you've always had."

And when Mr. Ballard has opened it and held the picture under the
readin' light, he winds up the whole debate as to who's who.

"It's Irene, of course," says he. "Poor girl! But she had her day, after
all. Married a French army officer, you know, and for a while they were
happy together. Then the war. He was dropped somewhere around Rheims, I
believe. Then I heard of her doing volunteer work at a field hospital.
She lasted a month or so at that--typhus, or a German shell, I don't
know which. But she's gone too."

And me, I stands there, listenin' gawpy, with my eyes beginnin' to blur.
It's Zenobia, you might know, who notices first. She steps over and
gathers me in motherly. Not that I needs it, as I know of, but--well, it
was kind of good to feel her arm around me just then.

"We'll find out all about it later; won't we, Torchy?" she whispers.

Meanwhile Mr. Ballard has swung on Dorsett. "So you were trying to pose
as Uncle Bill, were you?" he demands. "Well, Sir, you're just about the
caliber of man Dick would choose to put his trust in! But I'll bet a
thousand you were not finding it so easy to fool his boy here! Going,
are you? This way, Sir."

"At that, though," says I, as the door shuts after Dorsett, "he had me
guessin'."

"Yes," says Mr. Ballard, "he would, any of us."

"And I don't see," I goes on, "as I got any fam'ly left, after all."

"You--you don't, eh, you young scamp?" says Mr. Ballard. "Well, as
there's no doubt about your being my nephew's boy, I'd like to know why
I don't qualify as a perfectly good great-uncle to you!"

"Why, that's so!" says I, grinnin' at him. "I--I guess you do. And, say,
if you don't mind my sayin' so, you'll do fine!"

So what if Uncle Bill did turn out a ringer! He was more or less useful,
even if he did gum up the plot there for a while. Uh-huh! Mighty useful!
For there's nothin' phony about my new Uncle Kyrle, take it from me!

CHAPTER XIV

HOW AUNTY GOT THE NEWS

Say, I expect it ain't good form to get chesty over your relations,
specially when they're so new as mine; but I've got to hand it to Mr.
Kyrle Ballard. After three weeks' tryout he shapes up as some grand
little great-uncle, take it from me!

First off, you know, I had him card indexed as havin' more or less
tabasco in his temper'ment, with a wide grumpy streak runnin' through
his ego. And he is kind of crisp and snappy in his talk, I'll admit.
Strangers might think h