“Chile con carne, most likely!” ejaculated the major.
“Horrible!” cried Uncle John.
“And that cured the colic but almost burned poor little Jane’s insides out.”
“Insides out!”
“However, Louise says the dear baby is now quite well again,” continued the girl.
“Perhaps so, when she wrote,” commented the major, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief; “but that’s a week ago, at least. A thousand things might have happened to that child since then. Why was Arthur Weldon such a fool as to settle in a desert place, far away from all civilization? He ought to be prosecuted for cruelty.”
“The baby’s all right,” said Patsy, soothingly. “If anything serious happened, Louise would telegraph.”
“I doubt it,” said the major, walking the floor. “I doubt if there’s such a thing as a telegraph in all that forsaken country.”
Uncle John frowned.
“You are getting imbecile, Major. They’ve a lot more comforts and conveniences on that ranch than we have here in New York.”