Aunt Janes Nieces and Uncle John

Aunt Jane's Nieces and Uncle
John

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Edith Van Dyne
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Title: Aunt Jane's Nieces and Uncle John
Author: Edith Van Dyne
Release Date: November 18, 2003 [eBook #10124]
Language: English
Chatacter set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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JANE'S NIECES AND UNCLE JOHN***
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AUNT JANE'S NIECES AND UNCLE JOHN

BY
EDITH VAN DYNE
AUTHOR OF "AUNT JANE'S NIECES," "AUNT JANE'S NIECES
ABROAD," "AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT MILLVILLE," "AUNT
JANE'S NIECES AT WORK." "AUNT JANE'S NIECES IN
SOCIETY," ETC.
1911

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I
INTRODUCING "MUMBLES" II UNCLE JOHN'S IDEA III
MYRTLE DEAN IV AN INTERESTING PROTÉGÉ V A WONDER
ON WHEELS VI WAMPUS SPEEDS VII THE CHAUFFEUR
IMPROVES VIII AMONG THE INDIANS IX NATURE'S
MASTERPIECE X A COYOTE SERENADE XI A REAL
ADVENTURE AT LAST XII CAPTURED XIII THE FIDDLER XIV
THE ESCAPE XV THE ROMANCE OF DAN'L XVI THE
LODGING AT SPOTVILLE XVII YELLOW POPPIES XVIII THE
SILENT MAN XIX "THREE TIMES" XX ON POINT LOMA XXI A
TALE OF WOE XXII THE CONFESSION
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCING "MUMBLES"
Major Gregory Doyle paced nervously up and down the floor of the
cosy sitting room.
"Something's surely happened to our Patsy!" he exclaimed.

A little man with a calm face and a bald head, who was seated near the
fire, continued to read his newspaper and paid no attention to the
outburst.
"Something has happened to Patsy!" repeated the Major, "Patsy"
meaning his own and only daughter Patricia.
"Something is always happening to everyone," said the little man,
turning his paper indifferently. "Something is happening to me, for I
can't find the rest of this article. Something is happening to you, for
you're losing your temper."
"I'm not, sir! I deny it."
"As for Patsy," continued the other, "she is sixteen years old and knows
New York like a book. The girl is safe enough."
"Then where is she? Tell me that, sir. Here it is, seven o'clock, dark as
pitch and raining hard, and Patsy is never out after six. Can you, John
Merrick, sit there like a lump o' putty and do nothing, when your niece
and my own darlin' Patsy is lost--or strayed or stolen?"
"What would you propose doing?" asked Uncle John, looking up with a
smile.
"We ought to get out the police department. It's raining and cold, and--"
"Then we ought to get out the fire department. Call Mary to put on
more coal and let's have it warm and cheerful when Patsy comes in."
"But, sir--"
"The trouble with you, Major, is that dinner is half an hour late. One
can imagine all sorts of horrible things on an empty stomach. Now,
then--"
He paused, for a pass-key rattled in the hall door and a moment later
Patsy Doyle, rosy and animated, fresh from the cold and wet outside,
smilingly greeted them.

She had an umbrella, but her cloak was dripping with moisture and in
its ample folds was something huddled and bundled up like a baby,
which she carefully protected.
"So, then," exclaimed the Major, coming forward for a kiss, "you're
back at last, safe and sound. Whatever kept ye out 'til this time o' night,
Patsy darlin'?" he added, letting the brogue creep into his tone, as he
did when stirred by any emotion.
Uncle John started to take off her wet cloak.
"Look out!" cried Patsy; "you'll disturb Mumbles."
The two men looked at her bundle curiously.
"Who's Mumbles?" asked one.
"What on earth is Mumbles?" inquired the other.
The bundle squirmed and wriggled. Patsy sat down on the floor and
carefully unwound the folds of the cloak. A tiny dog, black and shaggy,
put his head out, blinked sleepily at the lights, pulled his fat, shapeless
body away from the bandages and trotted solemnly over to the fireplace.
He didn't travel straight ahead, as dogs ought to walk, but "cornerwise,"
as Patsy described it; and when he got to the hearth he rolled himself
into a ball, lay down and went to sleep.
During this performance a tense silence had pervaded the room. The
Major looked at the dog rather gloomily; Uncle John with critical eyes
that held a smile in them; Patsy with ecstatic delight.
"Isn't he a dear!" she exclaimed.
"It occurs to me," said the Major stiffly, "that this needs an explanation.
Do you mean to say, Patsy Doyle, that you've worried the hearts out