"Don't bother Uncle John, Daddy," she said. "You know very well he
will carry out any whim that seizes him; especially if you oppose the
plan, which you usually do."

"He's the most erratic and irresponsible man that ever lived,"
announced her father, staring moodily at the spread handkerchief which
covered Uncle John's cherub-like features. "New York is good enough
for anybody, even in winter; and now that you're in society, Patsy--"

"Oh, bother society! I hate it."

"True," he agreed; "it's a regular treadmill when it has enslaved one,
and keeps you going on and on without progressing a bit. The object of
society is to tire you out and keep you from indulging in any other
occupation."

"You know nothing about it," observed Patsy, demurely, "and that is
why you love to rail at society. The things you know, Daddy dear, are
the things you never remark upon."

"Huh!" grunted the Major, and relapsed into silence.

Mumbles had finished his after-dinner nap and was now awakening to
activity. This dog's size, according to the Major, was "about 4x6; but
you can't tell which is the 4 and which the 6." He was distressingly
shaggy. Patsy could find the stump of his tail only by careful search.
Seldom were both eyes uncovered by hair at the same time. But, as his
new mistress had said, he was a wise little dog for one who had only
known the world for a few months, and his brain was exceedingly alert.