"More than half the rascals that John
helps go to the dogs entirely, and hang us up for all they've borrowed."
"I told you to help _deserving_ young men," remarked Uncle John, with a
scowl at his brother-in-law.
"And how can I tell whether they're desarving or not?" retorted Major
Doyle, fiercely. "Do ye want me to become a sleuth, or engage detectives
to track the objects of your erroneous philanthropy? I just have to form
a judgment an' take me chances; and whin a poor devil goes wrong I
charge your account with the loss."
"But some of them must succeed," ventured Patsy, in a conciliatory tone.
"Some do," said John Merrick; "and that repays me for all my trouble."
"All _your_ throuble, sir?" queried the Major; "you mane all _my_
throuble--well, and your money. And a heap of throuble that confounded
farm has cost me, with one thing and another."
"What of it?" retorted the little round faced millionaire, leaning back
in his chair and staring fixedly at the other. "That's what I employ
you for."
"Now, now, gentlemen!" cried Patsy, earnestly. "I'll have no business
conversation at the table. You know my rules well enough."
"This isn't business," asserted the Major.
"Of course not," agreed Uncle John, mildly. "No one has any business
owning a farm. How did it happen.
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