You Can Search Me Part 10

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 b.u.mped 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 pa.s.sages 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 pa.s.s 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 Roch.e.l.le.

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.