Uncle John complied. He related the manner in which Beth and Patsy had adopted Myrtle, the physician's examination and report upon her condition, and then told the main points of their long but delightful journey from Albuquerque to San Diego in the limousine.
"It was one of the most fortunate experiments we have ever tried," he concluded; "for the child has been the sweetest and most agreeable companion imaginable, and her affection and gratitude have amply repaid us for anything we have done for her. I am determined she shall not leave us, sir. When we return to New York I shall consult the best specialist to be had, and I am confident she can be fully cured and made as good as new."
The other man had listened intently, and when the story was finished he sat silent for a time, as if considering and pondering over what he had heard. Then, without warning, he announced quietly:
"I am Anson Jones."
Uncle John fairly gasped for breath.
"You Anson Jones!" he exclaimed. Then, with plausible suspicion he added: "I myself saw that you are registered as C.B. Jones."
"It is the same thing," was the reply. "My name is Collanson—but my family always called me 'Anson', when I had a family—and by that name I was best known in the mining camps. That is what deceived you."
"But—dear me!—I don't believe Myrtle knows her uncle's name is
Collanson."
"Probably not. Her mother, sir, my sister, was my only remaining relative, the only person on earth who cared for me—although I foolishly believed another did. I worked for success as much on Kitty's account—Kitty was Myrtle's mother—as for my own sake. I intended some day to make her comfortable and happy, for I knew her husband's death had left her poor and friendless. I did not see her for years, nor write to her often; it was not my way. But Kitty always knew I loved her."
He paused and sat silent a moment. Then he resumed, in his quiet, even tones: