CHAPTER VII.
JOHN HENRY GETS A SURPRISE.
The following day Bunch and I attended to the shipping of all the scenery and props and trick stuff, and we were two busy lads, believe me.
On Wednesday we tried all day to locate Skinski, but he avoided punishment until about four o'clock in the afternoon, when we finally flagged him and began to ask him questions.
"I've been busy since Monday," he explained; "brokers and bankers and lawyers, and there are doings. Say! you're two of the dead gamest sports I ever bumped into, and no matter what happens I'm for you for keeps!"
"What's the reason for the crab talk?" I asked sharply. "Are you going to give us the sorry hand and bow yourself out after we have put up every mazooboe we possess? What kind of a sour face are you pulling on us?"
"Oh! pinkies!" he came back. "Did I say anything about quitting you? Why, I wouldn't give you guys a cold deal not for Morgan's bank roll. I only wanted to prepare you for certain big happenings in case there are real doings with that gold mine out in the Blue Hills."
"Sush!" I laughed; "then it's only the hasheesh. But, Skinski, on the level, I do wish you'd quit smoking those No. 4's; they'll ruin your imagination."
"Wait and see," smirked Skinski. "And, by the way, nephew Bunch, I met a certain old party this morning who thinks you are very hot fried parsnips!"
"You did," Bunch came back, with a yawn.
"Yes," replied Skinski; "and a nice old man, too, is Mr. William
Grey.'
"Where the devil did you meet Mr. Grey?" Bunch inquired excitedly.
"Back, back up!" said Skinski quietly; "I didn't disgrace my family. Mr. Peter Grant introduced me to him as your Uncle and I made good."
"You met Uncle Peter, too!" I asked in alarm.
"Surest thing you know," said Skinski; "but, don't worry. The
Jefferson family tree will never be blown down by any hot air from
me, so rest easy. Now, let's get down to cases about our opening
Thursday night."
Bunch and I were both puzzled by Skinski's peculiar line of talk, but we forgot it and completed all the details for the opening the next night.
It was after eight o'clock when I reached home, and Peaches met me at the door with the face lights on full.
"Now for the secret!" she chirped, as she dragged me into the diningroom.
"Make mine a small one," I admonished; "I've had a busy day."
"This is a cure for all your business worries," she gurgled.
"Guess what, John! We sail for Europe next Wednesday!"
"Poor Peaches!" I said sympathetically; "that's what you get for drinking too much tea."
"I mean it seriously, John!" she cried eagerly. "Uncle Peter has booked passages on the Oceanic for the whole family, and he is going to pay all the expenses for a three months' trip."
"Water! water!" I gasped faintly, and I meant it, but Peaches thought I was only cutting up.
"I knew you'd be delighted," she capered on; "and it was all I could do to keep from telling you long ago. Uncle Peter says that this is the dull season in your brokerage business and the trip will do you a world of good. You need only take a few hundred dollars for pocket money, and he's going to invest your $5,000 where it will be immensely productive."
I could only sit and listen and pass away.
What would become of Skinski and Bunch and our good money!
How could I ever account for the missing funds without leading Peaches down to Wall Street and showing her the tall buildings they had built with my dough.
And while these dismal thoughts ran through my mind Peaches grabbed that European trip between her pearly teeth and shook the delights out of it.
That night I had an attack of insomnia, neurasthenia, nervous prostration and the nightmare, with cinematograph pictures on the side.
All night long Skinski had me on the stage in a wicker basket, while Uncle Peter jabbed a sword through me and Dodo sat in the front row on the aisle yelling "You betcher sweet!"
Thursday broke clear and cloudless. Just before I left home for the fatal scene Peaches said, "I'm so sorry business will keep you in the city this evening, John; but of course I realize you have much to do before we sail on Wednesday. Alice Grey just phoned over that she has a box at a theatre somewhere, I didn't ask her where, but if you're sure you won't be home I'll go with Alice and Aunt Martha."
