1.

　　Uncle Chris walked breezily into the room, flicking a jaunty glove.

　　He stopped short on seeing that Mr Pilkington was not alone.

　　"Oh, I beg your pardon! I understood . . ." He peered at Jilluncertainly. Mr Pilkington affected a dim, artistic lighting-systemin his studio, and people who entered from the great outdoorsgenerally had to take time to accustom their eyes to it. "If you'reengaged . . .""Er--allow me . . . Miss Mariner . . . Major Selby.""Hullo, Uncle Chris!" said Jill.

　　"God bless my soul!" ejaculated that startled gentleman adventurer,and collapsed onto a settee as if his legs had been mown from underhim.

　　"I've been looking for you all over New York," said Jill.

　　Mr Pilkington found himself unequal to the intellectual pressure ofthe conversation.

　　"Uncle Chris?" he said with a note of feeble enquiry in his voice.

　　"Major Selby is my uncle.""Are you sure?" said Mr Pilkington. "I mean . . ."Not being able to ascertain, after a moment's self-examination, whathe did mean, he relapsed into silence.

　　"Whatever are you doing here?" asked Uncle Chris.

　　"I've been having tea with Mr Pilkington.""But . . . but why Mr Pilkington?""Well, he invited me.""But how do you know him?""We met at the theatre.""Theatre?"Otis Pilkington recovered his power of speech.

　　"Miss Mariner is rehearsing with a little play in which I aminterested," he explained.

　　Uncle Chris half rose from the settee. He blinked twice in rapidsuccession. Jill had never seen him so shaken from his customarypoise.

　　"Don't tell me you have gone on the stage, Jill!""I have. I'm in the chorus . . .""Ensemble," corrected Mr Pilkington softly.

　　"I'm in the ensemble of a piece called 'The Rose of America.' We'vebeen rehearsing for ever so long."Uncle Chris digested this information in silence for a moment. Hepulled at his short mustache.

　　"Why, of course!" he said at length. Jill, who know him so well,could tell by the restored ring of cheeriness in his tone that he washimself again. He had dealt with this situation in his mind and wasprepared to cope with it. The surmise was confirmed the next instantwhen he rose and stationed himself in front of the fire. MrPilkington detested steam-heat and had scoured the city till he hadfound a studio apartment with an open fireplace. Uncle Chris spreadhis legs and expanded his chest. "Of course," he said. "I remembernow that you told me in your letter that you were thinking of goingon the stage. My niece," explained Uncle Chris to the attentive MrPilkington, "came over from England on a later boat. I was notexpecting her for some weeks. Hence my surprise at meeting her here.

　　Of course. You told me that you intended to go on the stage, and Istrongly recommended you to begin at the bottom of the ladder andlearn the ground-work thoroughly before you attempted higherflights.""Oh, that was it?" said Mr Pilkington. He had been wondering.

　　"There is no finer training," resumed Uncle Chris, completely at hisease once more, "than the chorus. How many of the best-knownactresses in America began in that way! Dozens. Dozens. If I weregiving advice to any young girl with theatrical aspirations, I shouldsay 'Begin in the chorus!' On the other hand," he proceeded, turningto Pilkington, "I think it would be just as well if you would notmention the fact of my niece being in that position to MrsWaddesleigh Peagrim. She might not understand.""Exactly," assented Mr Pilkington.

　　"The term 'chorus' . . .""I dislike it intensely myself.""It suggests . . .""Precisely."Uncle Chris inflated his chest again, well satisfied.

　　"Capital!" he said. "Well, I only dropped in to remind you, my boy,that you and your aunt are dining with me tonight. I was afraid abusy man like you might forget.""I was looking forward to it," said Mr Pilkington, charmed at thedescription.

　　"You remember the address? Nine East Forty-First Street. I havemoved, you remember.""So that was why I couldn't find you at the other place," said Jill.

　　"The man at the door said he had never heard of you.""Stupid idiot!" said Uncle Chris testily. "These New Yorkhall-porters are recruited entirely from homes for the feeble-minded.

