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Their Uncle From California
by
“Oh, several degrees,” said Uncle Sylvester, blandly flicking bits of buffalo hair from his well-fitting trousers; “it’s colder, you know–much colder.”
“I was referring to a less material contrast,” continued Mr. Dexter, with a resigned smile; “yet, as to the mere question of cold, I am told, sir, that in California there are certain severe regions of altitude–although the mean temperature”–
“I suppose out in California you fellows would say our temperature was a darned sight MEANER, eh?” broke in Amos Gunn, with a confidential glance at the others, as if offering a humorous diversion suited to the Californian taste. Uncle Sylvester did not, however, smile. Gazing critically at Gunn, he said thoughtfully: “I think not; I’ve even known men killed for saying less than that,” and turned to the clergyman. “You are quite right; some of the higher passes are very cold. I was lost in one of them in ’56 with a small party. We were seventy miles from any settlement, we had had nothing to eat for thirty-six hours; our campfire, melting the snow, sank twelve feet below the surface.” The circle closed eagerly around him, Marie, Kitty, and Cousin Jane pressing forward with excited faces; even the clergyman assumed an expression of profound interest. “A man by the name of Thompson, I think,” continued Uncle Sylvester, thoughtfully gazing at the fire, “was frozen a few yards away. Towards morning, having been fifty-eight hours without food, our last drop of whiskey exhausted, and the fire extinguished, we found”–
“Yes, yes!” said half a dozen voices.
“We found,” continued Uncle Sylvester, rubbing his hands cheerfully, “we found it–exceedingly cold. Yes–EXCEEDINGLY cold!”
There was a dead silence.
“But you escaped!” said Kitty breathlessly.
“I think so. I think we all escaped–that is, except Thompson, if his name WAS Thompson; it might have been Parker,” continued Uncle Sylvester, gazing with a certain languid astonishment on the eager faces around him.
“But HOW did you escape?”
“Oh, somehow! I don’t remember exactly. I don’t think,” he went on reflectively, “that we had to eat Thompson–if it was HIM–at least not then. No”–with a faint effort of recollection–“that would have been another affair. Yes,” assuringly to the eager, frightened eyes of Cousin Jane, “you are quite right, that was something altogether different. Dear me; one quite mixes up these things. Eh?”
A servant had entered, and after a hurried colloquy with Gabriel, the latter turned to Uncle Sylvester–
“Excuse me, but I think there must be some mistake! We brought up your luggage with you–two trunks–in the station wagon. A man has just arrived with three more, which he says are yours.”
“There should be five in all, I think,” said Uncle Sylvester thoughtfully.
“Maybe there are, sir, I didn’t count exactly,” said the servant.
“All right,” said Uncle Sylvester cheerfully, turning to his brother. “You can put them in my room or on the landing, except two marked ‘L’ in a triangle. They contain some things I picked up for you and the girls. We’ll look them over in the morning. And, if you don’t mind, I’ll excuse myself now and go to bed.”
“But it’s only half past ten,” said Gabriel remonstratingly. “You don’t, surely, go to bed at half past ten?”
“I do when I travel. Travel is SO exhausting. Good-night! Don’t let anybody disturb themselves to come with me.”
He bowed languidly to the company, and disappeared with a yawn gracefully disguised into a parting smile.
“Well!” said Cousin Jane, drawing a long breath.
“I don’t believe it’s your Uncle Sylvester at all!” said Marie vivaciously. “It’s some trick that Gabriel is playing upon us. And he’s not even a good actor–he forgets his part.”
“And, then, five trunks for one single man! Heavens! what can he have in them” said Cousin Emma.
“Perhaps his confederates, to spring out upon us at night, after everybody’s asleep.”
“Are you sure you remembered him, papa?” said Kitty sotto voce.
“Certainly. And, my dear child, he knows all the family history as well as you do; and”–continued her father with a slight laugh that did not, however, conceal a certain seriousness that was new to him–“I only wish I understood as much about the property as he does. By the way, Amos,” he broke off suddenly, turning to the young man, “he seemed to know your people.”