"Because you've spirited her away from me times enough, and deprived her only parent of her society. First you gallivanted off to Europe, and then to Millville, and next to Elmhurst; so now, egad, I'm going to keep the girl with me if I have to throttle every idea in your wicked old head!"
"But I'm planning to take you along, this time. Major," observed Uncle
John reflectively.
"Oh. Hum! Well, I can't go. There's too much business to be attended to—looking after your horrible money."
"Take a vacation. You know I don't care anything about the business. It can't go very wrong, anyhow. What does it matter if my income isn't invested properly, or the bond coupons cut when they're due? Drat the money!"
"That's what I say," added Patsy eagerly. "Be a man, Major Doyle, and put the business out of your mind. Let's go somewhere and have a good romp. It will cheer us up."
The Major stared first at one and then at the other.
"What's the programme, John?" he asked stiffly.
"It's going to be a cold winter," remarked the little man, bobbing his head up and down slowly.
"It is!" cried Patsy, clasping her hands fervently. "I can feel it in my bones."
"So we're going," said Uncle John, impressively, "to California—where they grow sunshine and roses to offset our blizzards and icicles."