throuble--well, and your money. And a heap of throuble that confounded
farm has cost me, with one thing and another."

"What of it?" retorted the little round faced millionaire, leaning back
in his chair and staring fixedly at the other. "That's what I employ
you for."

"Now, now, gentlemen!" cried Patsy, earnestly. "I'll have no business
conversation at the table. You know my rules well enough."

"This isn't business," asserted the Major.

"Of course not," agreed Uncle John, mildly. "No one has any business
owning a farm. How did it happen. Major?"

The old soldier had already forgotten his grievance. He quarreled
persistently with his wealthy employer and brother-in-law--whom he
fairly adored--to prevent the possibility (as he often confided to
Patsy) of his falling down and worshiping him. John Merrick was a
multi-millionaire, to be sure; but there were palliating circumstances
that almost excused him. He had been so busily occupied in industry that
he never noticed how his wealth was piling up until he discovered it by
accident. Then he promptly retired, "to give the other fellows a
chance," and he now devoted his life to simple acts of charity and the
welfare and entertainment of his three nieces. He had rescued Major
Doyle and his daughter from a lowly condition and placed the former in
the great banking house of Isham, Marvin & Company, where John Merrick's
vast interests were protected and his income wisely managed. He had
given Patsy this cosy little apartment house at 3708 Willing Square and
made his home with her, from which circumstance she had come to be