You Can Search Me

by George V. Hobart

  CHAPTER VI.

  JOHN HENRY GETS A SETBACK.

  Dinner was nearly over that evening at Uncle Peter's villa inRuraldene when suddenly the doorbell rang violently and two minuteslater the servant announced that Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius McGowanwere in the parlor.

  First I decided to faint; then I changed my mind and tried tofigure out which would be the most cruelly effective way of killingBunch Jefferson.

  Uncle Peter resented the unexpected arrival of these strangers,because he wanted to sit around and have the home folks tell himhow sick he was.

  "I'd like to know what Bunch Jefferson means by sending hisrelatives over to us on a Sunday evening," my wife's uncle snapped."Why doesn't he worry old Bill Grey with them, eh? It's bad enoughfor me to have to sneeze my head off before my own people, but I'llbe dod bimmed if I'm going to sit around the parlor and play soloson my bronchial tubes for the edification of strangers--no, sir!"

  Uncle Peter sniffled off to his apartments, and Peaches said she'dtry to entertain the visitors.

  I concluded to help her some.

  Skinski arose from the sofa and greeted us with his most elaboratebow.

  Ma'moselle Dodo didn't Society very much.

  She sat in the middle of the room and sang soft lullabys to ahold-over.

  "Mr. Jefferson, my nephew," Skinski was saying, "insisted that weshould hit the suburban trail and locate your shack. Here's a notefrom nephew Bunch for you."

  Skinski handed me the note with a face as solemn as amonkey-wrench, and I read it:

  CITY, Sunday P.M.

  DEAR JOHN--I send herewith the two rosebuds. As a favor to yourold pal please treat my beloved relatives with every considerationand make a fuss over them. You know you told them in therestaurant to come and see you. They want to make good and willstay a week if you insist.

  With kindest regards, BUNCH.

  P. S. Don't drag Aunt Flora into any literary discussions--shemight hand you something. Her favorite author is Pommery Sec., thechap who writes all those frothy books.

  B.

  "I wish you could have seen our place in the day-time," Peaches wassaying to Skinski when I finished reading Bunch's get-back. "Wethink it's delightful out here. Did you, have much trouble infinding the place?"

  "Nay, lady fair," Skinski replied; "no trouble at all. NephewBunch came as far as the front door with us."

  "What!" exclaimed the astonished Peaches.

  "Yes," Skinski concluded; "he even saved us the hardship of ringingthe bell. Oh! he's a thoughtful relative, Bunch is."

  Clara J. looked at me, I looked at Skinski, he looked at Dodo, andshe looked at the piano and said thoughtfully, "You betcher sweet!"

  "The idea of Bunch coming to our front door and then rushing offagain without seeing anybody," gasped Peaches, "what does it mean?"

  "Alice lives only half a mile away and possibly Bunch was runningbehind his schedule," I suggested.

  Just then Aunt Martha and Uncle Peter came in the parlor, andpresently I grabbed a chance to say a few words to Skinski on theside:

  "If my family circle ever gets wise that you and the Queen ofLaughter over there are excess baggage it'll be to the cabbagepatch for mine," I whispered.

  "I'm on," Skinski whispered back. "Never a break from yoursmysteriously, believe me. We wouldn't have come out at all if yourpartner hadn't insisted. He was so hot to have us butt in here andhand your heart a flutter that I just couldn't resist his pleadingvoice. It's a catchy jest, all right, and it's making me laugh.The way you two ducks josh each other is pitiful, but your secretis safe with me, Manager. I won't make no bad breaks, and Dodowon't ever open her talk-trap. She never talks off the stage. Onthe stage, say! she has the most elegant line of language that everleft the pipes. Leave it all to me, Manager, and I'll see that theMcGowan family makes an awful hit with your fireside companions."

  And Skinski kept his word.

  He skilfully led Uncle Peter around to a discussion ofsleight-of-hand, and two minutes later the Wonder Worker wasdragging the coal shovel and the vinegar cruet out of the Mayor'sinside pockets, to the intense mystification and delight of the oldgentleman.

  Uncle Peter was wearing a small diamond pin in his cravat and quiteby accident the setting became loose and the stone dropped to thefloor.

  The old gentleman became very much concerned about it and we allstarted to look for it.

  "Wait a minute!" said Skinski; "the spark fell in your left-handvest pocket."

  Uncle Peter looked at him blankly. "Impossible, why, there'snothing there but this box of quinine pills for my cold."

  "Open it," said Skinski, and Uncle Peter did so.

  "How many of those do you usually take in a day?" asked Skinski.

