[COPYRIGHT STORY]. Uncle Peter’s Experiment

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 23, 9 June 1906, Page 9

[COPYRIGHT STORY]. Uncle Peter’s Experiment

By

G. B. Burgin

l(Author of “The Shutters of Silence.” etc.).

W’ ' 4h ELL, Aunt,” said Jeremy Win--11/ throp, not without a gleam ' ■/■/ of humour, "if I'd known you V f wanted to choose me a wife.

of course I shouldn’t have married someone else; but it’s done now, and there’s the baby. You can’t do away with facts like that; they’d both make too much noise if you tried it.”

“I want to know what is the use of being a wealthy aunt,” not unreasonably demanded Miss Winthrop, with a thump of her thick stick on the floor, “if I ean't dictate to my heir-at-law?”

“Wealthy aunts always do kick up a row—in fiction,” said Jeremy, mournfully; “that’s what they’re for. Else the book wouldn’t bo long enough. They ought to be different in real life.” “You’ll find that wealthy aunts do exist for some purpose in real life,’’ said the irascible old lady, “ami are much more thorough than people in books. In real life, they don’t relent, because the baby has spasms or smiles like an angel. They go on being nasty as long as they live.” “Of course, aunt,” Jeremy acquiesced, in his matter-of-faet way. "Y’ou can’t help having money! What’s the use of it if you can’t be nasty when you want to?" “Well, I am going to be nasty.’’ “You are.” said the candid Jeremy. “I can see that, aunt, by the expression of your eye. It’s a way of yours. No one but Uncle Peter misunderstands your Bye.” “You needn’t be rude. Why don t you grovel, and ask me to reconsider my decision?” “Can't grovel, aunt; I’m an Englishman. Besides, I’d look sueh a bounder. lYou know very well, too, that if I were to grovel, it would spoil all your fun; mid voa don’t get much fun nowodays!” “Fun?” “Yes, fun! Y’ou oughtn’t to disinherit H>e because I have married Maud. V\ e ■bad to get married just to see more of teach other. Then one morning, the babylook it into her head to join the family partv although she might have known she’d bankrupt us. We had our doubts tibo ut the baby at first; she squinted so much like Uncle Peter: but when she gave up squinting and had "windy spasms’ instead, we thought you’d take to her.” “Weil, I didn’t. I told you I didn’t. She—she didn’t take to me.” ‘■Y'ou frightened her. and she howled us out of our inheritance; but she’s doing her best to let bygones be bygones. I must admit that your conduct surprised us, aunt. It's those stories again. Maud thought you'd come round in time and apologise to the baby, if we left her on your doorstep. I quite expected you’d welcome us with words of sweet forgiveness, and take in the baby. Then Maud knocked that on the head by saying that, books or no books, she wasn’t going to leave her precious baby »n anyone's doorstep this weather; the jut"/ would eall it wilful murder, and we should both swing for it. ••; i rve you right, too.”

“Well, you see, aunt, there was a certain amount of reason in what Maud said, because we're both rather used to the baby, and have learned to tolerate her. I offered to take turns wth Maud in watching the child from the other side of the way until you came to weep over it; but Maud said you were far too sensible to poke your nose out of doors at that time of night, unless I could hypnotise you into doing it, and that, however carefully 1 packed the liaby in wood shavings and tied her to the knocker, the child would fall from the hamper and begin to cry. We argued until Maud threatened to go home to her mother and take the baby with her. 1 said I'd explain to you how we felt about this ridiculous infant, if you still persisted in being unreasonable. Shall 1 bring Maud and the baby to see you? It’s so much more comfortable than taking liberties with our offspring and your knocker.”

“I don’t want to see the—the snivelling wretch,” Miss Winthrop angrily exclaimed.

“She doesn’t snivej—it is only a perennial dewdrop. If you won’t forgive us, we shall still liave to starve on two hundred a year. Well, it’s rather jolly, you know. We manage to get along on it, now Maud’s discovered how well pickled walnuts help down cold New Zealand mutton; and we’re not going to sponge on you. Y'ou just go on being a Roman parent to us, or whatever it is. and we’ll forgive you, Aunt Maria. Of course, those stories in the books don’t end like that; and they mix things up so in books that I’m going my own way. When you feel better, send round for us, and we’ll forgive you.”

