A WAY TO FORGET
The faces of the group, as Uncle John finished reading, were worth
studying. Arthur Weldon was white with anger, and his eyes blazed. Silas
Watson stared blankly at his old friend, wondering if it was because he
was growing old that he had been so easily hoodwinked by this saucy
child. Beth was biting her lip to keep back the tears of humiliation
that longed to trickle down her cheeks. Louise frowned because she
remembered the hard things Tato had said of her. Patsy was softly crying
at the loss of her friend.
Then Kenneth laughed, and the sound sent a nervous shiver through the
group.
"Tato's a brick!" announced the boy, audaciously. "Can't you see, you
stupids, that the thing is a good joke on us all? Or are you too thin
skinned to laugh at your own expense?"
"Oh, we can laugh," responded Uncle John, gravely. "But if Tato's a
brick it's because she is hard and insensible. The loss of the money
doesn't hurt me, but to think the wicked little lass made me love her
when she didn't deserve it is the hardest blow I have ever received."
That made Patsy sob outright, while Louise ejaculated, with scorn: "The
little wretch!"
"It serves us right for having confidence in a child reared to crime and
murder from the cradle," said Arthur, rather savagely. "I don't know how
much money I am worth, but I'd gladly spend another thirty thousand to
bring this wretched creature to justice."
"Money won't do it," declared the lawyer, shaking his head regretfully.
"The rascals are too clever to be caught in Europe. It would be
different at home."
"Well, the best thing to do is to grin and bear it, and forget the
unpleasant incident as soon as possible," said Uncle John. "I feel as if
I'd had my pocket picked by my best friend, but it isn't nearly as
disgraceful as being obliged to assist the thief by paying ransom
money. The loss amounts to nothing to either of us, and such treachery,
thank goodness, is rare in the world. We can't afford to let the thing
make us unhappy, my friends; so cheer up, all of you, and don't dwell
upon it any more than you can help."
They left Syracuse a rather solemn group, in spite of this wise advice,
and journeyed back to Naples and thence to Rome. There was much to see
here, and they saw it so energetically that when they boarded the train
for Florence they were all fagged out and could remember nothing clearly
except the Coliseum and the Baths of Carracalla.
Florence was just now a bower of roses and very beautiful. But Kenneth
lugged them to the galleries day after day until Uncle John declared he
hated to look an "old master" in the face.
"After all, they're only daubs," he declared. "Any ten-year-old boy in
America can paint better pictures."
"Don't let anyone hear you say that, dear," cautioned Patsy. "They'd
think you don't know good art."
"But I do," he protested. "If any of those pictures by old masters was
used in a street-car 'ad' at home it would be money wasted, for no one
would look at them. The people wouldn't stand for it a minute."
"They are wonderful for the age in which they were painted," said
Kenneth, soberly. "You must remember that we have had centuries in which
to improve our art, since then."
"Oh, I've a proper respect for old age, I hope," replied Uncle John;
"but to fall down and worship a thing because it's gray-haired and
out-of-date isn't just my style. All of these 'Oh!'s' and 'Ahs!' over
the old masters are rank humbug, and I'm ashamed of the people that
don't know better."
And now Arthur Weldon was obliged to bid good-bye to Louise and her
friends and take a train directly to Paris to catch the steamer for
home. His attorney advised him that business demanded his immediate
presence, and he was obliged to return, however reluctantly.
Kenneth and Mr. Watson also left the party at Florence, as the boy
artist wished to remain there for a time to study the pictures that
Uncle John so bitterly denounced. The others went on to Venice, which
naturally proved to the nieces one of the most delightful places they
had yet seen. Mr. Merrick loved it because he could ride in a gondola
and rest his stubby legs, which had become weary with tramping through
galleries and cathedrals. These last monuments, by the way, had grown to
become a sort of nightmare to the little gentleman. The girls were
enthusiastic over cathedrals, and allowed none to escape a visit. For a
time Uncle John had borne up bravely, but the day of rebellion was soon
coming.
"No cathedrals in Venice, I hope?" he had said on their arrival.
"Oh, yes, dear; the loveliest one in the world! St. Mark's is here, you
know."
"But no St. Paul's or St. Peter's?"
"No, Uncle. There's the Saluta, and the--"
"Never mind. We'll do that first one, and then quit. What they build so
many churches for I can't imagine. Nobody goes to 'em but tourists, that
I can see."
He developed a streak of extravagance in Venice, and purchased Venetian
lace and Venetian glassware to such an extent that the nieces had to
assure him they were all supplied with enough to last them and their
friends for all time to come. Major Doyle had asked for a meerschaum
pipe and a Florentine leather pocket book; so Uncle John made a
collection of thirty-seven pipes of all shapes and sizes, and bought so
many pocketbooks that Patsy declared her father could use a different
one every day in the month.
"But they're handy things to have," said her uncle, "and we may not get
to Europe again in a hurry."
This was his excuse for purchasing many things, and it was only by
reminding him of the duty he would have to pay in New York that the
girls could induce him to desist.
This customs tax worried the old gentleman at times. Before this trip he
had always believed in a protective tariff, but now he referred to the
United States customs as a species of brigandage worse than that of Il
Duca himself.
They stopped at Milan to visit the great cathedral, and then raced
through Switzerland and made a dash from Luzerne to Paris.
"Thank heaven," said Uncle John, "there are no cathedrals in gay Paree,
at any rate."
"Oh, yes there are," they assured him. "We must see Notre Dame, anyway;
and there are a dozen other famous cathedrals."
Here is where Uncle John balked.
"See here, my dears," he announced, "Not a cathedral will I visit from
this time on! You can take a guide and go by yourselves if you feel you
can't let any get away from you. Go and find another of Mike Angelo's
last work; every church has got one. For my part, I've always been
religiously inclined, but I've been to church enough lately to last me
the rest of my natural life, and I've fully determined not to darken the
doors of another cathedral again. They're like circuses, anyhow; when
you've seen one, you've seen 'em all."
No argument would induce him to abandon this position; so the girls
accepted his proposal and visited their beloved cathedrals in charge of
a guide, whose well of information was practically inexhaustible if not
remarkable for its clarity.
The opera suited Uncle John better, and he freely revelled in the shops,
purchasing the most useless and preposterous things in spite of that
growing bugbear of the customs duties.
But finally this joyous holiday came to an end, as all good things will,
and they sailed from Cherbourg for New York.
Uncle John had six extra trunks, Patsy carried a French poodle that was
as much trouble as an infant in arms, and Louise engineered several
hat-boxes that could not be packed at the last minute. But the girls
embarked gay and rosy-cheeked and animated, and in spite of all the
excitement and pleasure that had attended their trip, not one of the
party was really sorry when the return voyage began.