"Oh, that's my name," says he. "Only I didn't know that I was an uncle. Doubtless it's all right, though. I'll look it up." With that she eyes him like she thought he was just out of the nut factory, and the more Pinckney tries to explain, the worse he gets twisted. Finally he turns to the twins. "See here, youngsters," says he, "which one of you is Jack?" "Me," says one of 'em. "I'se Jack." "Well, Jack," says Pinckney, "what is your last name?" "Anstruther," says the kid. "The devil!" says Pinckney, before he could stop it. Then he begs pardon all around. "I see," says he. "I had almost forgotten about Jack Anstruther, though I shouldn't. So Jack is your papa, is he? And where is Jack now?" Some one must have trained them to do it, for they gets their heads together, like they was goin' to sing a hymn, rolls up their eyes, and pipes out, "Our--papa--is--up--there." "The deuce you say! I wouldn't have thought it!" gasps Pinckney. "No, no! I--I mean I hadn't heard of it." It was a bad break, though; but the girl sees how cut up he is about it, and smooths everything out with a laugh. "I fancy Jack and Jill know very little of such things," says she; "but they can tell you all about Marie." "Marie's gone!" shouts the kids. "She says we drove her crazy." That was the way the story come out, steady by jerks. The meat of it was that one of Pinckney's old chums had passed in somewhere abroad, and for some reason or other these twins of his had been shipped over to Pinckney in care of a French governess. Between not knowing how to herd a pair of lively ones like Jack and Jill, and her gettin' interested in a tall gent with a lovely black moustache, Marie had kind of shifted her job off onto the rest of the passengers, specially Gerty, and the minute the steamer touched the dock she had rolled her hoop. "Pinckney," says I, "it's you to the bat." He looks at the twins doubtful, then he squints at me, and next he looks at Miss Gertrude. "By Jove!" says he. "It appears that way, doesn't it? I wonder how long I am expected to keep them?" The twins didn't know; I didn't; and neither does Gerty. "I had planned to take a noon train west," says she; "but if you think I could help in getting Jack and Jill ashore, I'll stay over for a few hours." "Will you?" says he. "That's ripping good of you. Really, you know, I never took care of twins before." "How odd!" says she, tearin' off a little laugh that sounds as if it come out of a music box. "I suppose you will take them home?" "Home!" says Pinckney. Say, you'd thought he never heard the word before. "Why--ah--er--I live at the club, you know." "Oh," says she. "Would a hotel do?" says Pinckney. "You might try it," says she, throwin' me a look that was all twinkles.