Page 2 of 95 BY THE TURTLES OF TASMAN - The Turtles of Tasman

"Now, Mary," he added, "remember Tom was always harum scarum, and you must make allowances for this daughter of his. Her very name is--ah--disconcerting. I haven't seen him for years, and as for her...." A shrug epitomised his apprehension. He smiled with an effort at wit. "Just the same, they're as much your family as mine. If he _is_ my brother, he is your uncle. And if she's my niece, you're both cousins."

Mary nodded. "Don't worry, father. I'll be nice to her, poor thing. What nationality was her mother?--to get such an awful name."

"I don't know. Russian, or Polish, or Spanish, or something. It was just like Tom. She was an actress or singer--I don't remember. They met in Buenos Ayres. It was an elopement. Her husband--"

"Then she was already married!"

Mary's dismay was unfeigned and spontaneous, and her father's irritation grew more pronounced. He had not meant that. It had slipped out.

"There was a divorce afterward, of course. I never knew the details. Her mother died out in China--no; in Tasmania. It was in China that Tom--" His lips shut with almost a snap. He was not going to make any more slips. Mary waited, then turned to the door, where she paused.

"I've given her the rooms over the rose court," she said. "And I'm going now to take a last look."

Frederick Travers turned back to the desk, as if to put the letters away, changed his mind, and slowly and ponderingly reread them.

"Dear Fred:

"It's been a long time since I was so near to the old home,

and I'd like to take a run up. Unfortunately, I played ducks

and drakes with my Yucatan project--I think I wrote about

it--and I'm broke as usual. Could you advance me funds for

the run? I'd like to arrive first class. Polly is with me,

you know. I wonder how you two will get along.

"Tom.

"P.S. If it doesn't bother you too much, send it along

next mail."

_"Dear Uncle Fred":_

the other letter ran, in what seemed to him a strange, foreign-taught, yet distinctly feminine hand.

"Dad doesn't know I am writing this. He told me what he said

to you. It is not true. He is coming home to die. He doesn't

know it, but I've talked with the doctors. And he'll have to

come home, for we have no money. We're in a stuffy little

boarding house, and it is not the place for Dad. He's helped

other persons all his life, and now is the time to help him.

He didn't play ducks and drakes in Yucatan. I was with him,

and I know. He dropped all he had there, and he was robbed.

He can't play the business game against New Yorkers. That

explains it all, and I am proud he can't.

"He always laughs and says I'll never be able to get along

		If everyone is thinking alike then somebody isn't thinking. "George S. Patton, General"