o take his hand. "Don't
feel that we've hurried you away, but come in again, whenever you feel
like it."

"Thank you, my dear," he said, and went away.

Louise approached the open window, that led to a broad balcony. The
people in the next flat--young Mr. Isham, the son of the great
banker, and his wife--were sitting on the balcony, overlooking the
street, but Louise decided to glance over the rail to discover if the
young gentleman she so eagerly awaited chanced to be in sight.

As she did so Mr. Isham cried in great excitement:

"There he is, Myra--that's him!" and pointed toward the sidewalk.

"Whom?" enquired Mrs. Isham, calmly.

"Why John Merrick! John Merrick, of Portland, Oregon."

"And who is John Merrick?" asked the lady.

"One of the richest men in the world, and the best client our house
has. Isn't he a queer looking fellow? And dresses like a tramp. But
he's worth from eighty to ninety millions, at least, and controls most
of the canning and tin-plate industries of America. I wonder what
brought him into this neighborhood?"

Louise drew back from the window, pale and trembling. Then she caught
up a shawl and rushed from the room. Uncle John must be overtaken and
brought back, at all hazards.

The elevator was coming down, fortunately, and she descended quickly
and reached the street, where she peered eagerly up and down for the
round, plump figure of the little millionaire. But by some strange
chance he had already turned a corner and disappeared.

While she hesitated the young man came briskly up, swinging his cane.

"Why, Miss Louise," he said in some surprise, "were you, by good
chance, waiting for me?"

"No, indeed," she answered, with a laugh; "I've been saying good-bye
to my rich uncle, John Merrick, of Portland, who has just called."

"John Merrick, the tin-plate magnate? Is he your uncle?"

"My father's own brother," she answered, gaily. "Come upstairs,
please. Mother will be glad to see you!"

CHAPTER XXVIII.

PATSY LOSES HER JOB.

Uncle John reached Willing Square before Patsy and her father
returned, but soon afterward they arrived in an antiquated carriage
surrounded by innumerable bundles.

"The driver's a friend of mine," explained the Major, "and he moved us
for fifty cents, which is less than half price. We didn't bring a bit
of the furniture or beds, for there's no place here to put them; but
as the rent at Becker's flat is paid to the first of next month, we'