"Why, Daddy, how cross you are!" cried Patsy. "Can't Uncle John have an idea if he wants to?"
"I'm afraid of his ideas," admitted the Major, suspiciously. "Every time he goes to sleep and catches a thought, it means trouble."
Patsy laughed, looking at her uncle curiously, and the little man smiled at her genially in return.
"It takes me a long time to figure a thing out," he said; "and when I've a problem to solve a bit of a snooze helps wonderfully. Patsy, dear, it occurs to me we're lonely."
"We surely are, Uncle!" she exclaimed.
"And in the dumps."
"Our spirits are at the bottom of the bottomless pit."
"So what we need is—a change."
"There it goes!" said the Major ruefully. "I knew very well any idea of John Merrick's would cause us misery. But understand this, you miserable home-wrecker, sir, my daughter Patsy steps not one foot out of New York this winter."
"Why not?" mildly inquired Uncle John.