"By all means," I answered, and kissing her good-bue I trolleyed to
New Rochelle.
Bunch was there ahead of me and so were Skinski and Ma'moiselle
Dodo, all working like beavers.
"I'm going to take the 11:40 to town," Skinski informed us after all was in readiness for the performance. "I have a very important date, haven't I, Dodey?"
"You betcher sweet!" she puffingly replied.
"But I'll be back before six o'clock and I'll give 'em the show of my life," Skinski continued. "How's the sale?"
"There's a three hundred dollar advance sale," Bunch replied; "and Pietro in the box office says we're good for a five or six hundred dollar window sale if it's a fine night. You can gamble we've let 'em know we're in town, all right!"
"Right!" chirped Skinski. "You're the best bunch of managers I ever roomed with and nothing's too good for you. I'm for the 11:40 thing now, so you better rent a stall in the local hotel and rest up till show time. How about you, Dodey? Are you for hunting a thirst-killing palace and getting busy with a dipper of suds?"
"You betcher sweet!" the large lady replied, and with that she grabbed Skinski's arm and they left us flat.
Bunch and I loafed around till about an hour before show time, when we put a young chap we had sworn to secrecy on the door, and then we went back on the stage and began to chatter nervously.
At seven o'clock Dodo came in with one of those sunburst souses, and as she went sailing by to her dressing room she gave us the haughty head and murmured, "You betcher sweet!"
Seven thirty and no Skinski.
I was nervous, but I wasn't a marker to Bunch. He had long since graduated from biting his finger nails, and was now engaged in eating the brim of his opera hat.
Seven forty-five and no Skinski.
I was afraid to tell Bunch what I was thinking, and Bunch was afraid to think for fear he'd spill something.
Eight o'clock came and still no Skinski.
It was pitiful.
I began to see visions of an insulted audience reaching for my collar over the prostrate form of my partner in crime.
An usher came back at 8:10 and told us the house was full.
I grinned at him foolishly and Bunch fell over a stage brace and disgraced himself.
At 8:15 the orchestra leader came up to see why we didn't ring in and Bunch told him to ring off.
I told Beethoven, or whatever his name was, to tune up and play everything in sight till I gave him the warning.
At 8:20 Ma'moiselle Dodo waltzed out of her dressing room made up to look like a cream puff.
"Where's Skinski?" I shrieked. "It's nearly 8:30 and he's keeping that mob waiting. Isn't he going to show up!"
"You betcher sweet!" she gurgled, and passed on.
At 8:25 I rushed into Skinski's dressing room, put on a swift makeup, dove into Skinski's fright wig, hid my face behind a false moustache and goatee, and prepared to sell my life dearly.
"What are you going to do?" asked Bunch in wild alarm.
"I'm going out and pull a few mouldy tricks till Skinski gets here," I answered heroically.
Then I gave the warning to the leader and rang up the curtain.
I was greeted by a harsh round of applause as I stepped out and I could feel both knees get up and leave my legs.
I pulled myself together, picked up a pack of cards and began to do things with the deck that no mortal man ever saw before, while Bunch stood in the wings with his teeth chattering so loud they sounded like a pedestal clog accompaniment.
Then I picked up an egg where Skinski had placed it on the tabaret and started in to do something mysterious with it.
Just as I raised the egg to show it to the audience I got a flash of the stage box on my right, and there, gazing curiously at me, sat Peaches and Alice Grey and Aunt Martha.
I was so surprised I dropped the egg, and it lay at my feet in the form of an omelet, while the house roared with joy.
[Illustration: I was so surprised I dropped the egg.]
At this moment Skinski bounded on the stage, bowed right and left, and in five words he made it appear that I was only a comedy curtain raiser.
Say! I never was so glad to see anybody in all my life.
I backed off the stage, and he pulled something on my exit that got an awful laugh.
