ything, from the
hall maids to the fire department, run the bath tub over, and rigged
the patent fire escapes out of the window.

"Was it you that was tellin' about not wantin' to miss any fun?" says I.

"Don't rub it in, Shorty," says he. "Did you get that blamed Tootle
letter?"

He grabs it eager. "Now," says he, "we'll see who these youngsters are
to be handed over to, and when."

The twins had got me harnessed up to a chair, and we was havin' an
elegant time, when Pinckney gives a groan and hollers for me to come in
and shut the door.

"Shorty," says he, "what do you think? There isn't anyone else. I've
got to keep them."

Then he reads me the letter, which is from some English lawyers, sayin'
that the late Mr. Anstruther, havin' no relations, has asked that his
two children, Jack and Jill, should be sent over to his old and dear
friend, Mr. Lionel Ogden Pinckney Bruce, with the request that he act
as their guardian until they should come of age. The letter also says
that there's a wad of money in the bank for expenses.

"And the deuce of it is, I can't refuse," says Pinckney. "Jack once
did me a good turn that I can never forget."

"Well, this makes twice, then," says I. "But cheer up. For a
bachelor, you're doin' well, ain't you? Now all you need is an account
at the grocer's, and you're almost as good as a fam'ly man."

"But," says he, "I know nothing about bringing up children."

"Oh, you'll learn," says I. "You'll be manager of an orphan asylum
yet."

It wa'n't until Miss Gerty shows up with a broad faced Swedish nurse
that Pinckney gets his courage back. Gerty tells him he can take the
night off, as she'll be on the job until mornin'; and Pinckney says the
thoughts of goin' back to the club never seemed quite so good to him as
then.

"So long," says I; "but don't forget that you're an uncle."

I has a picture of Pinckney takin' them twins by the hand, about the
second day, and headin' for some boardin' school or private home. I
couldn't help thinkin' about what a shame it was goin' to be too, for
they sure was a cute pair of youngsters--too cute to be farmed out
reckless.

Course, though, I couldn't see Pinckney doin' anything else. Even if
he was married to one of them lady nectarines in the crowd he travels
with, and had a kid of his own, I guess it would be a case of mama and
papa havin' to be introduced to little Gwendolyn every once in awhile
by the head of the nursery depa