　　I suppose he was a new man. Well, Pilkington, my boy, I shall expectyou at seven o'clock. Goodbye till then. Come, Jill.""Good-bye, Mr Pilkington," said Jill.

　　"Good-bye for the present, Miss Mariner," said Mr Pilkington, bendingdown to take her hand. The tortoiseshell spectacles shot a last softbeam at her.

　　As the front door closed behind them, Uncle Chris heaved a sigh ofrelief.

　　"Whew! I think I handled that little contretemps with diplomacy! Acertain amount of diplomacy, I think!""If you mean," said Jill severely, "that you told some disgracefulfibs . . .""Fibs, my dear,--or shall we say, artistic mouldings of the unshapelyclay of truth--are the . . . how shall I put it? . . . Well, anyway,they come in dashed handy. It would never have done for Mrs Peagrimto have found out that you were in the chorus. If she discovered thatmy niece was in the chorus, she would infallibly suspect me of beingan adventurer. And while," said Uncle Chris meditatively, "of courseI _am_, it is nice to have one's little secrets. The good lady hashad a rooted distaste for girls in that perfectly honorable butmaligned profession ever since our long young friend back there wassued for breach of promise by a member of a touring company in hissophomore year at college. We all have our prejudices. That is hers.

　　However, I think we may rely on our friend to say nothing about thematter . . . But why did you do it? My dear child, whatever inducedyou to take such a step?"Jill laughed.

　　"That's practically what Mr Miller said to me when we were rehearsingone of the dances this afternoon, only he put it differently." Shelinked her arm in his. "What else could I do? I was alone in New Yorkwith the remains of that twenty dollars you sent me and no more insight.""But why didn't you stay down at Brookport with your Uncle Elmer?""Have you ever seen my Uncle Elmer?""No. Curiously enough, I never have.""If you had, you wouldn't ask. Brookport! Ugh! I left when they triedto get me to understudy the hired man, who had resigned.""What!""Yes, they got tired of supporting me in the state to which I wasaccustomed--I don't blame them!--so they began to find ways of makingme useful about the home. I didn't mind reading to Aunt Julia, and Icould just stand taking Tibby for walks. But, when it came toshoveling snow, I softly and silently vanished away.""But I can't understand all this. I suggested to youruncle--diplomatically--that you had large private means.""I know you did. And he spent all his time showing me over houses andtelling me I could have them for a hundred thousand dollars cashdown." Jill bubbled. "You should have seen his face when I told himthat twenty dollars was all I had in the world!""You didn't tell him that!""I did."Uncle Chris shook his head, like an indulgent father disappointed ina favorite child.

　　"You're a dear girl, Jill, but really you do seem totally lacking in. . . how shall I put it?--finesse. Your mother was just the same. Asweet woman, but with no diplomacy, no notion of _handling_ asituation. I remember her as a child giving me away hopelessly on oneoccasion after we had been at the jam-cupboard. She did not mean anyharm, but she was constitutionally incapable of a tactful negative atthe right time." Uncle Chris brooded for a moment on the past. "Oh,well, it's a very fine trait, no doubt, though inconvenient. I don'tblame you for leaving Brookport if you weren't happy there. But Iwish you had consulted me before going on the stage.""Shall I strike this man?" asked Jill of the world at large. "Howcould I consult you? My darling, precious uncle, don't you realizethat you had vanished into thin air, leaving me penniless? I had todo something. And, now that we are on the subject, perhaps you willexplain your movements. Why did you write to me from that place onFifty-Seventh Street if you weren't there?"Uncle Chris cleared his throat.