“I don't want to be forgiven,” snapped the old lady. “Of course you don’t —never yet met anyone who did in real life; but then liooks are so misleading. You’ll have to get over it, you know, aunt. We—including the baby—don’t bear any malice. Leave the money to Uncle Peter.”

"Peter’s a fool. He says you ought to have it. I say’ you shan’t. And after all, it's my’ money, not his.” “That’s all right. Good-bye. I’ll give your love to Maud, because she says, when you’re not thinking of your money you’re awfully nice to her.” “I don’t want to have anything more to do with either of you or your ridiculous brat, and in no circumstances shall you finger a penny of my money.” “Well, you might have cut us off with a shilling: we could have bought another bottle of mixed pickles with it,” Jeremy cheerfully declared, as he kissed her, and the old lady turned angrily away. “Give us the penny, and have all the fun you can get out of the rest of that money. Why, if I had money, I'd soon tell my chief at the bank what I think of him. He’d hear more real AngloSaxon from me in five minutes than lie’s ever come across in the rest of his life. But I must be off. Take care of your self; you’re not looking at all fit.” And the handsome young fellow sauntered away as if he had not a eave in the world, fully convinced that as long as Maud and the baby awaited him, nothing else mattered very greatly.

A few days later, however, he heard that Miss Winthrop had been suddenly smitten down by a paralytic stroke. Untie Peter, who came to break the news to him. also informed Jeremy that on the night before her seizure. Miss Winthrop had declared her intention of making a will. “And now,’’ said the jienniless but good-natured old crank, beaming with pleasure, “it has occurred to me, Jeremy, that I shall get everything unless we can make an effort. “Well, why make an effort? Don't you want to get everything? She didn t intend to leave us more than a penny. I’m awfully sorry about her. poor old dear. She 'might have apologised to the baby before site went away. ’ “CM course. I’m not going to rob the baby. Jeremy. Nothing shall convince me that your aunt didn't mean to leave you everything.” “Nothing will convince me that she meant to leave me more than a penny—• that is, a farthing each for us, and a halfpenny for the baby. Besides, 1 call it indecent to talk about her money before she's dead, poor old thing.” “Never you mind.” Uncle Peter beamed with delight. “Come round to the house with me. I've a plan in my head—a magnificent plan. Get your hat and come along.” “I’d like to see her again, poor soul”

(Jeremy left off playing with the baby, who found his moustache very attractive), “just to say good bye and tell her I don’t bear any malice.” When Unde and nephew reached Miss YVinthrop’s house, Jeremy was greatly shocked to see the change for the worse that had taken place in his aunt’s appearance. Mr. Wilson, the family solicitor. was also there, dropping sympathy and snuff’ in all directions. “It’s unprofessional—most unprofessional on my part,”—he said to Jeremy, “but your unde has persuaded me to allow him to make the attempt. What a thousand pities that your good aunt should be afflicted by this terrible aspasia” (he meant "aphasia”) “and lie unable to give instructions about her will.” Jeremy looked mystified. Uncle Peter, however, bustled joyfully into the room with a couple of packs of cards. “He means she can't speak. Most interesting experiment,” he said, to the startled Jeremy. “Haven’t looked forward to such an exciting evening for a long time.” Before Jeremy could expostulate. Uncle Peter brought a card table to Miss Winthrop's bed. and sat down by it. “My dear Maria,” he said to Miss It inthrop. “My dear sister, you are not in a position to make your will. so. as 1 know your property pretty well. I've written down on one pack of cards all the particulars. and on another pack the names of the people to whom you're sure to wish to leave it.” Jeremy made a gesture of dissent. It seemed to him perf c'.ly monstrous that Uncle Peter’s craving for originality should lead him to worry the poor old lady. “1 m inclined to think that the t ourts would uphold the validity of a will made in sueh circumstances," said Mr. Wilson, “provided they are satisfied of the good faith of the parties interested. It would be a dangerous precedent, of course, but, eh —I am inclined —I really am inclined —to think that the attempt might be made.” Jeremy came to the b -dsicle and looked at the poor old wreck propped up with pillows. After all. she had always been very good to him. “Look here, aunt.” he said sorrowfully. "this nonsense is none of my doing, and I hope you 11 soon be well again. I’ve always thought Uncle Peter as mad as a hatter.” The old lady glared angrily at him, and Jeremy felt how much she must miss her customary freedom of expression. "Welt la-gin the small things first.” jovouslv suggested I nek- Peter, .who seemed to be 111 his element, and already talked of his sister as the subject.” “Now. Maria, you hear me. although you can’t speak? I have written the word ■brougham’ on this card, and placed Dr. Parkin's card opposite it. Y on know you promised give him your brougham when you no longer re piire it. Fortunately, it’s just been done up. He’ll be delighted.” Yliss Winthrop gave a ghastly twitch of the lips which might have meant anything. “That, signifies ’yes.’” cheerfully said Uncle Peter. “See bow pleased she is. "Parkin’s a greedy old liumlaig. 1 call it robberv.” c ried ‘ Jeremy, going into a corner.' I'll have nothing to do with it. I nele Peter, you’ll end your days in a madhouse yet, if you aren’t careful.” "You are so prejudiced. Jeremy.” I ncle Peter looked ten years younger at what he considered the successful issue of his experiment. “You might spar# poor Parkins the brougham without

