unnerved
her. She stole away to the office and inquired the number of Mr. Jones'
room. It was on the ground floor and easily reached by a passage. The
girl tiptoed up to the door and putting her ear to the panel listened
intently. A moment later a smile broke over her face; she chuckled
delightedly and then turned and ran buck to her friends.
"He's snoring like a walrus!" she cried triumphantly.
"Are you sure they are not groans?" asked Arthur.
"Pah! Can't I recognize a snore when I hear it? And I'll bet it's the
first sound sleep he's had in a month."
Mr. Merrick and Arthur went to the door of the boy's room to satisfy
themselves that Patsy was not mistaken, and the regularity of the sounds
quickly convinced them the girl was right. So they had a merry party at
luncheon, calling Patsy "Doctor" with grave deference and telling her she
had probably saved the life of A. Jones for a second time.
"And now," proposed Uncle John, when the repast was over, "let us drive
down to the sea and have a look at that beautiful launch that came in
yesterday. Everyone is talking about it and they say it belongs to some
foreign prince."
So they motored to Santa Monica and spent the afternoon on the sands,
watching the bathers and admiring the graceful outlines of the big yacht
lying at anchor a half mile from the shore. The boat was something of a
mystery to everybody. It was named the "Arabella" and had come from
Hawaii via San Francisco; but what it was doing here and who the owner
might be were questions no one seemed able to answer. Rumor had it that
a Japanese prince had come in it to inspect the coast line, but newspaper
reporters were forbidden to scale the side and no satisfaction was given
their eager questioning by the bluff old captain who commanded the craft.
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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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