CHAPTER XXX

A WAY TO FORGET

The faces of the group, as Uncle John finished reading, were worth studying.  Arthur Weldon was white with anger, and his eyes blazed.  Silas Watson stared blankly at his old friend, wondering if it was because he was growing old that he had been so easily hoodwinked by this saucy child.  Beth was biting her lip to keep back the tears of humiliation that longed to trickle down her cheeks.  Louise frowned because she remembered the hard things Tato had said of her.  Patsy was softly crying at the loss of her friend.

Then Kenneth laughed, and the sound sent a nervous shiver through the group.

“Tato’s a brick!” announced the boy, audaciously.  “Can’t you see, you stupids, that the thing is a good joke on us all?  Or are you too thin skinned to laugh at your own expense?”

“Oh, we can laugh,” responded Uncle John, gravely.  “But if Tato’s a brick it’s because she is hard and insensible.  The loss of the money doesn’t hurt me, but to think the wicked little lass made me love her when she didn’t deserve it is the hardest blow I have ever received.”

That made Patsy sob outright, while Louise ejaculated, with scorn:  “The little wretch!”

“It serves us right for having confidence in a child reared to crime and murder from the cradle,” said Arthur, rather savagely.  “I don’t know how much money I am worth, but I’d gladly spend another thirty thousand to bring this wretched creature to justice.”

“Money won’t do it,” declared the lawyer, shaking his head regretfully.  “The rascals are too clever to be caught in Europe.  It would be different at home.”

“Well, the best thing to do is to grin and bear it, and forget the unpleasant incident as soon as possible,” said Uncle John.  “I feel as if I’d had my pocket picked by my best friend, but it isn’t nearly as disgraceful as being obliged to assist the thief by paying ransom money.  The loss amounts to nothing to either of us, and such treachery, thank goodness, is rare in the world.  We can’t afford to let the thing make us unhappy, my friends; so cheer up, all of you, and don’t dwell upon it any more than you can help.”

They left Syracuse a rather solemn group, in spite of this wise advice, and journeyed back to Naples and thence to Rome.  There was much to see here, and they saw it so energetically that when they boarded the train for Florence they were all fagged out and could remember nothing clearly except the Coliseum and the Baths of Carracalla.

Florence was just now a bower of roses and very beautiful.  But Kenneth lugged them to the galleries day after day until Uncle John declared he hated to look an “old master” in the face.

“After all, they’re only daubs,” he declared.  “Any ten-year-old boy in America can paint better pictures.”

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that, dear,” cautioned Patsy.  “They’d think you don’t know good art.”