You Can Search Me Part 3

She tied a couple of chords together and swung that piano like a pair of Indian clubs.

First she did "My Old Kentucky Home," with variations, until everybody who had a home began to weep for fear it might get to be like her Kentucky home.

The variations were where she made a mistake and struck the right note.

Then Cleopatra moved up to the squeaky end of the piano and gave an imitation of a Swiss music box.

It sounded to me like a Swiss cheese.

Presently Cleopatra ran out of raw material and subsided, while we all applauded her with our fingers crossed, and two very thoughtful ladies began to talk fast to Cleopatra so as to take her mind off the piano.

Then the Bingledingle brothers, known as Oscar and Victor, opened fire on us with a couple of mandolins.

Oscar and Victor play entirely by hand. They don't know one note from another, and they can prove it when they begin to play.

Their mother believes them to be prodigies of genius. She is alone in her belief.

After Oscar and Victor had chased one of Sousa's marches all over the parlor and finally left it unconscious under the sofa, they bowed and ceased firing, and then they went out in the dining-room and filled their storage batteries with ice cream and cake.

This excitement was followed by another catastrophe named Minnehaha Jones, who picked up a couple of soprano songs and screeched them at us.

Minnehaha is one of those fearless singers who vocalize without a safety valve. She always keeps her eyes closed, so she can't tell just when her audience gets up and leaves the room.

The next treat was a mixed duet on the flute and trombone between Clarence Smith and Lancelot Diffenberger, with a violin obligate on the side by Hector Tompkins.

Never before have I seen music so roughly handled.

It looked like a walk-over for Clarence, but in the fifth round he blew a couple of green notes and Lancelot got the decision.

Then, for a consolation prize, Hector was led out in the middle of the room, where he a.s.sa.s.sinated Mascagni's _Cavalleria Rusticana_ so thoroughly that it will never be able to enter a fifty-cent table d'hote restaurant again.

Then Cornucopia Coogan arose and gave us a few select recitations.

She weighs 295 pounds and she was immense.

Just as she started to tell us that curfew would not ring to-night Uncle Peter winked at me, and we sneaked out and began to drown our sorrow.

Those musicales would be all to the good if the music didn't suffocate them.

After the crowd had left that night Peaches said to me, "John, Uncle Peter and Aunt Martha and I have been talking matters over to-day, and we've arranged a most delightful surprise for you!"

"What is it, another one of those parlor riots?" I asked, "If so, I want to tell you right now that you couldn't surprise me if Uncle Peter and Aunt Martha stepped out and did a song and dance in black face."

Peaches laughed.

"Oh! that isn't it," she chuckled. "It has something to do with the $5,000 you've saved."

"Oh! it has," I muttered faintly.

"Yes, Uncle Peter thinks we better not invest it in that house just now," she went on. "He has a better plan. You are to give him the money and he will invest it for you."

"Ah!" I said.

"But that isn't the real surprise," she cooed.

"It will do," I answered.

"Uncle Peter is so delighted that you have kept your promise to me not to speculate any more that he has planned--oh! I nearly told, and it's _such_ a secret!"

Then I went over into a corner and got busy with my thoughts.

Bunch and I would have to get Petroskinski to work in a hurry.

We both needed the money.

CHAPTER III.

JOHN HENRY GETS BUSY.

We were a half-hour early for my appointment with Signor Petroskinski when Bunch and I strolled into the cafe of the Hotel Astor the next day.

"Bunch," I said, when the waiter had forced a confession from us, "there's doings out home. Clara J. tipped me off last night that I must hand over my five thousand plunks to be properly invested by the Mayor of Ruraldene."

"Uncle Peter!" chuckled Bunch.

"Now I can't tip my hand to the old gentleman and have him lecture me all over the place, can I, Bunch?"

"Not unless you want your wife to know that you sprained your promise."

"Then it's up to me to press the b.u.t.ton and start my get-rich-quick concern," I said. "I simply can't go home and hand them a sad drool about being coaxed into the Street and being trimmed for my coin--nix! The only thing to do is to go out and get it back, and get it quick, eh, Bunch?"

"You bet, John," Bunch agreed. "I spent last evening with Alice and I felt like phony money all the time. She's going right ahead with the wedding preparations and I simply hadn't the nerve to tell her that I lost nearly every penny I had. Uncle William Grey tiptoed into the parlor for a few moments and began to congratulate me on the good reports he had had from Alice with regard to my ability to save a bit of money. I could feel myself shrivelling up as he talked and the parlor began to turn around and start for the Bennings track."

"I know the feeling," I said earnestly. "There was a time, Bunch, that whenever my wife mentioned the word money to me I could see a horse come into the room and shake his mane at me."

"And then," Bunch continued, "Uncle William said to me, 'Jefferson, my boy, Alice tells me you've already saved up five thousand, and I'm proud of you. I didn't like you at first, because I thought you were a harum scarum like your friend, John Henry; but now that you've developed such manly traits of character I'm going to take four thousand of your money, put the same amount in for Alice, and start you in business.' Say, John, I wanted to go through the parlor floor and on through the earth and then out through the busiest fort at Port Arthur, and let a j.a.p sh.e.l.l knock my silly head off."

"We're both up against it for fair," I said; "and we'll have to get in the ice-cutting business right away. As I told you, this Signor Petroskinski is the marvel of the age, and we can simply coin money with him. Two thousand dollars will start the driving wheels--gi'

me your thousand and I'll put it with mine."

Bunch dug out his last bundle of big bills and I gave him the partnership articles I had framed up.

"We'll open up in New Roch.e.l.le," I said, "next Thursday night.

Charlie Osgood is a friend of mine and he's laid out a gilt-edged route for me. Mamaroneck Friday night, and then into Cos Cob for Sat.u.r.day matinee and night."

"That doesn't sound like a glad hosannah to me!" Bunch grumbled.