making such a fuss about it, cspeeiallji as I'm going to give you my share of everything. Pity I didn't throw in the horse: he’s going lame in the foreleg, though Maria, with characteristic obstinacy. never will admit it. I think the Rev. Dacre would like the library. I’ve often seen him looking at it appreciatively. Shall hr- have the library. Maria? Here are the cards. Yes; 1 thought so - —she’s more delighted than ever. Haven’t seen her look so pleased for a long time. She- always disliked Dacre, and this is heaping coals of fire on his head." “1 can’t stand this.” said Jeremy. "She didn’t mean anything of the sort. She hates Dacre. and is trying to make you understand you’re all wrong about it.” “Don’t you be in a hurry to jump to conclusions,” said Uncle Peter, "I’m coming to you in a moment. Jere—” But Jeremy had gone into the next room. Miss Maria's rolling eyes upset him: and it was unbecoming that a dying woman should suffer anger at even the summary disposal of the goods she had to leave behind her. “Perliaps it is just as well he should not lie present,” suggested Mr. Wilson. "Y'ou have no douht of the rest of the testatrix's intentions?” “Not the slightest." said Uncle Peter, who was enjoying himself tremendously. "‘Now Maria, just for form’s sake. I've written on this card ‘I give, devise, and bequeath, direct, limit, and appoint, all the rest, residue and remainder of my real and personal estate, whatsoever and wheresoever the same mas' be or consist of, unto, and to the use of my beloved nephew, Jeremy Winthrop.' Ah. 1 see by the expression of your eyes how I have Interpreted your wishes.” If he did. In- was n most sanguine man; for Miss Winthrop’s eyes glared at him. "So lucky I thought of this plan," beamed Uncle Peter. "Maria always was sueh a methodical woman; it would annoy her immensely to depart without settling things. If she could only express her sentiments, poor woman. I’ve no doubt 1 should he- surprised <it their warmth.” “I’ve no doubt you would.” said J erem V, re-entering the room. He came up to the bed and looked affectionately at the stricken old lady. "See Aunt. I’m not going to have you bothered in this way. Uiielc- Peter means well, but he’s an idiot. I’m just going to tear up those nonsensical cards and send for Maud to look after you. The baby must hang on to the- housemaid for a clay or two.” “But you’re spoiling all my pleasure,” sadly interrupted Uncle Peter. “No one ever thought of such a scheme before. Besides, it doesn't hurt her. Y'ou know how fond I am of Maria, and how grateful 1 am for her kindness in lending her self to so interesting an experiment. I ■haven’t had a chance of writing to the papers about anything for the last six months, and this is sure to interest everybody.” “I don't c-are if you don’t get a c hance for the. next six years,” said the inclig nant Jeremy. “It’s perfectly disgraceful to go on playing cards like this when if you let her alone she might get better.” “No. she wouldn’t. You don’t understand your Aunt! she's so thorough. She'd never be so thoughtless as to get well and spoil my experiment. I hough Maria’s often said harsh things to me