  "Four," replied the puzzled old gentleman.

  "Drop four of them in your left hand," ordered Skinski.

  Uncle Peter's right hand trembled a bit, with the result that fiveof the quinines fell into his left hand.

  "If you counted money the way you count pills you'd quit loser,"chuckled Skinski. "Put four of those dizzy-wizzys back in the box."

  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 withastonishment when his diamond came to view.

  It was a neat bit of work and Skinski became a solid success withUncle Peter.

  "Did I understand you to say, Mr. McGowan, that you are acommission merchant in Springfield, Ohio?" the Mayor asked Skinskiwhen the applause had subsided.

  "I'm a used to was," Skinski corrected. "There was a time when Icommished for fair, but the bogie man caught me and I lose all Ihad. Since then I've been trying to sell a gold mine I own out inthe Blue Hills."

  I tried to sidetrack Skinski and lead him away from the smokingroom, but Uncle Peter insisted upon hearing more about thosedreamland gold mines.

  "I've got the documents and everything to prove that my claim isall the goods," Skinski rattled on. "All it needs is the capitalto work it and it's a bonanza, sure--isn't it, Dodey--I mean Flo!"

  "You betcher sweet!" she answered, whereupon Peaches and AuntMartha had a fit of coughing which lasted three minutes.

  Then Uncle Peter coaxed Skinski off in a corner and there theyhobnobbed for fifteen minutes while my wife and her aunt and Itried to get cheerful and chatty with "Aunt Flo," but we onlysucceeded in dragging from her four reluctant "You betcher sweets!"

  Presently Uncle Peter and Skinski shook hands about something, andfive minutes later Bunch's "relatives" took their departure to theaccompaniment of much internal applause on my part.

  "Mr. McGowan is a very accomplished gentleman," Uncle Peterdecided; "but handicapped by a most depressing wife, mostdepressing. The Blue Hills, eh! the Blue Hills! Now, I wonder----"

  Then he began to whistle softly and went into the dining-room.

  Monday morning, bright and early, I met Bunch, and we buried thehatchet.

  "I hope my beloved relatives didn't disgrace me while sojourning inyour midst," he chuckled.

  "Not at all," I answered airily. "Why, Uncle Cornelius was the hitof the season with Uncle Peter, though, of course, Aunt Floradidn't make good with that 'You betcher sweet!' monologue of hers.How could she? Even at that, she stands better with me than someconversational queens I know who get so busy with the gab they makeme dizzy."

  About noon Bunch and I ducked for New Rochelle to do a bit ofadvance work for our show.

  Nobody knew us in the town, so we posed as Cameron & Connolly,owners of the Great Hall of Illusions, and Managers of the WorldWonder and Magic King, Signor Beppo Petroskinski, and Ma'moselleDodo, the Oriental Queen of Mystery.

  Pretty hot line of goods, eh?

  We handed out the salve thing to all the paper lads and they werefor us good and plenty.

  After our publicity department had been in operation for about fourhours we began to see the neigh
bors sit up and notice us, and wefigured on about a $1,000 opening.

  "The show will cost us about $80 a day," Bunch financed, with astrangle hold on a big green lead pencil. "Let's see! expenses say$500 a week at the outside. Now, let's strike a low average andsay we play to $800 a night; that's $4,800 a week, and two matineesat, say $200, that's $5,000 on the week, eh, John! That gives us aclean profit of $1,500 apiece for the three of us--oh, aces!"

  "It looks good to me. Bunch," I agreed, and then we went out andordered some more three-sheets and a flock of snipe.

  We spent the whole day in New Rochelle, and I reached home tired,but enthusiastic.

  "John," said Clara J. when we were alone after dinner, "Uncle Petersays if you will let him have that $5,000 by Thursday or Friday hewill invest it where the returns will be enormous!"

  "Sure," I answered, and I could feel my ears getting pale; "I'llhand it over to him Thursday or Friday--if you think it's best notto invest it in that new house."

  "Oh! I really do!" she hurried back. "You know Uncle Peter is socareful and so clever with his investments. He told me instrictest confidence only this morning that he would more thandouble your money in six months. Isn't that perfectly splendid!"

  "Is that the wonderful secret you threatened me with?" I askedmournfully.

  "Oh no!" she replied; "I can't tell you that till Wednesdayevening--I promised not to."

  I guess I didn't sleep very well that night, for I had dreams ofUncle Peter chasing me with a club all over a theatre and making mehop every seat in the orchestra, while Ma'moiselle Dodo sat perchedon the balcony rail and screamed, "You betcher sweet!"