Aunt Jane's Nieces and Uncle John. Baum Lyman Frank

      "And in that," remarked Uncle John, whimsically, "you remind me of Wampus. You should strut around and say: 'Behold me! I am Patsy's father!'"

      The Major was full of news at luncheon time.

      "What do you think, my dears?" he said, addressing the girls. "Your crazy uncle must have had another snooze, unbeknown to us, for he's got the wildest idea into his head that human brains – or lack of them – ever conceived."

      "You are not very respectful, sir," retorted Mr. Merrick stiffly, as he ate his salad. "But we must not expect too much of a disabled soldier – and an Irishman to boot – who has not been accustomed to good society."

      Major Doyle looked at his brother-in-law with an approving smile.

      "Very well put, John," he said. "You're improving in repartee. Presently you'll add that I'm unlettered and uncivilized, and no fit associate for a person who has made an egregious fortune out of tin cans in the wilds of Oregon."

      "But what's the news?" asked Patsy impatiently. "What new idea has

      Uncle John conceived?"

      "First," replied the Major, "he has bought an automobile as big as a baggage car. Next he has engaged a chauffeur who is a wild Canadian Indian with a trace of erratic French blood in his veins – a combination liable to result in anything. Mr. Wampus, the half-breed calls himself, and from the looks of him he's murdered many a one in his day."