　　"In a sense . . . when I wrote . . . I was there.""I suppose that means something, but it's beyond me. I'm not nearlyas intelligent as you think, Uncle Chris, so you'll have to explain.""Well, it was this way, my dear. I was in a peculiar position youmust remember. I had made a number of wealthy friends on the boat andit is possible that--unwittingly--I have them the impression that Iwas as comfortably off as themselves. At any rate, that is theimpression they gathered, and it hardly seemed expedient to correctit. For it is a deplorable trait in the character of the majority ofrich people that they only--er--expand,--they only show the best andmost companionable side of themselves to those whom they imagine tobe as wealthy as they are. Well, of course, while one was on theboat, the fact that I was sailing under what a purist might havetermed false colors did not matter. The problem was how to keep upthe--er--innocent deception after we had reached New York. A womanlike Mrs Waddesleigh Peagrim--a ghastly creature, my dear, all frontteeth and exuberance, but richer than the Sub-Treasury--looks askanceat a man, however agreeable, if he endeavors to cement a friendshipbegun on board ship from a cheap boarding-house on Amsterdam Avenue.

　　It was imperative that I should find something in the nature of whatI might call a suitable base of operations. Fortune played into myhands. One of the first men I met in New York was an oldsoldier-servant of mine, to whom I had been able to do somekindnesses in the old days. In fact--it shows how bread cast upon thewaters returns to us after many days--it was with the assistance of asmall loan from me that he was enabled to emigrate to America. Well,I met this man, and, after a short conversation, he revealed the factthat he was the hall-porter at that apartment-house which youvisited, the one on Fifty-Seventh Street. At this time of the year, Iknew, many wealthy people go south, to Florida and the Carolinas, andit occurred to me that there might be a vacant apartment in hisbuilding. There was. I took it.""But how on earth could you afford to pay for an apartment in a placelike that?"Uncle Chris coughed.

　　"I didn't say I paid for it. I said I took it. That is, as one mightsay, the point of my story. My old friend, grateful for favorsreceived and wishing to do me a good turn consented to become myaccomplice in another--er--innocent deception. I gave my friends theaddress and telephone number of the apartment-house, living the whilemyself in surroundings of a somewhat humbler and less expensivecharacter. I called every morning for letters. If anybody rang me upon the telephone, the admirable man answered in the capacity of myservant, took a message, and relayed it on to me at my boarding-house.

　　If anybody called, he merely said that I was out. There wasn't aflaw in the whole scheme, my dear, and its chief merit was itsbeautiful simplicity.""Then what made you give it up? Conscience?""Conscience never made me give up _anything_," said Uncle Chrisfirmly. "No, there were a hundred chances to one against anythinggoing wrong, and it was the hundredth that happened. When you havebeen in New York longer, you will realize that one peculiarity of theplace is that the working-classes are in a constant state of flux. OnMonday you meet a plumber. Ah! you say, A plumber! Capital! On thefollowing Thursday you meet him again, and he is a car-conductor.

　　Next week he will be squirting soda in a drug-store. It's the faultof these dashed magazines, with their advertisements ofcorrespondence courses--Are You Earning All You Should?--Write To Usand Learn Chicken-Farming By Mail . . . It puts wrong ideas into thefellows' heads. It unsettles them. It was so in this case. Everythingwas going swimmingly, when my man suddenly conceived the idea thatdestiny had intended him for a chauffeur-gardener, and he threw uphis position!""Leaving you homeless!""As you say, homeless--temporarily. But, fortunately,--I have beenamazingly lucky all through; it really does seem as if you cannotkeep a good man down--fortunately my friend had a friend who wasjanitor at a place on East Forty-First Street, and by a miracle ofluck the only apartment in the building was empty. It is anoffice-building, but, like some of these places, it has one smallbachelor's apartment on the top floor.""And you are the small bachelor?""Precisely. My friend explained matters to his friend--a fewfinancial details were satisfactorily arranged--and here I am,perfectly happy with the cosiest little place in the world, rentfree. I am even better off than I was before, as a matter of fact,for my new ally's wife is an excellent cook, and I have been enabledto give one or two very pleasant dinners at my new home. It lendsverisimilitude to the thing if you can entertain a little. If you arenever in when people call, they begin to wonder. I am giving dinnerto your friend Pilkington and Mrs Peagrim there tonight. Homey,delightful, and............