to have you, and
for you to have what's left of the money when we get through with it.
May I come after you? Say the word, and I'll start this minute."

"Oh, Uncle Jim, could you? Would you?" cried Eileen.

"Well, I'd say I could. We'd be tickled to death, I tell you!"

"How long would it take you to get here?" said Eileen.

"Well, I could reach you by noon tomorrow. Eleven something is the
shortest time it's been made in; that would give me thirteen--more than
enough. Are you in that much of a hurry?"

"Yes," gasped Eileen, "yes, I am in the biggest kind of a hurry there
is, Uncle Jim. This troublesome little estate has to be settled tomorrow
afternoon. There's going to be complaint about everything that I have
seen fit to do. I've been hounded and harassed till I am disgusted with
it. Then I've promised to marry John Gilman as I wrote you, and I don't
believe you would think that was my best chance with the opportunities
you could give me. It seems foolish to stay here, abused as I have been
lately, and as I will be tomorrow. You have the house number. If you
come and get me out of it by noon tomorrow, I'll go with you. You may
take out those adoption papers you have always entreated me to agree to
and I'll be a daughter that you can be proud of. It will be a relief to
have some real money and some real position, and to breathe freely and
be myself once more."

"All right for you, girlie!" bellowed the great voice over the line.
"Pick up any little personal bits you can put in a suitcase, and by
twelve o'clock tomorrow I'll whisk you right out of that damn mess."

Eileen walked from the telephone booth with her head high, triumph
written all over her face and figure. They were going to humiliate her.
She would show them!

She went home immediately. Entering her room, she closed the door and
stood looking at her possessions. How could she get her trunk from the
garret? How could she get it to the station? Would it be possible for
Uncle James to take it in his car? As she pondered these things Eileen
had a dim memory of a day in her childhood when her mother had gone on
business to San Francisco and had taken her along. She remembered a
huge house, all turrets and towers and gables, all turns and twists
and angles, closed to the light of day and glowing inside with shining
artificial lights. She remembered stumbling over deep rugs. One vivid
impression was of walls covered with huge canvases, some of them having