"A while ago," said the Major, resuming the conversation as he carved the roast, "a young fellow came to me who had invented a new sort of pump to inflate rubber tires. He wanted capital to patent the pump and put it on the market. The thing looked pretty good, John; so I lent him a thousand of your money." "Quite right," returned Uncle John, nodding. "But pretty soon he came back with a sad tale. He was in a bad fix. Another fellow was contesting his patent and fighting hard to head him off. It would take a lot of money to fight back--three thousand, at least. But he was decent about it, after all. His father had left him a little farm at Millville. He couldn't say what it was worth, but there were sixty acres and some good buildings, and he would deed it to you as security if you would let him have three thousand more." "So you took the farm and gave him the money?" "I did, sir. Perhaps I am to blame; but I liked the young fellow's looks. He was clean-cut and frank, and believed in his pump. I did more. At the climax of the struggle I gave another thousand, making five thousand in all." "Well?" "It's gone, John; and you've got the farm. The other fellows were too clever for my young friend, Joseph Wegg, and knocked out his patent." "I'm so sorry!" said Patsy, sympathetically. The Major coughed. "It's not an unusual tale, my dear; especially when John advances the money," he replied. "What became of the young man?" asked the girl. "He's a competent chauffeur, and so he went to work driving an automobile." "Where is Millville?" inquired Uncle John, thoughtfully. "Somewhere at the north of the State, I believe." "Have you investigated the farm at all?" "I looked up a real estate dealer living at Millville, and wrote him about the Wegg farm. He said if any one wanted the place very badly it might sell for three thousand dollars." "Humph!" "But his best information was to the effect that no one wanted it at all." Patsy laughed. "Poor Uncle John!" she said. The little man, however, was serious. For a time he ate with great deliberation and revolved an interesting thought in his mind. "Years ago." said he, "I lived in a country town; and I love the smell of the meadows and the hum of the bees in the orchards. Any orchards at my farm, Major?" "Don't know, sir." "Pretty soon," continued Uncle John, "it's going to be dreadfully hot in New York, and we'll have to get away." "Seashore's the place," remarked the Major. "Atlantic City, or Swampscott, or--" "Rubbish!" growled the other man, impatiently. "The girls and I have just come from Europe. We've had enough sea to last us all _this_ season, at least. What we pine for is country life--pure milk, apple trees and new mown hay." "We, Uncle?" said Patsy.