The old gentleman did so.
"Now take your penknife and open the pill you didn't put back," commanded Skinski.
Uncle Peter obeyed instructions, and he nearly choked with astonishment when his diamond came to view.
It was a neat bit of work and Skinski became a solid success with
Uncle Peter.
"Did I understand you to say, Mr. McGowan, that you are a commission merchant in Springfield, Ohio?" the Mayor asked Skinski when the applause had subsided.
"I'm a used to was," Skinski corrected. "There was a time when I commished for fair, but the bogie man caught me and I lose all I had. Since then I've been trying to sell a gold mine I own out in the Blue Hills."
I tried to sidetrack Skinski and lead him away from the smoking room, but Uncle Peter insisted upon hearing more about those dreamland gold mines.
"I've got the documents and everything to prove that my claim is all the goods," Skinski rattled on. "All it needs is the capital to work it and it's a bonanza, sure—isn't it, Dodey—I mean Flo!"
"You betcher sweet!" she answered, whereupon Peaches and Aunt
Martha had a fit of coughing which lasted three minutes.
Then Uncle Peter coaxed Skinski off in a corner and there they hobnobbed for fifteen minutes while my wife and her aunt and I tried to get cheerful and chatty with "Aunt Flo," but we only succeeded in dragging from her four reluctant "You betcher sweets!"