about my fonduees for port, DI not miss this chance of being good to her mid of helpiqg her to do-you justice. Maria always looks like that when she's pleased.’’ Maria glared horribly at her brother, •nd made a noise in her throat like the rapping of a nutmeg grater. "You see how absurdly prejudiced you •re, Jeremy. She's trying to say she ho|*s you will make a good use of your property. Nothing could be plainer. Mr Wilson has seen Maria's condition, and with what absolutely correctness I have carried out her intentions. I’ve no doubt she meant me to live with you after her—her departure. Y'ou’ll find me very useful with the baby. I’ve always had a theory of my own that babies are fed too much, and 1 should like to try a series of experiments on yours. Why, what on earth are you doing!" " • . _ With a sudden gesture, Jeremy tore Up the cards. "If Maud hears what you mean to do with the baby, she'll have you assassinated as the only way of saving the child's life. Now. Mr Wilson, I wonder you countenance this absurd scheme of my Uncle's. Get your hat, Uncle Peter, and come home with me. Good-bye, Aunt. Y'ou’re not getting as much fun out of your money as you expected; but you shan't be tortured in your last moments by this well-meaning visions rv.”

“You are quite right, Jeremy. Brother Peter always was rather more or less an idiot, generally more," said Miss Winthrop. sitting up in bed and casting a look, of withering scorn at her discomfited brother. “I’ve had my suspicions he was yearning to try scientific experiments—scientific!—on me! —on me. Besides, Mr Wilson told me all about it bo I pretended to be ill just to see what he'd do. Now I know, and if ever you do it again, Brother Peter, I’ll send you and your experiments to the Workhouse."

“Don't be so stony, Sister Maria,” said the crestfallen Peter. "How was I to know you were only shamming! Don’t send me to the workhouse. You know perfectly well how I hate going to • place where I cas’t get my port regu-

larly. Besides, they'd make me put on striped trousers and a flannel Unr;.- I don’t m.sd dying* for my eoautry. niit nothing shall induce me to become u 'flannelled fool!’”

"And they’ll make you break stones, before they give you any breakfast," vindictively said Miss Winthrop. "Well, I'm glad of it. Fetch baby, Jeremy. If khat brother of mine dares to interfere with her food, I won't go to see him in the Casual Ward on visiting days. Pleased expression, indeed! Why, I glared at him the whole time! Is there, anything else of mine you'd like to give away, Brother Peter, before you start for the Workhouse? I’ve never succeeded in making you eat porridge all these, years; now you'll have to put up with ‘skilly,’ and you won’t like it.” “Have merey. Maria,” implored Pe.ter. "Dont’ be too harsh to your only brother. How was I to know you were shamming! In the general interests of scientific research, individuals should not consider their feelings. Scientific “Fiddlesticks,” snorted Miss Winthrop. "Don’t send me to the workhouse, Sister. Who's to look after the garden? Y’ou won’t let her send me away, Jeremy? Workhouse officials are so—so meddling.’’ "And so are you,” said the indignant Miss Winthrop. “Go to your room, sir, get into bed, and don't presume to leave it until I give you permission. Jeremy,” sue added, as the crestfallen Peter crept away, “it's no fun quarrelling with you. I daren’t.stay alone in the house with that man. Fetch Maud and the baby, and live here. We'd betetr end up in the way the books do, after all." “Of course/’ said Jeremy. "We must keep Uncle Peter away from the baby, though.” “Certainly. Now, if you’ll ring for my maid, I’ll get up and dress.” "Unele Peter meant well,” pleaded Jeremy; "and he hasn’t had a letter in the paper for a long time.” “Drivelling idiot!” snapped Miss Winthorp. "He never shall have again, if I can help it. Any respectable Workhouse is too good for him. ‘Pleased ex-

pre-sion.' indeed.' Go and fetch the baby". "l-et him have his dilmer,” pleaded Jeremy, preparing tw depart. "N<jt a morsel.’’ said the vindictive Mi-» Wiiitlwrp. "He's made me stay in bed all day long, an J I’ll keep him there all the evening without any dinner. Scientific research, indeed.”

Jeremy left the room, un.l looked in on Unde Peter. "Does she mean it?” asked that worthy, ruefully sitting up in bed. "It was all for your good, Jeremy. Maria always was vindictive. Shows such a nasty spirit, ti»o, when she has eome back from the verge of the grave. I’m so hungry! Paltry, I call it. Paltry! Can't you smuggle me up a bottle of buss and some sandwiches? Maria is so—so arbitrary.”

“Not a morsel." said the inexorable Jeremy, "unless you promise never to meddle with the baby.” . • "I swear!” said Uncle Peter, with solemn fervour: "that is,” he added as an after-thought, "if you don't put too much mustard on the sandwiches."