HE moment I laid eyes on Jack Evans' face I knew he was in trouble, as usual. I'd just cut him out of my will again, and I felt suddenly at a loss for further discipline to apply to the present case. He didn't give me long to think up anything. Catching sight of me as he came down the steps of the office building, where he hives with a myriad other lawyers, he fell upon me. That's one of the disconcerting things about my nephew; no matter how or when I cast him off, he falls back on me with the same affectionate enthusiasm.
“What's it now?” I demanded belligerently. “Another breach-of-promise suit?”
He blushed an unbecoming lavender shade that clashed with his red tie.
“Uncle Ned,” said he, “if ever you hope to 'go where the good darkies go,' you come with me now. I'll blow you to lunch, and I'll tell you all about it. I've been proposed to.”
“Why” I began,
He misinterpreted me, and grinned ruefully.
“Because I'm the most ineligible young man the lady knows.”
I must have looked my bewilderment, for he laughed more cheerfully.
“Come on,” he commanded. “Not another word till we're settled at table.”
We made our way hurriedly to the subterranean restaurant we habitually frequent.
“Now,” said the Ineligible One, spreading his napkin, “listen to this, and don't interrupt; my mind isn't strong after this morning's shock, and if you begin bothering me it may give way altogether.” I attacked my oysters in silence. “I was up to my eyes in that Mullen brief, you know, when the office boy—that reminds me, I must discharge him—came and delivered himself of a wink and the information that a lady wanted to see me—Miss Thatcherly.
“'Show the ladies in,' said I, thinking, of course, if Marjie had come down it was with a chaperon. Johnny winked again, as if to call my bluff, and teetered out. Then Marjie arrived, alone, if you please”
“You don't mean that Marjie” I interrupted, agitatedly squeezing lemon juice all over my new waistcoat.
My nephew glanced at me reproachfully.
“She sat down,” he continued, “saying she'd come to beg a very great favor of me. She had on one of those checked suits,” he digressed reminiscently, “and she looked like a cherub dressed in a sponge bag. Of course, I told her to command me.
“'Well,' she said, not the least embarrassed, 'I will. It's this way: My chum, Dorothy Wendel, is going abroad. She's fallen in love with her father's chauffeur. He's really awfully good-looking, and if he didn't drop his h's I wouldn't blame her. The family is wild about it—her falling in love, not his h's—and are packing her off in charge of an aunt. Now, you know, Jack, I'm crazy to study art—I know I have heaps of talent—and they'll be in Paris all winter. Just think of it! And there isn't any possible chance of my going over, unless you'll help me.'
“I didn't see how, or what I had to do with it, and said so.
“'Why, make love to me, stupid! Go and tell father you want to marry me. They'll send me over quick as a wink.'
“Say, Uncle Ned, what do you think of that? I'm stunned yet!
“'Am I as bad as the chauffeur?' I asked.
“'Oh, worse, much worse,' said she. 'You speak nicely, of course, but you are quite the most ineligible man I know.'
“It seemed to dawn on her that perhaps she was breaking it to me rather brutally, so she dimpled and twinkled at me, and added: 'I told you it was a very great favor; and really and truly, I'll try not to make it too much of a bore to you. And I do so want to go to Paris and study art.'
“Uncle Ned, can you beat it? I looked sort of dizzy, and started to say something; but she cut me short, and went right on planning the campaign.
“'They are going to sail in three weeks, so we haven't any time to lose. They would have sent Dorothy away before, but they couldn't get passage till then. She's at Lakewood under guard. And I'm ever and ever and ever so much obliged to you, Jack, for doing this for me. I'll do something nice for you some day, see if I don't. But you mustn't lose any time. Come to see me to-night. I won't go to Marion Gray's birthday dance; I'll say I have a headache. Then, when you come, I'll see you just the same. That'll make them suspicious right away.'
“I told her 1 had an engagement. She told me to break it. So I broke it. What do you think of that? I'm in to rush that seventeen-year-old Machiavelli—rush her right off to Europe. She argues that her astute parents will at once see the advisability of taking advantage of the departure of the chauffeur-loving Dorothy and chaperon. My general character, it seems, insures success.
My disreputable kinsman glowered at the “eggs benedictine” and reduced them to a scramble.