I didn't care. I was so delighted that Skinski was there that I nearly hugged Dodo.
And he gave them their money's worth, all right. He flashed a line of hot illusions that had them groggy in short order.
When the curtain finally fell Skinski was given an ovation, and when it was all over we backed into his dressing-room and sat looking at each other.
"That's the last," our star said, after a pause; "and it was a hot finish all right."
"What do you mean?" I gasped.
"The syndicate has bought my gold mine in the Blue Hills," he answered calmly.
"And you're going to throw us after making a start like this?"
Bunch almost sobbed.
"Throw nothing!" Skinski came back. "Didn't I tell you once before that I am for you two guys all the old while—didn't I, Dodey?"
"You betcher sweet!" she answered solemnly.
"Well, that still goes," Skinski went on. "I've sold out a half interest in my Blue Hill gold mine, and I've got the corn to show for it."
So saying, he dug up a wad that a hound couldn't leap over.
"Now, I'm going to pay you each $6,000 to cancel my contract,"
Skinski added, after our eyes had feasted on his roll.
I looked at Bunch, and Bunch was stepping on his left foot to see if he was awake.
"No, by Hick! I'll make it seven thousand each," Skinski chortled. "You two guys put up your last dollar on me, and you didn't know whether I was an ace or a polish. I like you both, for you brought me good luck. Tear up the contract and take $7,000 apiece, is it a go?"
"Just as you say, Skinski," I answered nervously. "Of course, if you want the tour to continue, why——"
"Yes, of course," Bunch chimed in; "if you want the tour to continue, why——"
"Oh! pinkies!" said Skinski; "what do I want to go hugging one-night stands for when I have a hundred thousand booboos in the kick. It's the Parisian boulevards for us, and a canter on the Boy Bologna, eh, Dodey?"
"You betcher sweet!" she gurgled thirstily.
And so it came about that we destroyed the contract, pocketed our seven thousand each, and bade Skinski and Dodo an affecting farewell.
Bunch and I couldn't talk for hours afterwards.
We were afraid we'd wake ourselves up.
When I reached home Clara J. started in to tell me what a delightful time she had had at the New Rochelle theatre, and how clever the magician was, and what a funny clown came out first and smashed a real egg on the stage, but I begged off and went to bed.
I never slept so soundly in all my life.
Next day I handed the five thousand dollars to Uncle Peter, and he complimented me so highly on my ability to save money that I nearly swallowed my palate.
"I'm going to invest this carefully for you, John," he informed me.
"When we return from Europe you'll be surprised."
I don't know what powers of persuasion Bunch brought to bear on Alice and Uncle William, but I do know that there was a hurried wedding ceremony, and that a certain blushing bride and bashful groom and a delighted old Uncle who answered roll call when you yelled Bill Grey took passage that next Wednesday with us on the Oceanic.
I was promenading the deck with Peaches and Uncle Peter after we had been out two days when the old gentleman said, "John, aren't you curious to know how I invested your money?"
"Not particularly," I answered with a laugh,
"John knows it is perfectly safe in your hands," Peaches beamed.
"Well, I'll tell you," said Uncle Peter. "Bill Grey and myself celebrated the finish of our long quarrel by going into a little business deal together."
"Fine!" I said approvingly.
"We buried the hatchet," Uncle Peter went on, "by investing together in a gold mine."
"Where?" I asked nervously.
"We formed a little syndicate and bought a half-interest in a mine owned by Bunch's Uncle McGowan, out in the Blue Hills!"
"And is that where you invested my few plunks?" I asked, forcing myself to be calm.
"That's it," chuckled Uncle Peter, "and that's where Bill Grey has invested $5,000 for Bunch."
I excused myself and said I didn't feel like promenading—the undertow made me dizzy.
I went off by my lonesome and looked across the troubled sea.
It seemed to me that I could hear a voice coming from far away behind that biggest wave, and the voice said, "You betcher sweet!"