But now the major, being aroused, decided to “have it out” with his elusive brother-in-law.
“Where will ye go to find a better place?” he demanded.
“We’re going to Bermuda,” said Uncle John.
“For onions?” asked the major sarcastically.
“They have other things in Bermuda besides onions. A delightful climate, I’m told, is one of them.”
The major sniffed. He was surprised, it is true, and rather pleased, because Bermuda is so much nearer New York than is California; but it was his custom to object.
“Patsy can’t go,” he declared, as if that settled the question for good and all. “The sea voyage would kill her. I’m told by truthful persons that the voyage to Bermuda is the most terrible experience known to mortals. Those who don’t die on the way over positively refuse ever to come back again, and so remain forever exiled from their homes and families—until they have the good luck to die from continually eating onions.”
Mr. Merrick smiled as he glanced at the major’s severe countenance.
“It can’t be as bad as that,” said he. “I know a man who has taken his family to Bermuda for five winters, in succession.”
“And brought ’em back alive each time?”