“Miss Bryant is American, Uncle Chris,” said Jill.
Uncle Chris spread his shapely legs before the fire, and glanced down kindly at Nelly.
“Indeed?” He took a cup of tea and stirred it. “I was in America as a young man.”
“Whereabouts?” asked Nelly eagerly.
“Oh, here and there and everywhere. I travelled considerably.”
“That’s how it is with me,” said Nelly, overcoming her diffidence as she warmed to the favorite topic. “I guess I know most every town in every State, from New York to the last one-night stand. It’s a great old country, isn’t it?”
“It is!” said Uncle Chris. “I shall be returning there very shortly.” He paused meditatively. “Very shortly indeed.”
Nelly bit her lip. It seemed to be her fate today to meet people who were going to America.
“When did you decide to do that?” asked Jill.
She had been looking at him, puzzled. Years of association with Uncle Chris had enabled her to read his moods quickly, and she was sure that there was something on his mind. It was not likely that the others had noticed it, for his manner was as genial and urbane as ever. But something about him, a look in his eyes that came and went, an occasional quick twitching of his mouth, told her that all was not well. She was a little troubled, but not greatly. Uncle Chris was not the sort of man to whom grave tragedies happened. It was probably some mere trifle which she could smooth out for him in five minutes, once they were alone together. She reached out and patted his sleeve affectionately. She was fonder of Uncle Chris than of anyone in the world except Derek.
“The thought,” said Uncle Chris, “came to me this morning, as I read my morning paper while breakfasting. It has grown and developed during the day. At this moment you might almost call it an obsession. I am very fond of America. I spent several happy years there. On that occasion, I set sail for the land of promise, I admit, somewhat reluctantly. Of my own free will I might never have made the expedition. But the general sentiment seemed so strongly in favor of my doing so that I yielded to what I might call a public demand. The willing hands for my nearest and dearest were behind me, pushing, and I did not resist them. I have never regretted it. America is a part of every young man’s education. You ought to go there, Freddie.”
“Rummily enough,” said Freddie, “I was saying just before you came in that I had half a mind to pop over. Only it’s rather a bally fag, starting. Getting your luggage packed and all that sort of thing.”
Nelly, whose luggage consisted of one small trunk, heaved a silent sigh. Mingling with the idle rich carried its penalties.
“America,” said Uncle Chris, “taught me poker, for which I can never be sufficiently grateful. Also an exotic pastime styled Craps,—or, alternatively, ‘rolling the bones’—which in those days was a very present help in time of trouble. At Craps, I fear, my hand in late years had lost much of its cunning. I have had little opportunity of practising. But as a young man I was no mean exponent of the art. Let me see,” said Uncle Chris meditatively. “What was the precise ritual? Ah! I have it, ‘Come, little seven!’“
“’Come, eleven!’“ exclaimed Nelly excitedly.
“’Baby —’ I feel convinced that in some manner the word baby entered into it.”
“’Baby needs new shoes!’“
“’Baby needs new shoes!’ Precisely!”
“It sounds to me,” said Freddie, “dashed silly.”
“Oh, no!” cried Nelly reproachfully.
“Well, what I mean to say is, there’s no sense in it, don’t you know.”
“It is a noble pursuit,” said Uncle Chris firmly. “Worthy of the great nation that has produced it. No doubt, when I return to America, I shall have opportunities of recovering my lost skill.”
“You aren’t returning to America,” said Jill. “You’re going to stay safe at home like a good little uncle. I’m not going to have you running wild all over the world at your age.”
“Age?” declaimed Uncle Chris. “What is my age? At the present moment I feel in the neighborhood of twenty-one, and Ambition is tapping me on the shoulder and whispering ‘Young man, go West!’ The years are slipping away from me, my dear Jill,—slipping so quickly that in a few minutes you will he wondering why my nurse does not come to fetch me. The wanderlust is upon me. I gaze around me at all this prosperity in which I am lapped,” said Uncle Chris, eyeing the arm-chair severely, “all this comfort and luxury which swaddles me, and I feel staggered. I want activity. I want to be braced!”