“But I do,” he protested.  “If any of those pictures by old masters was used in a street-car ‘ad’ at home it would be money wasted, for no one would look at them.  The people wouldn’t stand for it a minute.”

“They are wonderful for the age in which they were painted,” said Kenneth, soberly.  “You must remember that we have had centuries in which to improve our art, since then.”

“Oh, I’ve a proper respect for old age, I hope,” replied Uncle John; “but to fall down and worship a thing because it’s gray-haired and out-of-date isn’t just my style.  All of these ‘Oh!’s’ and ‘Ahs!’ over the old masters are rank humbug, and I’m ashamed of the people that don’t know better.”

And now Arthur Weldon was obliged to bid good-bye to Louise and her friends and take a train directly to Paris to catch the steamer for home.  His attorney advised him that business demanded his immediate presence, and he was obliged to return, however reluctantly.

Kenneth and Mr. Watson also left the party at Florence, as the boy artist wished to remain there for a time to study the pictures that Uncle John so bitterly denounced.  The others went on to Venice, which naturally proved to the nieces one of the most delightful places they had yet seen.  Mr. Merrick loved it because he could ride in a gondola and rest his stubby legs, which had become weary with tramping through galleries and cathedrals.  These last monuments, by the way, had grown to become a sort of nightmare to the little gentleman.  The girls were enthusiastic over cathedrals, and allowed none to escape a visit.  For a time Uncle John had borne up bravely, but the day of rebellion was soon coming.

“No cathedrals in Venice, I hope?” he had said on their arrival.

“Oh, yes, dear; the loveliest one in the world!  St. Mark’s is here, you know.”

“But no St. Paul’s or St. Peter’s?”

“No, Uncle.  There’s the Saluta, and the—­”

“Never mind.  We’ll do that first one, and then quit.  What they build so many churches for I can’t imagine.  Nobody goes to ’em but tourists, that I can see.”

He developed a streak of extravagance in Venice, and purchased Venetian lace and Venetian glassware to such an extent that the nieces had to assure him they were all supplied with enough to last them and their friends for all time to come.  Major Doyle had asked for a meerschaum pipe and a Florentine leather pocket book; so Uncle John made a collection of thirty-seven pipes of all shapes and sizes, and bought so many pocketbooks that Patsy declared her father could use a different one every day in the month.

“But they’re handy things to have,” said her uncle, “and we may not get to Europe again in a hurry.”

This was his excuse for purchasing many things, and it was only by reminding him of the duty he would have to pay in New York that the girls could induce him to desist.

This customs tax worried the old gentleman at times.  Before this trip he had always believed in a protective tariff, but now he referred to the United States customs as a species of brigandage worse than that of Il Duca himself.