On With Torchy Part 19

"Rubbish!" says the old boy. "In the first place, it isn't work.

Might be for a woman, maybe, but not for an able-bodied man. You know my sentiments on that point well enough. In the second place, when I asked you two to come and live with me, there was no longer any need for him to do that sort of thing. And you understood that too."

Edith sighs and nods her head.

"But still he goes on with his sissy paint daubing!" says Uncle.

"They're not daubs!" flashes back Edith. "Brooks has been doing some perfectly splendid work. Everyone says so."

"Humph!" says Uncle Jeff. "That's what your silly friends tell you.

But it doesn't matter. I won't have him doing it in my house. You thought, just because I was crippled and couldn't get around or out of these confounded four rooms, that you could fool me. But you can't, you see. And now I'm going to give you and Brooks your choice,--either he stops painting, or out you both go. Now which will it be?"

"Why, Sir," says Brooks, speakin' up prompt but pleasant, "if that is the way you feel about it, we shall go."

"Eh?" says Uncle Jeff, squintin' hard at him. "Do you mean it? Want to leave all this for--for the one mean little room I found you in!"

"Under your conditions, most certainly, Sir," says Brooks. "I think Edith feels as I do. Don't you, Edith?"

"Ye-e-es, of course," says Mrs. Bladen. Then, turnin' on Uncle Jeff, "Only I think you are a mean, hard-hearted old man, even if you are my uncle! Oh, you don't know how often I've wanted to tell you so too,--always prying into this, asking questions about that, finding fault, forever cross and snappish and suspicious. A waspish, crabbed old wretch, that's what you are! I just hate you! So there!"

Uncle Jeff winces a little at these last jabs; but he only turns to Brooks and asks quiet, "And I suppose those are your sentiments too?"

"Edith is a little overwrought," says Brooks. "It's true enough that you're not quite an agreeable person to live with. Still, I hardly feel that I have treated you just right in this matter. I shouldn't have deceived you about the studio. When I found that I couldn't bear to give up my work and live like a loafer on your money, I should have told you so outright. I haven't liked it, Sir, all this dodging and twisting of the truth. I'm glad it's over. Would you prefer to have us go tonight or in the morning?"

"Come now, that's not the point," says Uncle Jeff. "You hate me, too, don't you?"

"No," says Brooks, "and I'm sure Edith doesn't either."

"Yes I do, Brooks," breaks in Edith.

Brooks shrugs his shoulders sort of hopeless.

"In that case," says he, "we shall leave at once--now. I will send around for our traps later. You have been very generous, and I'm afraid I've shown myself up for an ungrateful a.s.s, if not worse.

Goodby, Sir."

He stands there holdin' out his hand, with the old gent starin' hard at him and not movin'. Fin'lly Uncle Jeff breaks the spell.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" says he. "Bladen, I didn't think it was in you. I took you for one of the milksop kind; which shows just how big a fool an old fool can be. And Edith is right. I'm a crazy, quarrelsome old wretch. It isn't all rheumatism, either. Some of it is disposition. And don't you go away thinking I've been generous, trying to tie you two young people down this way. It was rank selfishness. But you don't know how hard it comes, being shut up like this and able only to move around on wheels--after the life I've led too! I suppose I ought to be satisfied. I've had my share--nearly thirty years on the go, in jungle, forest, mountains, all over the globe. I've hunted big game in every--but you know all about that.

And now I suppose I'm worn out, useless. I was trying to get used to it, and having you young folks around has helped a lot. But it hasn't been fair to you--not fair."

He sort of chokes up at the end, and his lower lip trembles some; but only for a second. He straightens up once more in his chair. "You must try to make allowances, Edith," he goes on. "Don't--don't hate the old wretch too hard!"

That got to her, all right. She' wa'n't gush all the way through, any more'n Uncle Jeff was all crust. Next thing he knew she was givin' him the fond tackle and sobbin' against his vest.

"There, there!" says he, pattin' her soothin'. "We all make our mistakes, old and young; only us old fellows ought to know better."

"But--but they aren't daubs!" sobs out Edith. "And--and you said they were, without even seeing them."

"Just like me," says he. "And I'm no judge, anyway. But perhaps I'd better take a look at some of them. How would that be, eh? Couldn't Tupper bring a couple of them down now?"

"Oh, may he?" says Edith, brightenin' up and turnin' off the sprayer.

"I have wished that you could see them, you know."

So Tupper is sent for a couple of paintings, and Brooks chases along to bring down two more. They ranges 'em on chairs, and wheels Uncle Jeff into a good position. He squints at 'em earnest and tries hard to work up some enthusiasm.

"Ferryboats, sugar refineries, and the North River," says he. "All looks natural enough. I suppose they're well done too; but--but see here, young man, couldn't you find anything better to paint?"

"Where?" says Brooks. "You see, I was able to get out only occasionally without----"

"I see," says Uncle Jeff. "Tied to a cranky old man in a wheel chair.

But, by George! I could take you to places worth wasting your paint on. Ever heard of Yangarook? There's a pink mountain there that rises up out of a lake, and on still mornings--well, you ought to see it! I pitched my camp there once for a fortnight. I could find it again.

You go in from Boola Bay, up the Zambesi, and through the jungle. Then there's the Khula Klaht valley. That's in the Himalayas. Pictures?

Why, you could get 'em there!"

"I've no doubt I could, Sir," says Brooks. "I've dreamed of doing something like that some day, too. But what's the use?"

"Eh?" says Uncle Jeff, almost standin' up in his excitement. "Why not, my boy? I could take you there, chair or no chair. Didn't I go in a litter once, halfway across Africa, when a clumsy Zulu beater let a dying rhino gore me in the hip? Yes, and bossed a caravan of sixty men, and me flat on my back! I'm better able to move now than I was then, too. And I'm ready to try it. Another year of this, and I'd be under the ground. I'm sick of being cooped up. I'm hungry for a breath of mountain air, for a glimpse of the old trails. No use taking my guns; but you could lug along your painting kit, and Edith could take care of both of us. We could start within a week. What do you say, you two?"

Brooks he looks over at Edith. "Oh, Uncle Jeff!" says she, her eyes sparklin'. "I should just love it!"

"I could ask for nothing better," says Brooks.

"Then it's settled," says Uncle Jeff, reachin' out a hand to each of 'em. "Hurrah for the long trail! We're off!"

"Me too," says I, "if that's all."

"Ah!" says Uncle Jeff. "Our young friend who's at the bottom of the whole of this. Here, Sir! I'm going to teach you a lesson that will make you cautious about gossiping with strange old men. Pick up that leopard skin at your feet."

"Yes, Sir," says I, holdin' it out to him.

"No, examine it carefully," says he. "That came from a beast I shot on the sh.o.r.es of Lake Tanganyika. It's the finest specimen of the kind in my whole collection. Throw it over your arm, you young scamp, and get along with you!"

And they're all grinnin' amiable as I backs out with my mouth open.

"What the deuce!" says Mr. Robert after lunch next day, as he gazes first at a big package a special messenger has just left, and then at a note which comes with it. "'The Palisades at Dusk'--five hundred dollars?"

"Gee!" I gasps. "Did he sting you that hard?"

"But it's receipted," says he, "with the compliments of Brooks Bladen.

What does that mean?"

"Means I'm some buyer, I guess," says I. "Souvenir of a little fam'ly reunion I started, that's all. But you ain't the only one. Wait till you see what I drew from Uncle Jeff."

CHAPTER VIII

GLADYS IN A DOUBLE BILL